A/N: Aaand we're back! RL sucks, so I'm escaping into the wonderful world of St. Berry. Was anyone else having trouble reviewing last week? Sometimes it would work for me and sometimes I'd get error messages. Grr. Anyway, all standard disclaimers apply, like always.
Scale the Glass Mountain
Three hours later Shelby had not yet arrived, and Jesse muttered some choice curse words under his breath as he paced the foyer. His old choir director was nothing if not consistent. If she said she was going to do something, she did it. At least, she used to. He scowled at the front door for the umpteenth time, then peered into the parlor where he'd left Rachel.
She was still there, curled in the same awkward position on the decorative couch, and while she was still asleep her expressive face looked troubled. This was the kind of sleep she'd awake from feeling cranky and unrested; Jesse knew from experience.
Pausing in the doorway, Jesse wrestled with his choices. Rachel looked miserable, and he hated to see it. But moving her deeper into his aunt's house - taking her upstairs - would solidify her renewed presence in his life in a profound and irreparable way. He tugged a hand impatiently through his hair, wishing that Shelby and Rachel's dads would hurry up and arrive so they could get this whole unpleasant business over with as quickly as possible. He didn't want to be saddled with Rachel any longer than necessary.
A small, quiet part of Jesse whispered to him, telling him the things he most feared. The damage had already been done. Seeing Rachel again, having her so unnervingly close, had already sent him back into the tailspin of uncertainty he'd tried so hard to forget while in California. Yes, she was part of him. No, his life would never be the same once he'd touched her. But he had been managing. At UCLA, he had been getting by. In time, he'd told himself, he would learn to live peacefully with the ghost of her memory as his constant companion. But that tiny, incessant voice told Jesse that this plan of action was no longer possible. She was too alive, too vital, and seeing her again had turned everything upside down.
Maybe if he hadn't pushed her so far, he tried to tell himself. Maybe if he hadn't made her cry, hadn't forced her into a catatonic state, they could have parted again with little renewed angst between them. But her willful refusal to listen had twisted something inside him - a memory, an emotion long since buried. Rachel never listened to anyone else. She did what she wanted. It was one of the things that drew him to her at first, and also one of the things that made her so infuriating. Her idiotic decision to make that stupid "Run Joey Run" video, for instance, had deeply hurt him. Anyone else could have seen it was a bad idea, but she did it anyway. He had to admit that he was still carrying around some resentment because of it, too.
And that was galling. One stupid play for attention by a high school girl shouldn't still be smarting almost a year later, Jesse thought. Yes, she'd wounded his pride. But he'd always had plenty of that to spare. What was it about the blow from Rachel that hurt so badly? He tried to tell himself that he didn't know, that he had no answers to that particular question, but it was disingenuous and deep down he knew it. Rachel was capable of hurting him in ways very few other people could. Not even his parents. Shelby had once had that kind of power over him, too, but the final messy debacle and redrawing of lines between Vocal Adrenaline and New Directions had destroyed his relationship with his mentor. He no longer cared what Shelby Corcoran had to say. She was banished from his heart, from the miniscule number of people able to see - and therefore wound - the real Jesse St. James. So why was Rachel so different? Why hadn't he been able to banish her as easily as her mother?
With a final irritated oath, Jesse made up his mind. He slipped his arms around Rachel's small frame and lifted her easily. She shifted in her sleep, curling closer in his grip, and Jesse tensed. His mind was screaming at him, warning him that this was not a good idea. But his conscience wouldn't let him just leave her on the uncomfortable couch. So, against his better judgment, he carried her up the stairs and into his room. His aunt hadn't given him permission to disturb any other rooms in the house, and Jesse didn't quite dare to do so without her say-so. She wasn't currently mad at him, and he didn't want to do anything to incur her wrath right now. She'd gone easy on Rachel, whether the girl believed it or not. He was not looking forward to being around when next Becca's ire was fully roused.
Rachel's shoes had been left downstairs, and Jesse didn't bother touching any of her other clothes as he lay her on the lumpy mattress in his godawful room and pulled the blankets over her. She curled into a ball but did not wake, and the unsettled expression did not leave her face.
