A/N: Happy St. Berry Week! What? You haven't heard of St. Berry Week? Well, of course you haven't, because I just invented it! In "honor" of all the Finchel nonsense that will suddenly be blared across our TVs this week as S3 kicks off, I'm indulging in an utter riot of St. Berry-ness. No promises, but I'm going to try to post something new and St. Berry every day this week. Anyone else who wants to join in this little act of revolt against Finchel, be my guest!

One caveat - my revision process usually takes weeks, so I'm not going to promise the quality of this week's offerings is going to stand up to the usual. But hey, we're celebrating, right? Right.

Also, I have to give a huge shout-out to Elle Loves Glee for this epic bon mot I received in a PM: "He [Finn] is about as much a rock star as he is in Mensa!" Too perfect!

All standard disclaimers apply.


...But I Have Dreams (Part 2)

"What are we going to do about Jesse?" Hiram asked, leaning back in his armchair. He pinched the bridge of his nose again—this mess was giving him a headache and it didn't feel like it was going away anytime soon.

"What, exactly, are you asking?" Leroy was sprawled on the couch, an arm over his eyes. "The part where Shelby's blackmailing him with his future, or the part where he's upstairs alone with Rachel doing god knows what?"

"She's been alone with boys plenty of times before. What's got your daddy-senses tingling this time?"

Leroy snorted. "Didn't you see how he was holding her? The kid means business. I'm just glad we had 'the talk' with her and put her on birth control last year. If we'd waited, by now it might be too late."

"You think they're—"

"While we're in the house? Probably not. But who knows what they get up to after school, or on nights when we're not home."

"She's too young for this!"

Leroy glanced at his partner, fond amusement tickling the sides of his mouth. "That's not what you said last year. 'Kids are going to do what they're going to do.' Sound familiar? You're just upset because now the potential boy has a face and a name."

Hiram rubbed his temples. "Fine. Okay. Let's drop it for now. We can ask her later. What are we going to do about Shelby?"

Leroy sighed. "I'm not sure there's much we can do, to be honest. We can't protect Rachel from her forever, and Jesse was right. If we try to strong-arm Shelby, the results could be disastrous for him. This current mess notwithstanding, I actually think I kind of like the kid. I don't want to see his future destroyed because Rachel's mother is a vengeful bitch."

"It just seems so strange," Hiram said, shaking his head. "The woman he described is nothing like the Shelby we knew. She was flighty and unreliable, but she wasn't cruel."

"People change. Jesse was probably correct about what losing her dream of Broadway did to her. If she recognized that her unreliable nature had cost her her dreams, no doubt she would have taken steps to change that."

"But to go entirely in the opposite direction? Is it really possible for a person to change their nature that much?"

"I don't know." Leroy turned to look at his partner. "And we won't know unless we decide to meet with her, whether in confrontation or appeal."

Hiram shook his head. "I don't know if I can do that. Honestly—not after what I heard tonight. Jesse may not have the full story, but he's terrified. Anyone can see that. Whatever Shelby is to him, she's put the fear of god in the kid. He doesn't know what to do. I'm not happy about his part in deceiving Rachel, but that's something the two of them are going to have to work out on their own. He doesn't deserve to get caught up in our family mess, regardless."

"Shelby isn't part of our family," Leroy growled.

"She's part of Rachel's, whether we like it or not, and by extension that makes her part of ours, too. I know you're not happy about this—I'm not either. But we can't just put our fingers in our ears and hope it will all go away. Now that Jesse's admitted to the scheme, what is he supposed to tell her? This can't continue, and they're just kids. They need some help."

"So…a talk? Is that what's in order?"

Hiram nodded, though he didn't want to. "It looks that way to me."

They made their way slowly up the stairs, neither particularly looking forward to this conversation. Hiram hated going into any situation without knowing exactly what would happen, and there was no way really to know what the outcome of this talk would be. He barely had an idea of what he wanted to say. Rachel was a good kid, and he honestly believed Jesse was, too. But that didn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things. He suspected that all he and Leroy could do was support their daughter in whatever choice she decided to make, and that knowledge rankled. He didn't like not knowing what was going on, didn't like being unable to help Rachel when difficult things happened.

