13:57
A/N: Back! Sorry for the loooooong hiatus. Between work, moving, the earthquake, and the hurricane, it's been a busy few months! Anyway, "Concrete Jungles" is back and going strong. As always, reviews are love, and thanks so much for sticking with me over the break.
This is the greatest day of her young life. This is the day that she stops being Rachel (star) Berry and becomes Rachel Berry: star. All of the students have been gossiping: some of the older students say that Broadway producers have a tendency to scout shows out, and there's a campus wide legend who supposedly left in the middle of her freshman year to join a play on the West End. Rachel just knows that if any of them show up at her show tonight that she is bound to know them dead, and will no doubt have to choose between continuing her schooling, or chasing her dreams on the Broadway stage.
It isn't hard to figure out which one will win.
She stares at herself in the mirror. The same reflection that she's seen for the past three years, ever since competing puberty, stares back at her. Straight eyebrows. Full lips. A nose perhaps a tad bit too large, but really it gives her personality and inspires pride in her Hebraic heritage. Lustrous hair. Sparkling brown eyes.
Get ready, New York theater scene. The city will never be the same.
She's just picking up her hairbrush, prepared to launch into the necessary vocal warm-ups, when there's a knock on her door. She frowns. To answer, or not to answer. . .Marion isn't even around, having left at five a.m. to begin practicing. Cellists, Rachel has noted, are just as obsessive as vocalists and other performers. Her roommate's concert is the following weekend, and she' been gone from the dorm almost nonstop.
She assumes that if she waits long enough her visitor will leave. Unfortunately, mysterious knocker is very persistant, and shows no sign of going away. With a sigh, she sets down her hairbrush and heads over.
"Yes, what is it?" she begins talking, even as she opens the door. "I have a very important performance tonight and it is imperative that. . ." her speech comes to an abrupt stop as she sees who is actually present. "Daddies!"
She leaps forward and throws her arm around both of her (gay) dads. Hiram smiles and hugs her back instantly, while Leroy scoffs a little, though Rachel stills his arm just as tight around her back. Rachel just clings to them for a good minute, before finally pulling back and staring at them.
"What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't make it until the actual performance!"
"We lied," Hiram says with a grin. "We wanted to surprise our princess!"
"Our baby girl," Leroy agrees. Hiram's smile trembled the tiniest bit, and within a moment, fat tears are gathering in his eyes and pouring down his face.
"Oh, baby princess," he gushes. "Look at you. You're so beautiful. You're so grown up!"
Rachel grins, as Leroy rolls his eyes good-naturedly and puts his arm around his husband. It's beyond wonderful to see them again, and she realizes how much she's missed them. Which is kind of strange, really, the fact that she didn't know until this very moment how much she's missed just having her daddies around.
Which is not to say that she isn't totally self-sufficient, because she is absolutely capable of taking card of herself.
Still, it just makes what she has to do next even harder. But as she opens her mouth to tell them that although she's delighted that they were able to come in early, it is absolutely imperative that she complete her pre-show routine and . . .
"Well, we'd better get going," Leroy interrupts her thought process. "We know that you must have lots to do to get ready."
"We just wanted to stop in and tell you how much we love you," Hiram says, "and how proud we are of you." Leroy winks, and begins tugging at his husband's arm. Rachel's smile grows even wider. Not only do her dads appreciate the hard work and effort that goes into a production: they actually approve, and are giving her the space that she needs. She is pretty sure that the brightness in her smile could power a solar car for a good five miles at that point. She waves furiously at her dads as they head down the hall, nearly giggling as Hiram points at all of the walls and Leroy just pats him on the shoulder.
Xxx
She's not nervous. The strange, fluttery sensation in her stomach isn't butterflies, or preshow jitters. Standing in the dark backstage of the Lincoln Center soundstage, she is completely and utterly prepared to wow and amaze the audience. She absolutely does not have stage fright. Stage fright belongs only to the unprepared.
"Hey," Chris says gently, clapping her on the shoulder. "Calm down, you're going to do fine."
Rachel bristles initially. After all, Chris is merely an understudy, one of the less talented freshman who didn't manage to score a speaking role in the production. He's an understudy for the part of Mark which, admittedly, means that he has some potential, but he is clearly not on the same playing field as she, with stardom bursting out of her every pore.
Then again, Chris is unwaveringly nice to absolutely everyone, and walks around with a lopsided grin. He has kind, brown eyes, and always manages to miss a patch of stubble, just below his right ear, when he shaves. He's tall, too, but a bit scrawny. It won't help him secure roles on-stage. It does, however, remind Rachel of one Finn Hudson.
Her heart twinges a little at the though of her erstwhile boyfriend. She hadn't asked him to come to her performance: one of the agreements in their long-distance relationship. They both have to learn to be less needy and more considerate of one another. Between his injury, studies at OSU, and the football season, she knows that Finn has plenty on his plate, and that flying to New York to see a student production isn't, and shouldn't, be at the top of his priority list.
That doesn't make his absence sting any less.
So, because Finn isn't there and Chris is, and because Chris somehow reminds her of Finn, Rachel doesn't snap or roll her eyes at his gentle encouragement. Instead she smiles, allowing her lips to tremble just a bit and her eyes to widen (she is perfecting her portrayal of young ingénue: she plans to appeal to casting directors for her sparkling personality along with her prodigious abilities).