Jesse toyed with the idea of calling Shelby again. He didn't want to do it, but he also didn't want to sit up all night waiting for her. She'd never been irresponsible like this before, and Jesse didn't know how to respond. Having Shelby back in his life in any form was hard enough, but he was used to her being his rock. She had been the only constant, stable adult figure in his life for four long years. She kept him disciplined, turned him into the highly-trained powerhouse he was today. His successes in life were due to three things: his talent, his parents' money, and Shelby. Whatever debt he might owe her for that weighed heavily on his shoulders, even after so long without contact. She might not be part of his inner circle any more, but a St. James always paid his debts. That had been instilled in Jesse from a very early age.
Just as he was toying with his phone again, the doorbell rang.
Jesse lunged for the stairs, sudden panic gripping his chest. He'd meant to be downstairs and waiting when Shelby arrived. Not upstairs. This was so not good.
As Jesse skidded into the foyer, the sight he'd been meaning to avoid met his eyes. His Aunt Becca stood in the open doorway, her back stiff with displeasure as she eyed the equally-unhappy form of Shelby Corcoran.
Shit.
Shelby and Becca had met before on several occasions, and none had been pleasant. Jesse's aunt disliked show business because of bad blood between herself and her ex-husband. When he left for Paris, trailing like a lovesick fool after a French chorus girl, she swore never to attend the theater or ballet again. Jesse's obvious flair for performing, even as a young child, had therefore grated. She had to be begged and cajoled to attend his performances, and even then oftentimes she refused to go. The appearance of Shelby in Jesse's life marked the turning point where he dedicated himself full time to the performing arts, and Becca never forgave Shelby for it. She swore his choir director was a corrupting influence, turning him against a long-standing tradition of successful family businessmen and women. His scholarship to UCLA, largely influenced by Shelby's recommendations, she considered a personal affront. Though relations between Jesse and his aunt had never been smooth, they became decidedly icier when he announced his intention to matriculate. Becca blamed Shelby, and Jesse suspected she would do so until the day she died. His aunt was never one for changing her mind.
"Jesse." Shelby was the first to notice him, and a look of relief flashed across her sharp features. "Tell your aunt that you called me."
"Three hours ago," Jesse said irritably. He couldn't help himself. It was after eight in the evening now, and he'd been waiting on Shelby for hours. If he'd known it would take her this long to get here, he wouldn't have bothered. Rachel's dads would be here sometime after two a.m., coming in on a red-eye flight. No one would be getting much sleep tonight; that was clear, if nothing else. But Jesse didn't want to see Shelby if he didn't have to, and if he'd known that Rachel would just fall asleep, he wouldn't have called her. Her fathers would be here in a few hours - wasn't that enough?
"Young man," Becca said, turning to Jesse, "you mean to tell me you've invited this...person to my house without asking permission first? You know how I feel about that."
Jesse wanted to retort that he'd never had to ask permission before, but he bit back his words. He knew what this was about, and it wasn't the unannounced nature of Shelby's appearance. The problem was Shelby herself. "She's here about Rachel," he said instead, trying to keep Shelby's relationship with her deliberately vague. Becca already didn't like Rachel. There was no reason to clue her in on the girl's parentage and thus brew even more animosity. Rachel would be gone by the morning if all went well. Bringing up the past at this point was unnecessary.
Still not moving aside to let Shelby in the door, Becca's sharp gaze flicked from one performer to the other. Jesse felt her calculating stare, and he forced himself to stand firm under it. "You're acquainted with the runaway?" she asked finally, directing her question at Shelby though she refused to look directly at her.
"Rachel is my daughter," Shelby said. Jesse mentally facepalmed as he waited for the inevitable reaction. This was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid. He knew Shelby didn't understand his aunt like he did and therefore had no reason to hide the relationship, but he couldn't help the intense irritation he felt toward his former choir director. Shelby was supposed to be a master at reading people. It was the first step in successful manipulation, after all, and what else was acting but another form of it? So why was she tipping her hand?
Becca sniffed, then slowly stepped aside. "I might have known you'd have something to do with a girl like that."
The caution on Shelby's face vanished, replaced with blunt surprise. "Just what are you insinuating?" she demanded. "There's nothing wrong with Rachel."
