A/N: Wow, you guys are awesome! I'll respond to reviews in the next few days, but I thought you might rather have the next chapter. ;-) This chapter's Jesse is a little less dark and a little more sweet, but we'll see his darker side come back, no worries!
Happy New Year! My resolution? More hot St. Berry moments!
Dare
Later, dishes piled in the sink—Jesse had refused to let her help wash them, saying again that her pseudo-slavery wasn't about mundane tasks—they settled on the couch, Rachel carefully attempting to keep her distance. Jesse's touch was too dangerous; it made her want things she knew she shouldn't want, and she needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to resist at all.
He didn't object, and when she called him on it, Jesse merely chuckled.
"I'm not here to force you to do anything," he said, "even touch me. What purpose would it serve? I want your heart, Rachel, and brute force isn't going to get me that."
"You forced me to stay," she said, picking nervously at the seam of the couch. "I was going to leave."
Jesse cocked his head to the side, watching her with his unnervingly candid blue gaze. "You were angry and hurt enough that you might well have left," he agreed, "but you would have questioned your actions—regretted it, even, maybe. Whether you like it or not, I did buy a certain amount of your time, and I insist on getting what I paid for. But that's not the same as force."
Rachel raised a skeptical eyebrow, which only made his smile grow.
"What?" he asked with a laugh. "Did you expect me to tie you to the bed? That kind of force?" He shook his head. "I will if you want me to, but not without consent. Besides, I don't need to restrain you to get at your body. The minute I touch you, you're like putty in my hands."
Rachel reddened, trying to keep an unhappy scowl on her face. It was true, and she hated it. Hated how easily he could turn her liquid and pliant, all of her anger evaporating for that small amount of time he held her body captive, drowning in the pleasure he was so adept at bringing her. "It's not fair!" she snapped.
"Maybe not," Jesse said with a shrug, "but that's the way it is. There are some things, Rachel, that it's useless to fight. You can throw yourself against the wall all you like, but it's never going to give."
"And you're the wall?" Rachel said bitterly.
"No." Jesse's voice was smooth, a gentle sweetness filtering in and replacing the mocking quality from earlier. "I'm on your side, sweetheart. Maybe the only person in the world, besides your dads, who is. I'd protect you from that wall if I could, but I can't do anything if you insist on throwing yourself at it."
Rachel wasn't entirely sure she understood his metaphor, but she kept it to herself. It would give her something to mull over tonight when she couldn't sleep.
"Now." Jesse shifted on the couch, and just that simple motion snapped her attention back to him, as if he had reached for her. "I want you to tell me about this new look of yours."
"The bangs?" Rachel said innocently, though she knew that wasn't what he was asking. "I thought they made me look older."
"They do," he said with a chuckle, "but you know that's not what I asked." He leaned forward just enough to slide a single finger along the hem of her short, pleated skirt. "It's funny, because you wore short skirts before. The switch from innocent schoolgirl to naughty really didn't take all that much change, did it?" He cocked his head to the side. "Or, not physically, anyway. It's all about the attitude."
"I...never thought about it like that." Rachel rubbed a fold of her cardigan between her fingers, considering. Yes, she was definitely showing more skin in this outfit, but the general premise was still the same as her old wardrobe. So what was the difference, really? Did Jesse have it right? Was her attitude—the willingness to embrace a sort of sultriness—the real difference?
"Tell me why, Rachel," he said, and though his voice was soft, there was a definite note of command to it. "What happened?"
She exhaled slowly, watching his hand resting on the cushion between them. He did not attempt to touch her again, and she was glad of that. His hands were too distracting, and they held hostage her ability to do anything but surrender. "Britney Spears," she admitted, "and a new dentist."
"This I've got to hear."
She made a face at him. "He's Miss Pillsbury's new boy-toy, and he came to talk to us about proper dental hygiene. Of course, I didn't need the reminder, but apparently some of the other kids in the club did."
"Why would a dentist be lecturing to a high school glee club?"
Rachel shrugged. "It has to do with Mr. Schue's jealousy, I'm positive. I just haven't figured out how, yet. I told you before that I'm a little psychic, right?"
"And I believe you," Jesse said with a smile. "Go on."
"Well, Kurt's been begging to do Britney Spears, and Mr. Schue is completely against the idea. He says she's a bad role model, and her music is too provocative."
"Valid points for a high school club. What's your opinion?"
