Last Shelby part - it's been a long time coming, considering this chapter was only meant to be split into two! Just when I'd started to get used to writing her, as well. My thanks as usual go to the reviewers who never fail to make my day: JackyKay (Quinn & Jesse was nothing more than a mention to be honest - they're friends and they keep in touch but they're on different sides of the country so I wouldn't worry), Vienna98, Anna, KateGreysFan and AliceCullenForever101. You all rock!
Shelby: of Acquaintances and Anger, part IV
"Five, six, seven-and-eigh- Oh, for God's sake Baker, if I'd wanted a dancing monkey I'd have gone to the zoo! It's jump on six, twist on seven. Surely that's not too much to compute. From the top, everyone." A collective groan starts to rise from the stage but they quickly fall silent as Shelby raises a questioning eyebrow, just daring one of them to complain. She's feeling strained, irritable and unreasonable, and would like nothing better than to vent her frustrations on an unsuspecting teenager, but unfortunately the team seem to have recognised her foul mood and are wisely choosing to toe the line.
At least the vocals seem to be coming together; this is the second night running of long practises and finally a couple decent singers are starting to stand out. Unfortunately their choreography still leaves a great deal to be desired. They seem to have lost the ability to move in sync with one another over the summer, and any patience Shelby had at the start of the rehearsal is fast waning. Still, they've been going for four hours straight, and the freshmen are unused to the demanding schedule whereas the older pupils are out of practise. She sighs. "Fine, take five. Drink a red bull. I want you all cartwheeling back onto this stage, you've got so much energy." The newest members exchange nervous glances apparently trying to work out whether or not she's kidding but, unwilling to let the opportunity of a break slide, they quickly disperse.
It's not until the auditorium has emptied and Shelby is reshuffling her papers that she hears the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. "Unless your limb's literally hanging off, I don't want to hear it," she snaps without looking up. "Take a painkiller and suck it up, it won't kill you."
The newcomer laughs and Shelby finally turns, realising it isn't one of her Vocal Adrenaline kids (apart from anything else, they all have too strong a sense of self-preservation to laugh at her in a mood like this). "Will," she greets, rising swiftly to her feet. Her stomach twists in concern at his arrival but then she catches sight of his amused expression and lets out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. He wouldn't look like that if something was wrong with Rachel. "Spying already?" she asks, trying not to let the tension show. "I know you guys need as much help as you can get, but honestly, you could at least wait for the Invitational before you come poking around."
Will laughs again before stepping forward and engulfing her in a hug. She manages to react with slightly less surprise this time, forcing her body to relax into his and surprising herself with the comfort she finds in the contact. After a few seconds he breaks away, grinning, and Shelby feels the remaining tension drain from her body. "Ah, but I've got my woman on the inside now, no need for spying anymore," he points out, eyes twinkling. "Besides, if all we have to worry about is a band of... what was it? 'Dancing monkeys?' I think we're doing alright."
Rolling her eyes, she sinks down in one of the spectator seats feeling suddenly very tired and gestures for him to do the same. "Ah, remember what I told you," she replies teasingly. "They said I couldn't take Nationals with a number-"
"-A number preformed entirely on their hands," he finishes, dropping down into the seat next to her. "But you did, of course. How could I forget?"
She grins, remembering the night that conversation had taken place. His personal life had been even more of a train wreck than hers, which had been somewhat comforting. "Exactly. So just think what I could do with a troop of dancing monkeys." (Basically what she's dealing with at the moment, but that's beside the point.) "You underestimate me, Schuester, that's your first mistake."
He shakes his head, laughing easily, and leans forwards ever-so-slightly. Without realising what she's doing she finds herself doing the same, closing the distance between them so their shoulders knock together, sending a pleasant jolt through her middle. She pulls back apologetically, trying to force back the unfamiliar blush she can feel creeping through her cheeks. "I might've made a lot of mistakes regarding you in the past, Shelby, but underestimating you isn't one of them. You used to terrify me!" He admits this with a mischievous grin, emphasising the used to, and suddenly Shelby is wondering whether their shoulder brush really was an accident.
"And I don't anymore? Damn, you'll have to tell me what I'm doing wrong," she teases to cover her momentary embarrassment. She's forgotten what this is like, this easy banter with a friend about nothing and everything. For a minute she allows stress about Vocal Adrenaline, worries about Rachel and insecurities about her own role – she can't quite bring herself to think 'as a mother' - to slide from her mind, leaving her blissfully calm.
"I've just figured out that there's more to you than meets the eye," he informs her confidently.
She sits back, crossing her arms across her chest and raising an eyebrow. "Is that so?" she challenges.
He nods seriously, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "I've seen past your tough exterior, Shelby Corcoran."
"Keep your voice down!" she replies in a stage-whisper, affecting an expression of deepest horror. "Can't have my kids hearing that."