"Of course you'd think that." Becca glanced at Jesse again. "You - boy. I'm not pleased with this turn of events. For the record, why is that girl in my house if her mother is here in the city?"
"Shelby and Rachel are estranged," Jesse said tightly, "but the police told me to call her, since Rachel's dads couldn't be here right away."
"Estranged?"
Shelby opened her mouth, but before she could say anything Jesse overrode her. He had no wish to know her version of events. "She asked me to help her form a relationship with Rachel last year, which I did. Then she decided the whole motherhood thing wasn't all it was cracked up to be and she split, leaving Rachel in the lurch."
"Jesse - " Shelby started, but his Aunt Becca held up a restraining hand.
"If that's true," the older woman said, her voice firm and clear, "then tell me why I should let her in to see the girl now? It doesn't seem to be in anyone's best interest. Certainly not the child's."
Jesse wanted to ask when his aunt started caring about Rachel's best interest, but he refrained. She was a strange creature, his Aunt Becca. She could turn on you at a moment's notice, but she was also firmly on the side of whomever she thought was being wronged. While she did not approve of Rachel's behavior, she disliked Shelby more. Her animosity toward his former choir director went back years, and Jesse had known that if the two of them met while Rachel was in the house it would not turn out well. But it was a chance he felt compelled to take, since the beat cop said Rachel needed an adult right now.
"Ms. St. James," Shelby said tightly, "do you have children?"
"No," Becca said flatly, "and it sounds like you don't either, so don't try that on me."
"Rachel isn't, strictly speaking, mine," Shelby said. "Jesse's right enough about that. But she's still my daughter. And I have a little girl, a baby I had to pick up from daycare and place with a sitter before I could get here. Traveling from Manhattan isn't easy at this time of night." She folded her arms, looking every inch the polished, talented, dangerous woman Jesse knew her to be. "I did it for Rachel, because Jesse asked me to. Now I'd like to know why."
Jesse's aunt did not look satisfied, but she tapped her cane thoughtfully against the polished floor. "You have until her rightful parents show up," she said finally. "Then I want you out of my house. Don't darken this doorway again."
"Believe me," Shelby said, walking deliberately past her and deeper into the house, "I didn't intend to do it this time." She turned to Jesse. "Where is she?"
"I moved her upstairs a while ago. I didn't know how long you'd be." He jammed his hands deep into his pockets and nodded Shelby toward the stairs. "She's asleep right now."
He heard his aunt disappear back into her sitting room, and he breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was over, for now. Leading the way to his room, he listened to the efficient tap of Shelby's heels behind him. She was dressed smartly in black slacks, a black blazer, and a brilliant red blouse that brought out the dusky undertones to her skin, something Rachel also shared. His memory presented him with a vivid picture of the first time he'd ever seen Rachel - at McKinley's Sectionals competition the previous year. She'd been in black then, with a red sash, and the colors had done the same thing to her young, sweet skin. Biting back a growl of frustration, Jesse pushed the image away. There was no point in dwelling on memories like that now. They were in the past. Jesse had his future to think about - a future that included Los Angeles, but not Rachel Berry.
"So your aunt still hates me, huh?" Shelby said, breaking the awkward silence.
"She's not the only one." Jesse knew the words were unkind, but he couldn't help himself. He didn't even quite know who he was talking about at this point - himself or Rachel. Did he hate Shelby? He really didn't think so. He'd removed her from his life; she was a non-entity now as far as he was concerned. But that wasn't the same as hate, was it? And yet, still there was a hole where his mentor used to be. He had learned to live without her quite successfully, where he wasn't so able to live without Rachel. But that didn't mean her choices hadn't hurt him.
"Look, Jesse - "
"No." He held up his hand to forestall her explanations as they reached his room, and he pushed the door open. Golden lamplight spilled into the darkened hall. "I don't want to hear it. Aunt Becca hates you because you're the reason I'm at UCLA. You're the reason I'm pursuing a theatrical career, and she hates the theater. But as far as I'm concerned, you and I owe each other nothing. Not after last year." He forced himself to look her in the eye, and it was clear Shelby knew exactly what he was talking about. Under normal circumstances, he'd owe her quite a bit actually. But that was before Shelby put the wheels in motion to bring Rachel into their lives. Nothing she'd ever done for him would make up for the mess that had caused for all involved. "But you owe Rachel," he said, pointing Shelby into the room. "You owe her, and that's why you're here."