Rachel's door was closed when they stopped in front of it—just as they had left it. Hiram now wondered if that had been such a good idea. She had boys in and out of her room fairly often—more often than girls, to be honest—but Leroy was right. Jesse was different. Maybe it was the age difference, maybe it was the obvious chemistry she had never exhibited with any other boy. Hiram didn't know exactly, but he understood enough. Sometime soon, he and Leroy would have to sit down with her for a very different sort of talk. He was confident that their previous discussion about contraception and being safe had been taken to heart—Rachel was nothing if not responsible, after all—but now that there was an actual boy in the picture, they should probably reinforce the lesson. Jesse was a force of nature unto himself, and while Hiram generally trusted his daughter not to be swayed by anyone else's opinions or desires, he wasn't entirely sure he could make that same assumption where Jesse was concerned. The way they'd heard him talking to her earlier was an excellent example. He wasn't being rude or condescending, but he was ordering her to do something. That had set off warning bells for both himself and Leroy, and they hadn't been able to step aside and let the moment pass without interceding.

"I don't hear anything," Leroy murmured, raising a hand as if to knock and then dropping it again. "No music. No voices."

Also no bed squeaking. The thought came to Hiram's head before he could do anything about it, though he immediately wished he could banish it from his mind. Did Rachel's mattress squeak? He didn't know. If not, maybe they should replace it with one that did.

A muffled sound from the other side of the door got Hiram's attention. He strained to hear more, but could not. Just as Leroy raised his hand again to knock, the door opened.

"Oh!" Rachel and Leroy both jumped back, and she clapped a hand across her mouth. "You scared me," she said, exhaling deeply.

Hiram assessed his daughter with a critical eye as both she and Leroy caught their breath. She was wearing pajamas, and her hair was slightly damp. Her dark eyes, so startlingly like his own, were clear and untroubled.

"We were just coming to talk to you, honey," Hiram said. "Where's Jesse?" He'd neither seen nor heard the boy leave.

"Sleeping." Rachel stepped back and let her fathers peer around her. Jesse's black-clad form was stretched out along half of her bed, his head buried in one arm, dark curls spilling over his elbow. "It's late. I'm thirsty—I was going to get some water."

Hiram glanced at his watch and had to do a double-take. Hell, it was late. Much later than he'd assumed.

"Thirsty?" Leroy asked, taking her hand and tugging her out into the hall. "Or upset?"

Rachel smiled. Her fathers knew her so well. "Just thirsty, I think," she said, closing the door behind her so Jesse could sleep. If her fathers tried to send him home, she was going to put up a fight. She wanted him beside her tonight. It had been a very long afternoon and evening, and all she wanted to do now was fall asleep with Jesse by her side.

"I know you need to get to bed, sweetie, but can we talk for a minute first?"

Rachel nodded, happy that for the moment they did not seem to be pushing her to get rid of the sleeping boy. She was willing to do just about anything if it meant getting to keep him. "Yes, daddy. I'm tired, but we can talk."

"Good." Hiram extended his hand and she took it readily, padding barefoot down the hall toward her fathers' room. "We won't keep you long."

"It's okay. I know a lot happened today." She sank down in Hiram's big reading chair, smiling as Leroy handed her a cup of water from their bathroom. Yes, they really did know her ridiculously well.

"Honey," Leroy began, "we want to know how you're feeling about…everything, I guess." He rubbed his head, searching for words. "Are you okay?"

Rachel chewed lightly on her bottom lip as she considered her answer. She had never been one to give her fathers single syllables or grunts in return for their questions, and she wasn't about to start now. "I'm angry," she admitted, "and probably still a little confused."

"That's understandable." Leroy looked slightly anxious, and Rachel wondered why. "Who are you angry at? Jesse? Us? Your mother?"

"Only her," Rachel said definitively. This much was abundantly clear to her, if nothing else. "You didn't do anything but try to protect me. If anything, you should be mad at me. I went behind your backs, and I'm sorry. I should have come to you first when I had questions." She played with the edge of her cup, worrying the rim between her fingers. "I just didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"You'll never hurt our feelings with questions. That's what we're here for." Hiram sat on the end of his bed, watching her intently. "You're so very special, Rachel. Your father and I knew almost from the day we met that we wanted children. We also knew how difficult that goal was going to be to reach. It took a long time, but when you were born and placed in our arms...that was quite honestly the best moment of my life. The three of us were suddenly a family. In that moment, as we held you, we looked at each other and we knew we didn't need any more children. You completed us."

Rachel's answering smile was quivery. There was no dearth of love in her family, and she knew that. Most kids had fathers who were either absent or distant—they didn't know how to show love very well. She was more than lucky to have two wonderful dads who had no problem with showing affection. No matter how much torment she received at school, through the years her home had always been a safe haven, a cozy place where she could be herself and know she would always be supported. She wasn't stupid, and she understood how lucky she was. Her wish to know her mother had nothing to do with any feelings of inadequacy about her childhood with her fathers.