He leans further forwards, a wicked expression on his face, and it is all Shelby can do to keep her breathing at a steady rate. Her heart rate's already a lost cause; she's sure its loud thumping must have given her away by now. "Can't have them hearing what? That behind the steely outer shell there's a cute, fluffy centre?" he breathes, voice barely above a whisper, breath tickling her neck.
For a moment their eyes lock and then suddenly it's all Shelby can do to keep herself seated, she's laughing so hard. "Excuse me while I go and vomit," she chokes out, and soon they're both laughing. Shelby's not even sure what's so funny, all she knows is that she needs this. She needs to laugh. Because God knows, it's nice to think something in her life at the moment is worth smiling about. It's a sobering thought, and after a few moments the laughter dies from both their lips. It echoes through the empty auditorium for a few seconds longer before there's silence.
"So," Will says after a brief pause. He casts a side-long glance at Shelby, which she pretends not to notice in favour of eyeing her nails. They really need filed; she has an image to maintain after all, teenage daughter or otherwise. "You sound like you're just getting started... long rehearsal?"
Shelby is not naive; she knows full well what he's hinting at and finds herself bristling slightly at the intrusion. "Something like that," she replies evasively, unwilling to play straight into his hands. If he's going to persist down this line of questioning, she has no intention of making it easy for him. "Got to get them whipped into shape before I get Dakota Stanley in. He'd have had a heart attack if he saw them today."
Apparently Will has no qualms about persisting, for he ignores her mention of the choreographer and goes for a more direct tact. "What about Rachel?"
"What about her?" Shelby snaps irritably. Even she is surprised by how volatile her emotions are these days; she has gone from irritation to hysterics and back in the space of about three minutes. She cannot remember the last time she felt emotion so acutely, let alone allowed it to play havoc with her moods. Usually emotion is reserved solely for performance, but these last few days she's been struggling to keep it under control. "She has a key and money to get home. She's hardly spoken two words to me since Saturday night so it shouldn't make a difference where I am. Figured I might as well do something usefu with my timel." Shelby is shocked by how bitter she sounds.
Will's face instantly softens and he reaches out to place a comforting hand on her knee. "Shelby, you don't really think-"
"Was there a reason you're here?" she cuts him off sharply, getting to her feet swiftly so that his hand falls away. She crosses her own arms across her chest and takes a step back, distancing herself from him and his cursed pitying tone.
Undeterred he stands too, rubbing a hand over the afternoon shadow starting to build on his chin. He seems to consider for a moment. "Yes. I came to check on you," he admits after a beat, dropping his hand to hang limply by his side.
Shelby, having expected a lecture on proper parenting technique, deflates slightly, confused. "On me?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"
Apparently sensing the slight drop in hostility Will takes a step towards Shelby, once again closing the gap. She doesn't move, just keeps her eyes fixed unblinkingly and challengingly on his. "I just wanted to see how you're coping with everything. Big change, having a teenager come to live with you - especially a one as high maintenance as Rachel!"
The attempt at a joke falls flat, but Shelby finds herself oddly touched by his concern. "Oh, well sure. But I'm fine, everything's going fine," she says quickly and, even to her own ears, utterly unconvincingly. Sort yourself out, woman, she berates herself. She's supposed to be an actress. She's Shelby Corcoran. The more often she finds herself repeating the mantra over the passing days, the less effect it seems to have. Right now, she's not entirely sure who Shelby Corcoran is.
"Shelby..."
"Seriously Will," she says, her voice stronger this time. "We're... adjusting." Adjusting to avoiding one another. Shelby is not a woman to easily admit defeat, and indeed she has no intention of doing so, but Rachel has become increasingly stoic as the week has progressed. Indeed, her only display of emotions have come in the form of screaming matches, during many of which Shelby finds herself sinking to her daughter's level and screaming right back. She can't remember a time when she was less in control of her emotions than she has been this past week; even during pregnancy she managed to remain largely composed. She chooses instead to stay out of Rachel's way as much as possible, convincing herself that if Rachel wants to come to her, she'll do so in her own time.
Apparently she's painfully transparent, for Will cocks an eyebrow. "That's why you're still here at seven o'clock?" he asks, voice irritatingly innocent.
Something inside Shelby snaps, as it has so many times in the past few days, and it's all she can do to keep her voice even. "I told you, she doesn't need me! She just wants to be on her own. Trust me, Will, I'm doing her a favour." She's not sure whether tears or anger are threatening, but she has no intention of allowing either to surface.
He takes another step forwards so that there is hardly any air between them. They are almost exactly the same height, helped by the impressive set of heels she put on this morning. A good pair of heels always makes her feel more in control. "And you don't think you're helping, just by being there?" he asks softly, reaching out to brush something from Shelby's cheek. It takes her a moment to realise that it's a tear.