Rachel felt a sudden upwelling of warmth flow through her at Jesse's words. He was the only one besides her dads who ever asked her opinion on anything—that was something she remembered well. Everyone else, even Finn, endeavored to keep her from voicing her thoughts. She knew that was part of the reason she was so loud and pushy sometimes; her therapist had explained that one quite succinctly. If she had more acceptance at school, if people respected her more and asked for her opinions from time to time, she wouldn't feel such a deep need to shout them so loudly and incessantly. Jesse had given her that, for the first time in her life. Hearing him do it again now, so familiar and easy, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, was slightly unsettling.
"I..." She cleared her throat, intent on hiding how much his question meant to her. "I think she's popular enough to warrant some attention from our club—in the spirit of musical inquiry, of course. I don't find her musical contributions particularly memorable or compelling, but I feel that way about a lot of popular artists, and I have no problem covering her if the rest of the club wants to."
"So her music wouldn't be your first choice, but you're willing to go along with the rest of the team?" Jesse smiled. "I'd like you to think about that statement for a minute, Rach. Your teammates really don't give you enough credit."
That renegade warmth in the pit of her stomach expanded at his words, no matter how much she tried to rein it in. "Jesse," she said quietly, "please, don't."
"It's a simple statement of fact." He shifted as if he wanted to reach for her, but he stopped himself. "Now, what does Britney have to do with your new look?"
"Other members of the club were having Britney dreams while under anesthesia at the dentist's office," Rachel said, smoothing down her skirt. "Of course, that's not why I went. I needed a cleaning anyway."
"Of course you did," Jesse said with a smile.
Rachel scowled at him. "It's true. But I did end up having a...very interesting dream, and it got me thinking."
"About trying out a new look?"
She nodded. "It worked, too. The next day at school, it was like..." She shook her head. "I can't explain it."
Jesse's smile shifted, the mocking edge softening into understanding. "Nobody touched you."
"Yeah. The boys were all looking at me like they'd never seen me before. It was...flattering. Even Santana had something nice to say. But Finn hated it."
"I'm not surprised." Jesse moved again, and this time he did touch her, sweeping her hair behind her shoulder and tracing his fingers down her neck gently. "Come here." He found her hand and tugged.
Rachel hesitated. "You said you wouldn't force me."
"It's not force if you consent." He pulled again. "I won't hurt you, Rachel. You know that."
She did know that. Maybe she didn't know anything about his motivations, but she knew he wouldn't hurt her. Slowly she shifted, letting him draw her close on the cream-colored couch and slip his arms around her. They'd sat like this hundreds of times in the past, his body next to hers but also surrounding her, strong and sure, firm but also so gentle. His hand swept under the fall of her cardigan, settling against the top of her skirt.
"What did Finn say?" he asked, and Rachel had to forcibly pull her mind back to what they'd been discussing. When he touched her, it was as if all rational thought fled.
"He was all upset," she said, trying desperately not to concentrate on the feel of his hand against her hip. "He'd been kicked off the football team by the new coach—something having to do with Artie; he wouldn't tell me the whole story—and I'd told him I was happier with him off the team anyway."
"Why?"
"Because now I don't have to worry about him ending up like his paralyzed friend," Rachel said, "and because it's easier to be with him when he's not the star quarterback, you know? It's like he can't judge me as mu—" She snapped her mouth shut. How had that slipped out? Did she really feel judged by Finn? Because that wasn't...right, was it? To be afraid of being judged by her boyfriend? It was just some...some weird hypnosis thing that Jesse was able to do to her; it had to be. He'd forced the words out of her mouth; she didn't actually mean them. Right?
"Interesting," Jesse said, and his thumb moved lazily against her hip. "And somewhat understandable."
"...It is?"
"Of course. When you're so unpopular and he's the most popular guy in school, your relationship doesn't really make sense. But when he's brought down closer to your level, you feel more secure. But the flip side is that when your popularity rises, he feels threatened."
Rachel reddened. Yes, that was exactly what had happened. "The first day I tried out my Britney-inspired look," she admitted, "I got upset when he didn't like it. I...kind of dared him. Told him he had my blessing to try to rejoin the football team if he could."
An amused snort escaped Jesse, and he tightened his arm around her. "I would have paid good money to see that."
"Yeah, well, it backfired on me," Rachel said bitterly, "because I decided to change back to my old clothes to make him feel more comfortable, but he went and rejoined the football team. I didn't even know that was possible, which is why I dared him to do it."