"Really?" she said now, feeling the tight ache in her throat that told her tears were moving dangerously close to the surface. She swallowed against the feeling, willing herself to stay focused. Later she could cry her eyes out if she wanted, but not now. "I guess...I guess I always wondered if you'd rather I were different—more like you."

Leroy shook his head fondly. "More like us how? We raised you, little girl, and you are exactly who and what you are supposed to be." He pulled on her hand and Rachel rose, sliding onto the arm of his chair and letting him slip an arm around her waist. She dropped a kiss in his thinning hair, smiling as he squeezed her. "If you meant to ask whether we ever wanted a boy rather than a girl—no." His dark eyes twinkled teasingly at her. "We wanted to know as soon as possible whether you were a boy or a girl so we could properly prepare your room, and I remember we both admitted to being excited about having a girl. We got to dress you in the most adorable girly outfits—frankly, you were the best dressed baby in the county if I do say so myself."

Rachel laughed along with her fathers. She'd seen the copious pictures of herself as a baby and toddler and she had to agree with that statement. Although the snapshot she'd seen of a mop-topped little three-year-old Jesse dressed as a ring bearer for a family wedding probably gave her a run for her money.

"If you're wondering whether we wish you were gay rather than straight, the answer is still no," Hiram added. "All we've ever wanted is for you to be who you are. It's why we hate the bullying at school so much. We never want other people's opinions to affect you so much that you stop being yourself."

Leroy tapped the back of her hand to get her attention. "Do you remember when you were six years old and you begged us to let you cut all your hair off so you would look more like us?"

Rachel hid her face at the memory. "Yes," she groaned, peeking out from between her fingers. "I can't believe I asked that!"

"It made sense at the time. You might not remember, but at school you were doing a project about families. One of the things you were supposed to do was color a family portrait. I remember going to parent-teacher night and seeing all the artwork displayed on the wall. The other kids drew pictures of themselves with a mom—sometimes with a dad or siblings as well. The drawings were exactly what you'd expect—everyone was the same race, and they were all so heteronormative that I could puke." He made a face, and Rachel laughed. "But then there was yours. You'd drawn all three of us exactly as we were—my dark skin, Hiram's glasses, even the nose you two share. You were so pure, Rachel. I thought at the time that you were just too young to know people expected you to be ashamed of how different we were from everyone else, but you know what? I was wrong."

Rachel frowned. "How were you wrong?" It sounded reasonable to her. Six was too young to understand things like that.

"You've never—never—been ashamed of us. It's like you just...refused delivery on that phase in your life. Your open heart and capacity for love never ceases to astound me, honey." Leroy squeezed her gently.

Rachel blinked. "Why on earth would I be ashamed of you?"

"That's exactly what I mean—that, right there. And that's why you're everything we could ever want in a child, Rachel. We're proud of your accomplishments—your grades, your voice—but it's your heart that continues to floor your father and I, every single day."

Rachel was crying in earnest now, and she didn't bother to hide the tears. "I worry," she admitted slowly. "What if I grow up to be too much like her? What if there's too much of her inside me, and I don't know it?"

"The fact that you're concerned about it tells me it isn't true," Hiram said softly. "But she's not a bad person, Rachel."

"Then why would she do that to me—to us? To Jesse?" Rachel demanded. She squeezed the cup in her hands, staring down into her reflection in the water. This was the part she couldn't understand, and the part that scared her. The woman her fathers described and the person Jesse was afraid of seemed like two different people. How was it possible for someone to change so much? If her mother could do it, could she? Might it happen without Rachel even knowing it? She liked herself more often than not. She didn't want to change. Especially not into the kind of person her mother seemed to be.

"I can't give you a reason, princess," Hiram said. "I wish I could." He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling in a pose Rachel knew all too well. He was gathering his control and trying not to cry. He hated not being able to give her the answers to her questions, and Rachel understood that. She tried not to ask questions that resulted in his frustration, but this time they were necessary. There was just so much she needed to know, and no one else to ask. "You have no idea how much I wish I could."

"Daddy, I'm sorry," Rachel whispered. "I just...I need to know. I need to understand why."

"I know you do. You deserve all the answers. Unfortunately, I can't give them to you."

"What can you give me, then?"

There was a short pause, and both men looked carefully at each other, their daughter between them.