"I... I don't know what I'm doing," she admits, voice cracking slightly as she realises defeat. Impossibly he moves even closer and she can feel his breath tickling her cheek. For a second neither of them move, and then slowly, eyes never leaving hers, Will leans forward and their lips meet. It is nothing like the passionate affair on his settee; it is gentle and careful and tender. The hand which brushed away her tear is now cupping her face and his other hand rests on the small of her back. Shelby allows her eyes to flutter shut, allows herself one moment of feeling nothing but the sweet taste of his lips, before she steps back and breaks the contact. "This is a bad idea." She attempts to sound authoritative, but the statement comes out as little more than a whisper.
Undeterred, Will recloses the gap. "Feels like a very, very good idea to me," he replies, voice husky.
Shelby shakes her head and takes another step back, and this time with the distance comes a sense of time and place. The middle of a Vocal Adrenaline rehearsal, for God's sake. "Of course it does," she responds, her voice a good deal stronger as she gets her wits about her. "You're a guy, you think with your trousers."
Evidently offended by this observation, he raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, every bit as petulantly as she has heard Jesse whinge.
Shelby crosses her arms loosely back across her chest. Clarity and control has rapidly returned and she's already mortified by her behaviour. The last thing she needs is for one of her kids to walk in and see her lip-locked with the opposing team's coach. "It means I like you Will, but you're right. I need to focus on Rachel and this" - she gestures between the pair of them – "isn't fair on her."
Will's eyes have gradually softened as he, too, seems to have returned to his senses. "Rachel's not the only one who this is hard on, you know," he points out gently.
"What are you on about?" Shelby snaps in return, unwilling to let her barriers down again. Vocal Adrenaline will begin filling up the auditorium again any second now, and Will needs to get the hell out before she falls apart completely. "She's the one who's lost her parents."
"This is a massive adjustment for you," he insists in what's clearly supposed to be a placating tone. "It takes time. I get that."
"You don't get anything," she tells him shortly. "Like I said, Rachel and I are fine." Her voice leaves no room for argument and after surveying her for a second he lets out a defeated sigh.
"Okay, okay. You're fine." His tone says quite clearly that he believes anything but.
"We are," she insists stubbornly.
He surveys her critically a moment longer. "Well then, I'll let you get back to your rehearsal. If you need anything..."
"I'll call."
He seems to be considering saying more but in the end thinks better of it. "Take care of yourself, Shelby," he settles for, stepping forwards deftly and kissing her on the forehead before she has a chance to react. He slips away through the rows of chairs, leaving a stunned Shelby in his wake.
A few seconds later students begin reappearing on the stage, causing Shelby to wonder whether they really have just finished their break or have been waiting for her conversation to finish. Either way, she can't really bring herself to care. "Alright, that'll do for tonight," she shouts once they have all assembled. Looks of disbelief are exchanged. "Go home, get some sleep. I'm not here tomorrow but I expect this routine sorted by Thursday. If I hear you've been slacking I'll personally make sure you're step-ball changing in your sleep, you've spent so much time practising." The freshmen's eyes widen in fear while the older students barely stifle groans.
The feeling of control over her emotions grows stronger as she watches them break out into chatter and leave the stage. Vocal Adrenaline is nothing if not consistent and right now, consistency is just what she needs.
GLEE!
Despite her new resolve to get home, Shelby still manages to distract herself for a further half hour by busying herself with some long overdue paperwork, and then longer still by deciding her office simply needs a tidy, and it can't possibly wait. It isn't until nearly nine o'clock after the janitor finally insists he locks up and that she needs to go home that she pulls into her driveway, a vegetable curry and chicken madras on her passenger seat. Her prediction has proved correct; she is already out of ideas for what to feed Rachel, and can't quite bring herself to ask her daughter what her dads used to cook for her. For tonight, at least, takeaway will have to do.
The door is unlocked allowing Shelby to nudge the handle down with her elbow and kick it open, arms laden with bags and books. "I'm home!" she shouts up the stairs once she's manoeuvred inside and shut the door, before proceeding through to the kitchen and dumping her load on the table. "Rachel?" she shots a little louder this time, pulling out two plates as well as knives and forks. Her stomach is rumbling at the smell of the Indian. "I've got dinner!"
She finishes setting the table and has moved her schoolbags through to the lounge before she finally goes upstairs in search of her daughter. "Rachel?" she says, pausing outside the guest room – Rachel's room, she reminds herself – and knocking. "Rach, are you in there?"
A muffled grunt sounding suspiciously like 'go away' sounds through the door, and Shelby decides to take this as an invitation to enter. The room is painted a neutral cream with simple oak furniture and Shelby makes a mental note that she will need to ask Rachel if she wants to decorate; the colours seem quite unbefitting of the cheerful, talented diva she saw perform Don't Rain On My Parade. Perhaps, though, it's a conversation best delayed for a couple of weeks, at least until things have settled down. "Dinner's out downst..." Shelby starts, but trails away as she takes in the scene before her.