"Let me guess," Jesse said. "You didn't like things going back to the way it used to be, when he was the popular jock and you were nothing. You tried to change it again."
She nodded slowly. "I gave him an ultimatum. Told him to choose between me and football. Then, because I was so mad, I went back to my Britney clothes that I know he can't stand."
Jesse did not laugh this time. Instead, he pinned her with an intense look that Rachel did not expect. "How did that feel?"
"What, are you my therapist now?" Rachel shoved his shoulder. It was so easy, falling back into the familiarity of their relationship; the way it had been before he ruined everything with a crushed egg and two songs by Queen.
"Humor me," he said, still not laughing. "Consider it one of your tasks for today, if you like."
"I like it, okay?" Rachel shifted in the curve of his arm. "I know I'm not usually the vindictive type, but it felt good to do something I knew he wouldn't like."
"My jaw begs to differ about the not being vindictive part," Jesse said, a faint smile curving his lips. "And I think it's healthy to speak your mind, even when the speaking is actually an action."
"I don't think I understand."
Jesse took her hand, linking their fingers. Rachel watched, and she couldn't help but feel a little thrill at how right it felt when his hand slipped into hers. His long musician's fingers wove between hers, bigger and stronger but still so gentle. "When you went back to your Britney-inspired clothes after he ignored your ultimatum, you were telling him in no uncertain terms that you weren't going to let him dictate your clothing choices. Hudson's a moron and I can't promise he got the message, but to me it's crystal clear."
"As clear as you breaking an egg on my head," Rachel muttered.
Jesse's arm tightened around her, and before Rachel could tell him to let go, he had released her hand and shifted his grip. He grasped her upper arms in his hands, firm but not hard enough to leave marks, turning her to face him. "If you want to do this now, we can do it now," he said, his jaw tight and his face closed once more, the easy familiarity long gone. Rachel felt a shudder bleed up her spine. It was frightening, how quickly he could flit from one emotion to another—almost as quickly as she could. "Sweet girl, I know I hurt you. I'd like to pretend it was some...some evil twin or something, or I was possessed, or whatever. I can't, and we're both going to have to deal with the reality of our situation. I made a mistake and hurt you—possibly the biggest mistake of my life. And yes, I knew it was going to hurt you, and I did it anyway. It was premeditated, and even though it killed me to see you cry, I still went through with it."
"Why?" Rachel whispered. It was the one question she could no longer answer. At first, the "why" had seemed simple: he didn't truly love her. He didn't care about her. If he had, he wouldn't have been able to go through with it. But his reappearance in her life debunked that theory, if everything he'd said to her today was true. "Why did you do it?"
"Because I was angry," he said, "and stupid. You have no idea how much you hurt me with that stupid Run Joey Run video, Rachel. I was livid, and just like you want to hurt Finn for ignoring your ultimatum, I wanted to hurt you."
"I don't want to hurt him!" Rachel protested, pulling away from his hands. "I just...I wanted him to notice!" She hid her face in her hands, breathing deeply, forcing back frustrated tears. "Sometimes it's like I'm invisible even to him, and when I tried to go back to my old clothes for him, he just..." She shook her head, feeling the unwelcome constriction in her throat that heralded another bout of crying. "But I didn't want to hurt him," she mumbled into her hands, still shaking her head slowly. "I'm not like you—not like Shelby. I don't want to hurt people."
His arms were around her again, pulling her into his chest, and Rachel didn't know if she welcomed the touch or loathed it. This boy had promised her the world, and had broken every promise he'd ever made to her. Now he was back, and she really didn't know what to do anymore. She let him hold her because she didn't think she had the energy to fight him, wondering how she could possibly still feel soothed by his gentle hands. He stroked her hair and shoulders, long sweeps of his palms, his fingers brushing softly across the tender skin at the back of her neck.
"You do," he said, "in the heat of the moment. It's human nature, sweet girl. It's part of what makes us passionate. It's only logical to want to wound back when we've been wounded. I imagine the way you wanted to hurt Finn didn't compare to the amount of pain you wanted to cause me after I left you."
"I wanted you to be eaten by a lion," Rachel admitted. "But I didn't go to the zoo and abduct one!"