"We can give you her name, if you like," Leroy said slowly. "I don't know what sort of help it would be at this point, but isn't that what you wanted in the first place?"

Rachel was about to argue that a name wasn't going to do anybody any good, especially Jesse, when the retort died on her lips. Another piece of the puzzle clicked suddenly into place. The whole picture was slowly coming into focus as each piece snapped into its slot. Her mother was someone who held power over Jesse. She had been chosen as a surrogate for her talent, looks, and IQ. She'd gone to New York but failed in her Broadway attempt and had returned to Ohio to do...something.

"I don't need a name," Rachel said slowly, blinking at her reflection in her cup of water. "I know who she is." As the realization sunk in, Rachel thought she would feel lighter—that the knowledge would somehow be freeing. Instead, she felt the weight of it on her shoulders, the knowledge of that name anchoring her to these uncomfortable feelings and the desperation she had erased, for now, from Jesse's eyes. Her mother was the demon she'd seen lurking under the depths of his beautiful gaze. Jesse had other demons, to be sure, but this was the one Rachel had banished with her touch and her love. Except it wasn't gone—not for good. Not while the spectre of a threat lingered over Jesse's head. "She's his coach. Ms. Corcoran."

Leroy and Hiram exchanged solemn looks that Rachel did not catch. "Yes," Leroy said finally. "I don't know anything about a coach, but that's her name. Shelby Corcoran."

Shelby. It was a funny name, Rachel thought. Almost unisex. It wasn't terribly usual or feminine. She'd never seen the woman, but she'd heard Jesse's stories about her legendary temper and insistence on perfection. At the time, she had yearned for a coach like that herself; for someone willing and able to take her talent to the next level. Now Rachel shuddered. If this kind of conniving blackmail was what came with that sort of coaching talent, she didn't want it. She didn't want anything to do with it.

"Rachel?" Hiram said hesitantly. "Rachel, are you okay?"

Rachel considered the question. All in all, she wasn't okay. The whole situation wasn't okay. Jesse might have his future ripped out from under him at any moment, and all because he'd chosen her over her mother. Guilt weighed heavy on her heart. It wasn't fair. No matter how he had come into her life, he was hers now and she didn't want to give him up. She couldn't give him up. But her mother was offering a terrible choice: lose Rachel or lose his future. She couldn't blame him for attempting to say goodbye. Not under those circumstances. But what were they going to do now?

"I...don't know," she said honestly, looking from one concerned face to the other. Her fathers cared. Her fathers were behind her, no matter what, and she took heart in that. "I think I need some time to think about all of this." There was more she had to think about, too, but they didn't need to know the specifics. Not tonight. She wasn't going to keep her physical relationship with Jesse a secret, per se, but there was no need to blurt it out right now.

"I think that's an excellent idea." Leroy rose from his chair and kissed her head. "It's late. Are you going to sleep?"

"I'm going to try, anyway." Rachel eyed both her fathers carefully, waiting for them to mention the boy currently occupying her bed. Neither did.

"Tomorrow is a half-day inservice if I recall," Hiram said instead. "You don't have to go if you don't want to. I know this is a lot to process."

"Thanks." Rachel stood and hugged her fathers. "We'll see how I feel in the morning."

"Let us know if we need to make an appointment with your therapist."

"Or move him into the spare room," Leroy added. Rachel couldn't quite tell if he was joking.

"Remember that we love you, princess. And whatever you're thinking or feeling, you can always come to us." Hiram paused. "We're going to talk about Jesse soon—the three of us, so please be prepared for that. It won't be tonight or tomorrow, but it's coming."

"Noted." Rachel hid a small smile. She was willing to endure an awkward conversation with her fathers if it meant they weren't going to kick Jesse out tonight. She could totally live with that.

As Rachel left and shut the door behind her, Leroy sighed and dropped back into his chair. "How smart was that, I wonder—ignoring the fact that Jesse St. James is asleep in her bed?"

"If they're sleeping, they're not doing anything else." Hiram rubbed his eyes. "Let's deal with this one thing at a time. Shelby first—then we'll tackle the enigma wrapped in a riddle shrouded in mystery that is Jesse St. James."

"Quoting Churchill might be a little extreme." Leroy wrapped his arms around his partner. "Whatever else he might be, Jesse's still just a boy. And right now, I think the both of them could use a break. We'll scold them about being inappropriate some other time. If they take comfort in each other, let them have it tonight."