Shelby hesitated a moment before crossing to the bed. She sat on the edge, the lumpy mattress sagging under her weight. "What happened to her?" she asked, her voice hushed as she watched Rachel sleep. Almost reflexively, she reached out a manicured hand and brushed stray bangs out of Rachel's eyes.
"I don't know what happened in Ohio," Jesse said, leaning against the doorjamb and refusing to move any further into the room. Unpleasant emotions swirled within him, and the maelstrom of unspoken feelings that whirled between Shelby and her sleeping daughter was too much. He couldn't go near it; the pull would drag him irreparably under. "She ran away about a week ago. I found her today." Briefly he sketched the nature of their meeting to Shelby, and the inevitable argument it caused. "Then she broke," he admitted, carefully betraying no emotion. "She wouldn't respond - wouldn't talk to me or the cops. They told me to call you, and Rachel fell asleep. End of story."
"Succinct," Shelby said. "Who knew you could tell a story with just the facts and no melodrama?"
"Bite me, Shelby."
"Watch it, kid. You may not be my responsibility anymore, but we both know rudeness doesn't become you."
"And acting all high and mighty doesn't become you. Especially after what you did."
Shelby was silent for a moment. "Did you know Will Schuester asked me to leave her alone?"
"One of his better ideas," Jesse snapped. He hadn't known, but it hardly mattered now.
"He told me I needed to be sure that this was what I wanted, that it wasn't fair to confuse Rachel by going forward with a relationship I might not be completely sure of."
"You can second-guess relationships with significant others, but not with children," Jesse argued. Shelby's words were hitting a little too close to home for comfort. His relationship with his own parents was strained to say the least, and while most of the time he could pretend he didn't care, seeing the same thing happen to Rachel struck a nerve. "You're supposed to figure all that shit out before you have kids."
"I was young," Shelby reminded him gently. "I'd never had a child before. I didn't know how giving her up - how all of those unanswered questions - would affect me. I couldn't know, Jesse. And Schuester made me realize something. Rachel isn't mine. And I don't just mean legally. Emotionally, she doesn't belong to me the way she belongs to her dads. They're good, loving parents, and it's not right for me to go messing with their family dynamics. But Rachel will always be a part of me." She paused and leveled a shrewd gaze at Jesse. "Just like she'll always be a part of you."
Jesse wanted to deny it. Irritation at Shelby's assumptions flared in his stomach, but she pushed on with her speech without letting him cut in.
"That's why you flew all this way to find her, and why I'm here now, too. Because she may not belong to us, but we're all tied together now because of circumstances and the choices we've made."
"The choices you made," Jesse muttered.
"You agreed to help me. Nobody forced you." Shelby touched Rachel's forehead again, ran her fingers down the girl's sleeping cheek. "Jesse, I will never be able to fix what I did to either of you when I chose to get you involved. I could say I'm sorry until I die, but it wouldn't change anything."
She got that right, Jesse thought bitterly. He was stuck with Rachel now, for better or for worse. It was like being married, without the benefits.
"But I can see that the distance isn't making anything better, either. You ran as far away from her and me as you could get, and frankly, you're a wreck, kid." One side of her mouth lifted slightly, though there was no humor in the gesture. "You may not believe I'm a good mother, but let me tell you something. I'm one hell of a teacher. And the teacher in me knows that when you fall off a horse, you don't run away. You get back up again."
"Spare me your metaphors." Jesse straightened, flexing his tired shoulders. He wasn't going to stand here and listen to Shelby's justifications any longer. "Stay with her. I'm going downstairs to wait for her dads."
A/N: Next chapter we get an appearance from Rachel's dads, a plan from Shelby, and more Conflicted!Jesse. Again, I'm sorry these chapters are so short. Hopefully the length of my oneshots makes up for it! Mwah! Love you, duckies!