"You had no reasonable outlet for that desire," Jesse said. "You wanted to beat me at Regionals, and that would have made you feel better, but Vocal Adrenaline won. After that, you had no way to cause me pain—that you knew of, anyway—and you had to deal with that. But your problem now with Finn is easier. The emotions aren't as deep, though I understand that they're deep enough. You had an easy way to anger him as he's angered you, and you took it."
"I never thought about it that way." The words were grudging, but Rachel had always been good at giving other people their due, even when she didn't want to.
"Don't worry about it. It took me a while, too." Jesse held her carefully, his hands still tracing aimless patterns on her back. "And being angry doesn't excuse what I did—I don't want you to think I'm attempting to get out of it. I did hurt you, and I take responsibility for that. No matter what you did first, you didn't deserve what I put you through."
Rachel took a breath. At least they could agree on that.
"I know you don't trust me enough yet to believe me when I tell you it will never happen again," Jesse said. "All things in time."
Could she ever trust him again? Rachel didn't know.
"We'll talk more about that later," he promised, and he shifted again so he could see her eyes. "For now, let's talk about tomorrow."
Rachel eyed him with a certain amount of trepidation. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow," he said, looking amused. "You're mine for the week, and I intend to get what I paid for. Tasks and all." He paused and leaned toward her. "Make no mistake, if you don't come willingly I will fetch you."
A little thrill ran down Rachel's spine, and she didn't know why. The dark promise in his voice told her he was serious. But what would that mean? Would he reveal himself—seek her out in public? At school? "You said no force," she protested, knowing it sounded weak even to her own ears.
"And I also said not to push me. You have an overdeveloped sense of duty, and I appeal to that, if nothing else. I paid for something, and if you avoid me, that's stealing. I don't believe you're a thief, and therefore that really should be the end of the conversation."
"That's pretty low, even for you."
Jesse didn't look chagrined at her insult; he merely shrugged. "You should know by now that I'm not some virtuous white knight. I will save you, though, if you'll let me."
"I don't need saving," Rachel said, shifting in his arms. "I'm not some damsel in distress, Jesse."
"I love when you say my name." He smiled. "You don't need to be a damsel in distress to warrant some saving, even at the hands of a black knight."
"So what sort of saving are you planning?" Rachel asked dubiously.
"Just what I already promised you—your transformation from chorus girl to prima donna. And the best part is, we're not going to turn you into a mindless girl-clone to do it."
"I don't understand."
Jesse smiled. "Think about it. The girls you see on TV and the popular ones at school—they're all the same cookie-cutter image. Blond, if possible. Big boobs. The same slutty makeup, the same clothes, the same bitchy attitude with nothing in their heads to back it up. If you became one of them, you'd probably stop being harassed in the halls, sure. But you'd lose your fundamental self doing it. No—we're going to go with a different tactic. Something that will put you on the top without compromising the essence that is you."
Rachel shook her head slowly. She could do nothing but stare at him. Her entire life, practically, she had dreamed that such a thing were possible. But she'd never come up with a way to do it, and he was right: she wasn't willing to become one of those girl-clones, as he'd called them. The mean girls. The ones who all looked like each other and treated everyone else in the world like crap. "It's not possible," she said. "Not in high school. I have to wait until I get my chance at the stage; that's what my therapist has always said."
"Not to laugh in the face of hundreds of years of psychological theory, but your therapist is wrong." Jesse smiled. "Give me a little faith, and we'll do it. We'll turn you around so fast that all those sorry mouth-breathers at McKinley won't know what hit them. And we won't have to sacrifice your individuality to do it."
"I don't believe you," Rachel said. "It's not possible! The mob hates individuality. That's why we're at the bottom of the heap in glee club."
"I'm going to prove you wrong." Jesse took her hand. "Tell me something—when you had your Britney dream and chose to change your clothes to look more sexy, did you feel like you were giving up part of yourself?"
"No," Rachel said easily. "It was my choice. I did it because I wanted to, and everyone's been agreeing with me that the change wasn't that drastic. That it was still me, just with the volume turned up."
"And how did you feel when you went back to your old clothes to keep Finn happy?"
"Like I was doing it to keep him happy," Rachel said with a shrug. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"Did it feel like you were changing yourself? Giving up?"
"Not...not exactly," she said, frowning thoughtfully. Her therapist never asked such difficult questions. "But still, I did it for him. Not for me."
"Which was the exact opposite of why you changed your clothes to begin with." Jesse's smile was encouraging. "Do you see the difference? You were willing to go back to your old clothes because you thought that was what Finn wanted, not because you wanted to. You think you love him, so maybe the distinction doesn't feel as drastic. But how would you feel about changing your clothes because someone else—Quinn, or Artie—wanted you to?"