Rachel heaved a sigh of relief as she entered her room and locked the door behind her. She snapped off the overhead light, leaving the space lit by only a small table lamp. Jesse had fallen asleep waiting for her to dry her hair after their shower, and she didn't blame him. Sometimes she still had the urge to chop it all off, though she doubted she would ever do it.

He was adorable as he slept, she thought, crawling up next to him on the bed. She sat cross-legged for a minute, doing nothing but watching him sleep. His face was buried in the pillow and hidden by his arm, and his curly hair spilled softly over the crook of his elbow. His fitted black t-shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing a line of pale skin above the top of his jeans. He was barefoot, too, and Rachel reached out slowly, skimming her fingertips lightly across the skin above his jeans. He was beautiful to her, even asleep, even with his face hidden. She couldn't even begin to explain her relief at knowing he was hers—that his goodbye kiss had been erased with a new hello, a new start to this painfully intense relationship. There was a lot she didn't know about him still, and she accepted that fact. Maybe she would never know every facet of Jesse St. James. But after tonight she knew he was hers, and for the moment that was enough.

He twitched slightly as she stroked her fingers across the skin of his lower back, and she smiled softly to herself. His body fascinated her—possibly even more now that she had become acquainted with it in such a personal way. She watched him sleep and chewed lightly on her lower lip as she thought.

She didn't really feel all that different, to be honest. If losing her virginity was supposed to make her feel a certain way, she didn't know what that might be. She felt...tired. Utterly drained both physically and emotionally, as if coming from a vigorous rehearsal so demanding that it left her with nothing in her energy stores. She felt like she needed a chance to replenish what had been exhausted this night, but she doubted it was the sex that made her feel so drained. It was just...all of it. Jesse saying goodbye. Her refusal to let him go. Her fathers' admission, and the pieces of the twisted puzzle clicking into shape. Jesse's deception. Her mother's name. All of it. Everything added together into a swirling maelstrom of questions with no good answers, and she wanted to forget all of it. Push it to the back of her mind until she could reasonably deal with it. Some other day, she told herself. Not tonight. Tonight she wanted nothing but to lie down with Jesse, to keep him with her as she slept.

But he was sprawled on top of the blankets, and that currently wasn't doing either of them any good. Rachel smiled softly and ran a hand through his tousled curls, then lay down beside him. She pulled his arm away from his head, hearing his sleepy protest as he tried to revert back into his previous position. She kissed his cheek before he could bury his head completely in the pillow, peppering soft kisses across his jaw. "Jesse," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Jesse, wake up. Just for a minute." One sleepy blue eye opened, and she smiled again. "There you are."

"Rachel." His voice was thick with sleep, the whisper of a lisp apparent once again. "You stayed."

"It's my room, silly," she said, though she understood what he meant. She kissed his forehead, breathing in the scent of him. He smelled like Jesse, and like sleep, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in his arms and stay there for the rest of the night. "Come on—let's go to bed."

"Already here." He groaned lightly and reached for her, his movements languid and slow, and Rachel easily ducked away from his hands.

"Not yet," she said and, feeling bold, she reached for the fly of his black jeans. She'd never tried sleeping in jeans, but she didn't think it would be terribly comfortable.

Jesse pulled her hands gently away and lowered his own zipper, flashing her a lazy, sleepy smile. "If you do it, I'll wake up more than you want me to," he said. "Trust me on that."

"Are you insatiable or something?" As the words left her mouth, Rachel regretted them. They sounded too harsh, though they were meant to be playful.

But Jesse seemed to take no offense. "Only around you," he said quietly, and he shucked his jeans off. Wordlessly they climbed under the blankets, and Rachel reached over to snap off the lamp on her nightstand. As the room went dark, Jesse's hands slid around her hips, pulling her close into his body. She shivered with the intense rightness of the sensation as she nestled into the circle of his warm arms, his body already loose and pliant with sleep. He held her firmly, as if he had absolutely no intention of ever letting her go, and Rachel smiled to herself, hiding the curve of her mouth against his cotton-clad shoulder. He snaked a leg between hers, tangling their limbs, and something seemed to snap into place. In that moment, Rachel was sure she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She was his. He was hers. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

"You are beyond beautiful," he murmured into her hair. "Please don't ever doubt that."

"I don't doubt you," she replied. "Now go to sleep."

"What about your dads?"

"They didn't say anything about it, and I didn't offer." Rachel kissed his shoulder and snuggled deeper into the warm circle of his arms.

"We're going to talk, right? I hurt you, Rachel."

"I know," she said, "and we're going to talk about it, yes. But not tonight. Please, Jesse—tonight I just want to be held."