Rachel is lay face down on the unmade bed – which has, until this point, been kept meticulously tidy – shoulders shaking with silent tears, and fisting one half of her new pyjama bottoms. The other half are hanging off the end of the bed, a tattered edge indicating where they've been torn apart. Uncomprehending, Shelby's eyes sweep the room and they fall upon several pieces of material strewn in various unlikely places, which can only be the remains of the matching pyjama top. "What happened?" she says, struggling to disguise the incredulity in her voice. Her eyes fall upon the scissors from her sewing kit and then flick back to Rachel.
"I told you to go away," comes the response from the bed and a second later Shelby is ducking as a trouser leg comes flying towards her face.
"Rachel," she chides, struggling to makes sense of the scene before her. She isn't angry – the pyjamas weren't especially expensive and the material missile was hardly going to hurt had it hit – just extremely confused. She makes her way cautiously to the bed, plucking the remains of the pyjama trousers from the mattress and dropping them to the floor; they've been pretty well butchered and are clearly a lost cause. She sits down and reaches out a cautious hand to Rachel, who has dropped her head back into the pillow. Her shoulders are no longer shaking but she seems to have no intention of communicating. She stiffens slightly as Shelby places a hand on her back, but other than that doesn't respond, so Shelby starts rubbing slow, comforting circles.
They sit like this for a couple of minutes, Shelby trying to piece together the pieces of the puzzle, but nothing seems to fit. Rachel has been wearing the pyjamas since last Friday and certainly hasn't expressed any particular dislike for them. Perhaps, Shelby considers, Rachel hasn't really paid any attention to what they look like until now, but even if this is the case the reaction seems a bit extreme. Shoving them to the back of a drawer would have been equally as effective. She is about to ask when Rachel stirs, pushing herself up slowly into a cross legged position. Her eyes are red and puffy as Shelby has seen them many a time over the past few days, although she hasn't actually seen her cry since Saturday. It seems to be one of the many things Rachel prefers to do alone.
"I'm sorry about the pyjamas," Rachel offers into the silence. She avoids looking at Shelby, instead fingering the hem of her vest top. "They were really nice."
More confused than ever, Shelby pulls her own legs up onto the bed and sits across from Rachel, mirroring her cross-legged pose. "That's okay," she says cautiously, feeling like she is balanced on the edge of a cliff, and one gust of wind could send her in either direction. "We can get you a new pair."
It is apparently the wrong direction, for inexplicably Rachel's eyes begin filling up with tears. Shelby instinctively reaches out a hand but Rachel pulls backwards and clambers off the other side of the bed, snatching up part of her pyjama top as she goes. "No we can't," she insists, knuckles whitening around the material.
Shelby, too, gets to her feet. "Rachel, sweetie, I don't understand. Do you want a different pair? You can come and choose, if you li-"
"You can't just replace them!" Rachel snaps, throwing her arms in the air in anger. "I loved my old pair, and I know you mean well, and I appreciate the new ones, but they're not the same." Tears stream down her face and she rubs at them angrily with the scrunched up ball of material. "I want my old pair back. I tried to like these ones, I really did, but they make me so angry." She sniffs and then speaks so quietly Shelby struggles to catch the words. "You can't just replace them."
A dead weight settles in the pit of Shelby's stomach as she realises what the conversation is really about, and suddenly the bed between them may as well be a gaping chasm between two cliff edges. She searches desperately for words to articulate some form of comfort or reassurance, but none come. "Rachel..." she trails away, no idea how to finish the sentence. Instead she moves around to the end of the bed, intent on approaching her daughter, but Rachel backs away into the wall, the material sliding from her grasp.
"Please," she sniffs, the anger apparently deflated. "Please, I don't want to talk about it. Just leave me alone."
Shelby hesitates, feeling herself torn in two opposite directions. Being a mother, it was supposed to be so natural, but instead she finds herself stumbling through the dark, desperate for some sort of guidance. Rachel is pushing against her, and everything Shelby has ever known has taught her to push back; the gap is widening and she finds herself struggling fruitlessly for purchase. She longs to be back in the Carmel auditorium, doing something she knows and is good at. This - this being a mother - she can't do, so she ignores the half of her screaming to comfort Rachel and backs away, hating herself with every step. "Dinner's downstairs," she says quietly. "Just... whenever you're hungry, come and get something to eat." Rachel nods without looking up and Shelby quickly leaves, intent on devising some new horribly complex choreography for Vocal Adrenaline.
Three hours later before she stumbles into bed and falls into a restless sleep, Shelby throws away two unopened cartons of cold takeaway.