"I wouldn't do it," Rachel said firmly. "And if they tried to make me, I'd stage an uprising."
"Because you're secure in who you are," Jesse said triumphantly. "Your choices need to be your own, or else you'll become nothing but another girl-clone."
Rachel breathed deeply. He was right. She hadn't felt like she was compromising herself when she changed her look, because it had been her choice. She had wanted to do it. Going back to her old clothes to make Finn feel better was exactly the opposite.
"So here's one of your tasks for tomorrow," Jesse said, smiling at her. "For the rest of the week, really. I want you to choose what you want to wear. Don't think about Finn, or the rest of the student body. Pick what you want—what makes you feel good. And hell, if that's sweatpants and bunny slippers, go for it. Just do what feels right to you."
Rachel rested her head against his shoulder. "You don't really have this master/slave dynamic thing down very well," she muttered, "telling me to do what I want."
Jesse's chuckle buzzed through her body just before he moved, pressing her to her back on the couch and sliding sensuously against her. "Would you prefer a more traditional arrangement?" he breathed against her neck, his body firm and hard, pressing hers into the cushions. "Demands made for my pleasure rather than yours?" He raised his head, a puckish smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. "We can do that. How about this task, then—you're not wearing underwear tonight, and I find I like it. For the rest of the week, while you choose your outer clothes as you wish, you're forbidden from wearing panties."
"What?" Rachel stared at him. "You can't!"
"Can't I?" Jesse moved his head back to her neck and bit softly. "Isn't that just what you asked for? Master's prerogative, remember?"
Rachel felt her equilibrium swimming, making her dizzy as he lifted her upright again. Her vision blurred, desire spilling into her system once more, and the one thing that remained sharply in-focus was the beautiful image of Jesse's face. It was so close to hers, his lips softly pink, his pale skin more than inviting. The chemistry between them had never been in doubt, even now when she was still deeply hurt and fairly furious at him. She couldn't deny it—couldn't deny wanting to feel again the touch of his mouth, how he claimed her every time he kissed her. It was a touch she craved, and Finn had never been able to hold a candle to Jesse's kisses. Even Puck, for all the experience he had, wasn't able to make her forget her own name with just a kiss.
"Why haven't you kissed me, Jesse?" she asked, her gaze darting between his mouth and his eyes. He'd kissed her hair, and her neck, and her sore thumb, but he hadn't come anywhere near her lips. Just mentioning something like his nontraditional master/slave dynamic was enough to get a reaction from him, and she was secretly hoping this would, too. She wanted that kiss—wanted it more than she was willing to admit to herself. One touch of his mouth, that perfect sensation of warm and wet, sweet and passionate... She yearned for it. Whatever else still lay between them, unanswered questions, un-dealt-with baggage, she wanted his kiss.
He smiled, stroking one hand slowly through her hair, but the gesture was laced with a kind of aching sadness Rachel was unaccustomed to seeing from her cocky, self-assured phantom. "When you're ready," he said quietly, rubbing her cheek gently with the pad of his thumb, "you'll kiss me."
Midnight.
Rachel still couldn't sleep.
Jesse had sent her home around eight, telling her to return after school tomorrow. She'd spent the better part of the night in her room, ignoring her homework and staring at her closet, unable to figure out what to wear tomorrow. The first part of Jesse's edict seemed simple enough, but on further reflection, it was anything but. How was she supposed to choose what she wanted to wear, not taking anyone else's opinions into account? She didn't even know if it was possible. When she wore more revealing clothes, wasn't that taking the opinion of the student body into account? Because she did it at least partially so she wouldn't get slushied or shoved in the halls? And if Jesse told her to do it, wasn't that taking his opinion into account, regardless? The catch-22 had made her head hurt, and she had gone to bed without a decision.
But now she couldn't sleep, and every minute that passed only ratcheted up the internal anxiety until she didn't know if she could bear to lie still a moment longer. Her mind was her own worst enemy sometimes, and tonight was one of those times. It wouldn't stop turning, wouldn't let her sleep. She needed to be able to talk to someone about this. Not the clothes, but the whole mess with Jesse.