His arms tightened, and Rachel felt a hand stroke softly through her hair. "I can do that. For the rest of forever, if you like."

Rachel wanted to tell him not to tempt her; that she was just about ready to take him up on that offer. It felt amazingly perfect to cuddle close to his bigger body, creating their own heat between them. Her familiar bed almost seemed that much softer, that much more comfortable, with Jesse in it, too. She said a silent prayer of thankfulness that her mattress didn't squeak, before she closed her eyes and rested her head near Jesse's. She could feel his gentle breath in her hair, and she liked it. His body was fascinatingly alive—not like hugging a stuffed animal or body pillow. She could hear him breathe, and if she lay her ear just right against his chest, she could even hear the rhythmic pulse of his heart. He shifted slightly now and then, little movements of his head or arms. Rather than distracting, she found it soothing. He was hers, now and forever. She supposed that someday—years and years from now—she might get used to the feeling of Jesse wrapped so tightly around her, but at the moment it was a new and heady experience, and one she was instantly addicted to. So much so that she almost wanted to order him out of her bed that very moment, lest she be unable, in the morning, to let him go.

"Your dads are good guys," Jesse mumbled into her hair, and she could tell by his lazy voice that he was almost completely asleep by this point. "They love you."

"Yes," Rachel agreed. Had Jesse even known she left the room? She doubted it.

"You don't need a mother, Rachel. Just them. You have more than you know already."

She smiled softly into his shirt. Yes, she'd come to the same conclusion. Almost, anyway. Her fathers weren't the only thing she needed. She needed Jesse, too. "I don't get along well with other women anyway," she said, raising a hand and stroking his cheek. "Bad track record. Sleep now. We can talk more in the morning."

"Can I buy you breakfast?"

Rachel had to giggle. "We're not in a hotel, Jesse."

"But still."

His voice was so full of sleep that she seriously doubted he'd remember this conversation in the morning. "If you must," she said, kissing his shoulder. "Now go to sleep."

"Tell me you'll be here when I wake up."

She was pretty sure her heart melted at that moment, if it hadn't before. "Of course I will. I love you, Jesse."

"Love you," he mumbled back, and Rachel felt his body shift slightly as consciousness left him. She snuggled deeper into his arms and closed her own eyes. Tomorrow they could deal with the aftermath. Tomorrow they would figure this whole mess out—together.


"What the hell are you trying to pull?"

A pair of brown eyes widened, and Rachel faltered for an instant before slamming her showface up and refusing to let anything crawl behind it. She could reach behind Jesse's mask now—knew the almost imperceptible fingerholds to catch, knew how to read the murky shadows lurking behind his eyes—but she'd be damned if she let this stranger do the same to her. No matter how disconcertingly similar those big brown eyes were to the ones she saw in the mirror every morning. She wasn't going to let a stranger get the better of her. She squared her shoulders, itching for a fight. Anger churned in her belly—righteous indignation both on her own behalf and for Jesse's.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do, and you'd sure as hell better have a good explanation," Rachel snapped, stalking closer to the elegant woman. "My boyfriend is a wreck, my fathers are ready to rip your head off, and I'm almost ready to let them." She folded her arms and forced herself to stare at what could very possibly be an older version of herself. It was all there—the full mouth, the big dark eyes, the long dark hair. Shelby had a better nose, she thought with resignation. She was also taller, and had a better bustline. Of course.

"Rachel, look—"

"No!" Rachel wanted to squeeze her hands together but she forced herself to keep her arms crossed. Giving away her anxiety wouldn't help her win this battle. "You shouldn't even know my name!"

An expression of profound surprise crossed Shelby's sharper face. "I'm your mother, Rachel," she said, as if nonplussed.

"You were my fathers' surrogate," Rachel argued, denying the plea in the older voice. "Nothing more. Anything else we might have been to each other was lost the minute you forced Jesse to play along with your idiotic plan."

Suddenly everything in Shelby's body relaxed, and she laughed. She actually laughed. Rachel could do nothing but stare. That definitely wasn't supposed to happen. When she'd woken that morning next to a still-sleeping Jesse, she'd known exactly what she had to do. Shelby wanted her. Well, she was going to get her—in the worst possible way. Rachel didn't want to meet the woman who had given her birth, but she couldn't see any other way to free Jesse from the hold Shelby had on him. Her fathers could do nothing. Jesse could do nothing. This was up to her, and her alone.