Her phantom had turned out to be her ex-boyfriend, the one person she had given her heart to with no compunctions, and the boy who had broken it as if it meant nothing. He'd wounded her deeply, and the wounds were still fresh and raw. One shared evening couldn't fix that. Jesse sounded like he understood that she needed time, but he was so sure that she would choose him and she had to admit that that rankled. What if she didn't? What if she made up with Finn, instead? Finn was far from perfect, but as she'd told herself so many times before, he was her reality. He would never build castles in the air with her, only to let them come crashing down to earth. Finn was far too practical for that. He was safer, too. The highs of their relationship weren't as high, but that also meant the lows weren't as devastating. She could survive another breakup or three with him, she was fairly sure. With Jesse? Not even close.
So maybe it was best, despite her "overdeveloped sense of duty," as Jesse put it, not to go back. To cut him out of her life now, before he had the chance to hurt her again. Whatever he wanted, which she still wasn't clear on, it didn't matter. What he'd done before was irrevocable. His promises that they could turn her from a nothing to a queen bee in a week were just that—promises. Empty ones, if his track record was to be believed.
But she needed—desperately needed—to be able to talk to someone about this. Sitting with her own thoughts was unbearable. Part of her wanted nothing more than to crawl into her fathers' bed as she'd done when she was small and afraid of the dark, but she was far too old for that now. Besides, she wasn't afraid of nebulous monsters anymore. She was afraid of something far more real, and far more terrifying.
Unable to stay in bed with her thoughts anymore, Rachel bolted. If her dads were still awake, they'd understand. They had to. She stuffed her feet into a pair of sneakers, pulled a light sweatshirt over her tank top, grabbed her keys, and left.
The Berry driveway sloped gently down to the street, so releasing the parking brake and coasting out of the drive before turning on the car was easy enough. Rachel drove aimlessly for a while, not sure where she wanted to go. She didn't have any girlfriends she could confide in, since the people she was closest to were in the glee club and they all hated Jesse's guts. If she even so much as breathed a word of this, her entire world could self destruct. In that sense, Jesse did in fact have the power to absolutely ruin her life even now, when she desperately did not want to give him that opportunity.
But she was desperately lonely, desperately in need of a little comfort, and without really realizing what she was doing, Rachel found herself pulling alongside the curb near the tiny house Finn shared with his mother. The main rooms were dark, but his tiny window was bright with the shifting light that meant he was either watching TV or playing video games. She breathed a sigh of relief, trying to gain comfort from that little swatch of light. Finn didn't follow the sort of rigorous self-care schedule she did, with a regular bedtime, diet, and exercise routine, but tonight she was grateful for that fact. He was her boyfriend. Maybe she couldn't tell him the truth, but she could ask him for comfort, right? That's what he was for, wasn't it?
Slowly she got out of the car, trying to close the door as quietly as possible. Finn lived in a close-knit neighborhood, and any skulking around at midnight would cause a stir. She crept across the lawn, hands thrust deep in the pockets of her sweatshirt, wishing desperately for a pair of warm arms and a sympathetic ear. Even though they were fighting, Finn would provide that. She was sure of it. Because he understood her, didn't he? He'd been there while she picked up the pieces of herself after Jesse's betrayal. He'd taken her back, and their fight now was just transitory. It would pass.
She tapped on the window, smiling a little as his face, scrunched into his trademark video-game scowl, came into view. The sound was muted—in regard for his mother sleeping down the hall, she was sure—and he heard her almost instantly. His hound-brown eyes were confused, the frown on his face not clearing as he paused his game and stumbled toward the window.
"Rachel?" he hissed, pushing the window open. There was still a screen separating them, but she put her hand up anyway, hoping he'd mimic the gesture.
He did not.
"Finn," she said, her eyes flickering over his familiar features. He wasn't as beautiful as Jesse, but that hardly mattered. He was hers in a way Jesse would never be. Sure, his teeth were crooked and his hands were awkward when he touched her, but...but that was the difference between a fairy tale and reality. He was real, and she wanted that. "Finn, I need to talk to you."
"Are you insane?" he demanded in a whisper. "It's past midnight! If my mom wakes up, she'll kill both of us!"
"Finn, please!"
His face didn't soften. "Santana did something, didn't she? When you went to hang out with them? I warned you, Rachel. How stupid do you have to be?"
"Finn!" Rachel felt sudden, hot tears prick her eyes. He had it wrong, all wrong, and she didn't have the words to explain it to him. She knew she should be furious at him, angry at his supposition and the way he chose to express himself. She didn't have the energy, though. She was tired—emotionally drained, and even more desperately in need of someone to share this burden.