"Is that what this is about?" Shelby asked, and she lowered herself with careless grace into an auditorium seat. The house lights were dim and no one was on stage, but Rachel could see each line of her mother's elegant form perfectly. Part of her yearned for that kind of confidence of motion, and another part of her rejected it, purely because it came from Shelby. "Sweetie, guys like Jesse are a dime a dozen. He's a wonderful actor, but that's why I chose him to help me. He's only the means to the end, and the end is us—you and me, together as we should be. Don't let a boy get in the way of what really matters."

"Jesse matters," Rachel bit out through clenched teeth. Before yesterday, she might have worried at what her mother was insinuating, but not now. She trusted Jesse. She couldn't do otherwise after feeling how tightly he'd held onto her, begging her not to leave him.

"Jesse St. James doesn't care about anyone but himself. I'm sorry to have to break it to you, but nobody can change a guy like that and it's pointless to try. He was happy to do this for me. Don't waste your time thinking about him—you won't see him again now that we have each other."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is."

"Isn't," Rachel insisted. "He's so much more than you give him credit for. If you can't see that, you don't deserve him just as much as you don't deserve me."

"Rachel—"

"No." Rachel dropped her hands to her hips. "You've been playing us all like puppets, and you don't get to talk anymore. We can do it for ourselves, thanks."

"Honey, there are reasons why I couldn't come to you myself-"

"My dads told me about the contract," Rachel interrupted, cutting her off. She didn't want to know Shelby's side of the story. She didn't need to know it. "How dare you think you can suddenly break a binding legal document just because you felt like it? Doesn't your word mean anything to you?"

"Doesn't family mean anything to you?" Shelby snapped back. Rachel saw it—the glimmer of frustration in those eyes so much like her own. She was getting to Shelby; getting under her skin. She was more than happy to rip the showface right off the older woman, if given the chance.

"Plenty, and I've already got one, thanks."

"Rachel, I'm your mother."

"No," Rachel said firmly, intent on denying that fact no matter how many times Shelby said it. "You're not. You're a surrogate, like I said. I don't have a mom, and I don't need one. I have two wonderful dads, a boyfriend who loves me, and I don't need anyone else."

Shelby shook her head slowly, as if presented with a kindergartener who refused to admit that the sky was blue. "Jesse doesn't love you," she said, pronouncing each word distinctly. "Jesse was meant to bring you to me, nothing more."

"He does love me," Rachel said with utter conviction. Nothing Shelby had to say could change her mind. Before yesterday, sure. Before yesterday, just about anyone could have convinced her that Jesse St. James was only playing her for a fool. She wasn't stupid, and she knew they were worlds apart. The two of them shouldn't work, but they did. Wonderfully, in fact. "He said so last night, and I believe him. He also told me you were blackmailing him with his future, and I think that's completely despicable. How could you do something like that? You're a teacher! You're supposed to create futures, not destroy them."

"He'll live," Shelby said with a shrug. "Pretty boys like that always do."

"That's not fair!"

"You can stop defending him, honey. I can guarantee he wouldn't do the same for you." Shelby moved to stand. "But it's okay—I understand. You're young, and he's suave and good-looking. That's why I chose him. You're going to have to accept that he's not boyfriend material, though."

"No," Rachel insisted. Shelby's continued taunts were getting harder and harder to take. She didn't doubt Jesse, but she knew how she sounded—like a weak, gullible little girl insistent on believing a lie even in the face of incontrovertible proof. "He loves me."

"Do you mean he had sex with you?" Shelby raised an eyebrow. "I warned him about that, but boys will be boys. It's not the same thing at all, Rachel."

"You're a horrible person," Rachel snapped, feeling her patience wearing thin. "I'm sick of this! You want to know what? Yes, I admit it. I slept with him. Not that it's any business of yours. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Because I love him, and I know he loves me." She shook her head, feeling furious tears prick behind her eyes. "You want to know where he is right now? At my house, with my dads. Willingly. Whatever you try to do, they're going to help him. They believe in him, just like I do." Rachel sniffed, refusing to let herself cry. This was not a situation in which tears would be useful. "Look, Ms. Corcoran, this is what's going to happen."

Shelby opened her mouth to protest—probably at the use of the formal name, Rachel suspected, but she didn't let her mother talk. "I'm turning around and leaving Carmel, and I'm never coming back. You are going to leave Jesse and me the hell alone—got it? Both of us. I don't need you, I don't want you, and I'm not going to agree to this plan of yours, whatever it is. Whatever you think you want from me, it's not going to happen. Jesse's staying at McKinley to finish out his senior year, and you're not going to do anything to mess with his scholarship, his college, or his future in any way. In return for leaving him alone, I'm granting one concession." She paused. She didn't want to do this, but she didn't think Shelby would be willing to leave Jesse alone without at least some sort of incentive. "When I turn eighteen, just like it says in the contract—then, and only then, will I consider talking to you. I can't promise any more than that."

"Rachel—" Shelby reached toward her, but Rachel shied away from the outstretched hand.

"No," she repeated. It felt like her word of the day. "That's it. We're done here."


Jesse was in her room when Rachel returned. He jumped up from her desk chair and pulled her into his arms. "Where did you go?" he demanded. "You said you'd be here when I woke up."

Rachel dropped her heavy bag to the floor and rubbed her aching shoulder. Even the short trek from her car to her room had been enough to hurt. She cupped his cheek in her hand and stroked her thumb across his skin. His beautiful eyes were watching her, and she gazed silently back for a moment. No, she couldn't doubt him. Not even after everything Shelby had said. He was here in her house—here in her arms—and Shelby would never, ever know this side of him. All she ever saw was the showface, but Rachel had seen beneath it.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she rolled herself up on her toes to kiss him softly. His mouth was warm and welcoming, and she lingered in the kiss. Nothing would ever feel as right as coming home to this. And someday—someday they'd get to have that for real. To come home to each other, to sleep nestled in one another's arms every night, not just as a one-time fluke. She longed for that day, and yet, she was in no hurry either. Things were good now just as they were. They had plenty of time to figure the rest out later. "I had errands that couldn't wait."

"Are you going to enlighten me?" Jesse pulled away and tried to grab the strap of her bag, but Rachel slapped his hand away. "Your dads said you didn't have to go to school when I asked where you were. They didn't know either."

Rachel took a deep breath. "I went to see Shelby."

Jesse froze. "You did what?"

"Shh." She touched his cheek again, feeling the tension reappear in his jaw. "It's okay. My dads told me last night, but they didn't need to. I was able to guess who she was without their help."

"Rach, I thought we went over this. You don't want a mother like that." He dropped his head into her hand, and she stroked her fingers through his hair.

"I know," Rachel said. "I didn't go to make friends. I went to tell her to leave you alone."

Jesse's head shot up. "You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious." Her second hand joined the first holding his head, and she tipped his face to meet her gaze. "Jesse, your future was on the line because of me. I couldn't live with myself if something bad happened to you. This whole mess isn't your fault."

"It isn't yours either," he said, twisting his head free of her hands. His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her close. "You're not responsible for what she does. She may be your mother, but you're strangers, Rachel."

"I know that, but I still couldn't just sit back and wait to see what she would do to you. I'm sorry, Jesse, but you can't ask me to do that." She rested her head against his shoulder, feeling the warm firmness of his body through their shirts. He was everything she ever wanted, and she wasn't going to lose him over a meddling adult—especially a virtual stranger.

Jesse let out a long breath, the exhalation leeching some of the tension from his body. "I understand," he said quietly. "If the tables were turned, I wouldn't be able to sit back either."

"Thank you for understanding." Rachel smiled against his shirt. He was perfect, in his own way. And he was hers.

"What's in the bag, then? Some devious device to warp her mind and make her agree?"

Rachel grinned. "No. This is the result of my second errand."

"Which was?"

She hefted the bag in her arms again and dumped it on the bed, spilling out a number of textbooks. Senior-level textbooks. "I stopped by McKinley's library. Shelby's sure as hell not letting you back in Carmel after what I said to her, so in order to pass your senior year, you're going to have to actually do some work."

Jesse looked about as terrified as she'd ever seen him, and Rachel hid a smile. "It's okay," she said, leaning forward to kiss him again. "We'll do it together."

"No offense, Rach, but you're just a sophomore."

"An extremely motivated and intelligent sophomore." She let him pull her to sit against him as he sifted through the pile of books with his other hand. "Once I set my mind to something, I don't stop."

"Case in point," Jesse murmured softly into her hair, "I'm still here."

"I couldn't let you say goodbye. Not like that—not with no explanation."

"I'm not complaining." Jesse heaved a resigned sigh. "Not even about the math."

"Really?"

"Not as long as we do it together."

Rachel smiled again and pressed her palm against the hand holding her tightly. She was definitely okay with that.


A/N: One thing - I'm on Pacific Daylight Time, so I think I'm literally one of the last people still up and posting every night while most of you are already well into tomorrow. So when I say I'm trying to post every day, that's every day by my time, kapish? :)