"Tomorrow, Rachel," Finn said, sighing heavily. "I'll deal with it tomorrow, okay? You made me lose a life in level two—don't distract me anymore, okay?"
On a normal day, Rachel would have snapped that she was done distracting him for good, and thrown in a stormout for good measure. But she was too tired. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, searching his face for the smallest hint of regret, for any inkling that he was sorry for what he'd said. But there was none, as she knew in her heart there wouldn't be. For all his carefree high school demeanor sometimes, he actually led a very regimented life. When she did things like come to him for comfort late at night, it disrupted his routine and he didn't deal well with that. She knew that about him; she understood, to a point. But understanding didn't erase her desperate need for comfort that would never come.
Slowly, she turned away from the window. There was no point in arguing with him tonight; he wasn't going to change his mind, and she hated feeling like a little lost puppy begging for a pat on the head. She hugged herself tightly as she returned to her car, holding her breath to keep the tears at bay. She needed someone else right now—needed company that wasn't herself.
And if Finn wouldn't give it to her, there was only one place she knew to find it.
The key was in her pocket, heavy and warm with her body heat, so she didn't bother knocking. He'd told her to use it, to consider the condo hers as well as his. The minute she unlocked the door and slipped inside the darkened room, her rapid heartbeat seemed to calm. She could smell the lingering traces of tomato and garlic from their earlier dinner, and the warm temperature at which he kept the place eased the goosebumps on her arms. She shed her shoes and sweatshirt by the door, locking it behind her, before fumbling along the hall toward the bedroom.
His door was open, and the smell of him was strong and sweet as she stepped inside. "Jesse?" she said quietly. She'd been so sure before, but now that she was here, doubts began ringing in her mind again. "Are you awake?"
What if he told her to leave, too? What if he'd created this mess only to leave her alone with it, unwilling to ease the frantic fear his unexpected return to her life had created? He was capable of immense cruelty; she'd felt it firsthand. Now she needed him. Would he crush her again, as he'd done before?
He shifted, the sound of his body against the sheets a soft hiss. "For chrissakes, Rachel," he said groggily, "it's past one a.m. Come to bed."
She nearly choked on the relieved sob that got caught in her throat, and she slipped quickly under the blankets he held open for her. His bed was warm, his body warmer, and she burrowed into his chest, breathing him in, feeling the threatened tears finally spill over. His arms closed around her, firm and sweet, and he tucked her head under his chin, finding the perfect place for her to settle in.
"I've got you," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "Whatever it is, it's okay. I've got you now. Everything will be fine."
It was like the wall had just...disintegrated. She couldn't entirely believe him but, for the moment, that was okay. His arms were perfect, holding her just tightly enough that she felt secure and safe, his scent surrounding her. She buried her nose against the soft cotton of his shirt, feeling her heartbeat slow slightly from its previous frantic pulsing. He shifted, freeing a hand so he could stroke her hair, weaving his fingers through the long strands.
"You're going to ruin everything," she whimpered, pressing closer to him, feeling the damp spot her tears were leaving against his shirt. "I won't have anything left."
"I'm going to ruin your relationship with Finn," Jesse said, tightening his arms. "But, baby, that's doomed anyway. And when it's over, you'll find that you have a lot more than when you started. You'll have me, and yourself, and a beautiful future that isn't full of regrets or guilt. A future that doesn't include Lima, Ohio."
Rachel only cried harder. He was building up her hopes again, and she was too tired to keep him at bay. "I'm not supposed to want you," she said, sniffling, the words wet with tears. "I'm not supposed to want that!"
"But you do." Jesse kissed her head, one of his hands rubbing soothing circles against her back. "You do, just like I want you, and that's okay. I promise, sweet girl. I can prove that it's okay."
"How?" she asked, raising watery eyes to look at him. He was a darker shadow among shadows, but when she put out a hand his familiar features flowed under her fingertips.
"Tomorrow," Jesse promised. He kissed her fingers and tucked her close again, pulling the blankets up around them both. "Sleep now. I'm going to hold you all night, and we'll figure it all out in the morning."
She could do that. The warm pressure of his arms was exactly what she needed, and the rest of it could wait.
A/N: Yes, dark!Jesse is coming back, I promise, but Rachel needed some snuggly time first. Happy new year!