"Thanks," she says. "I'm just amazed that I'm finally here. My entire life I've dreamed of performing in New York, and now it's finally happening."
"Yeah," Chris agrees, bobbing his head. "I think we all feel the same way."
Indeed, there is an air of hushed excitement backstage. There's no aura of calm professionalism or restrained confidence: instead there is a bustle of nervous undergraduates, amazed at their own good fortune. Outside the closed curtain the audience is loud and raucous: family and friends more invested in the performers than the show itself.
The orchestra begins to play, and several of the stagehands, dressed in black and with self-important clipboards, run around, reminding the principals to take their places. Chris squeezes her should one more time, whispering "good luck" into her ear before he fades back to take his place with the other faceless chorus members. Rachel takes a deep breath and steps forward to her blocking position, beside the attractively dorky boy playing Mark and the stunning blond portraying Joanne.
The curtains go up and the stage lights shine.
She squints at first, a primal instinct that her teacher had told her not to give in to. She can already feel the heat of the lights on her. This is so much different than her performances with New Directions, completely different than the McKinley senior musical. All of the faces before her are interested, raptly paying attention to the action on stage. Nervously, she looks out into the dark audience, seeking her father's faces.
It takes her a moment to find them, which is all right, since she doesn't begin the singing, anyway. Hiram and Leroy are sitting stage left, which puts her off for a moment. She distinctly remembers telling them that the majority of her entrances are stage right, and she's a little irritated that they didn't listen. Only for a moment, however, until she sees who they are sitting with.
Kurt is perusing the playbill, chewing absently at his lower lip. Beside him, Blaine has scotched forward to the edge of his seat and is leaning forward slightly. Santana reclines back, looking incredibly bored, while Brittany appears to be counting the ceiling tiles. Beside her is a tall, goofy-looking boy with a wide, lop-sided grin on his face.
Finn.
She almost misses her entrance, so focused on her boyfriend's face. But, of course, she is the consummate performer, and almost unbidden the words spring to her lips.
525,600 minutes, 525,600 moments so dear
525,600 minutes, how do you measure, measure a year?
She and Finn, sitting in the library, their backs against the bookcases. He's telling her that he loves her, that he wants to spend senior year with her. She tells him that they can't, that it's impractical. She reminds him that she's leaving for New York after graduation, and unspoken lies the truth: that there's no way he'll get into an East Coast School.
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights and cups of coffee
In inches, in miles of laughter and strife
Finn's lips on her own, nervous explorations in her bedroom and his, in the back of Kurt's Navigator (not that either of them ever told him). The drive-in movie that had Finn absolutely flummoxed, unable to understand how to find the proper radio station, torn between leaving the car running and turning it off. Lazy afternoons at the Lima Bean, sometimes with Kurt and Blaine, sometimes with Marcus and Mercedes. Summer days at Cedar Point and night strolls down the almost-abandoned mall corridors.
How do you measure the life of a woman or man?
In truths that she learned or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned or the way that she died
Standing at the airport, bright purple bag thrown over her shoulder. Hiram and Leroy hugging her tightly and reminding her that she will always be their baby girl. And then Finn, hastily wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, leaning forward and crushing her in his arms. She fits so well against him, completely cradled by his bigger body. She feels complete when she's with him, protected. He doesn't say anything charming or loving. . .he just chokes back emotion and kisses her on the top of her head, before she passes through the security checkpoint.
It's time now to sing out, though the story never ends
Let's celebrate, remember a year in the lives of friends
Xxx
Rachel busts into the atrium. She feels like she's high, or drunk. All of the colors surrounding her are brighter than she's ever seen them before. The sound of laughter echoing around Lincoln Center is musical, notes tumbling over one another. Even the air, a little stale a recycled, smells beautiful.
She knows that her cheeks are red, and her shirt feels tight and sweaty, but she just can't bring herself to care. She barrels through her classmates, shoving elbows into sides and swatting away congratulatory hugs. She has a mission, and all of her self-centered, career-driven peers are getting in her way.
It isn't hard to find her friends in the crush of the atrium. Finn is a foot taller than anyone else, and Hiram is crying louder than the rest of the room combined. She dodges around Professor Roberts, ducks under Chris's attempted high-five, and throws herself at her boyfriend.
Retrospectively, she realizes that she probably should have said something, given some kind of warning. As is, she barrels into him unawares, nearly pushing him over. As is, he stumbles back several steps, his arms reflexively curling around her body. His hip rams into Blaine, sending the shorter boy sprawling to the ground with an undignified squawk.
It doesn't matter, though. Kurt's tut-tutting, Santana's acerbic comments, Hiram's explosion of crying – it's all just a background to this reunion. Because this – this is romance. Star-crossed lovers, reunited at last. Earth-shaking love, crossing the world – or at least, the United States.
"Rachel, you were awesome," Finn says, finally, after the groans from surrounding spectators finally convinced them to pull back from their knee-popping kiss. "Really, really awesome."
"I can't believe you're here"! Rachel sighs, reaching up and chasing his cheekbones with her fingers. "How did you get here."
"I took a plane!" Finn responds enthusiastically.
"We were going to get your flowers for your performance," Leroy says, "But then we thought of something better."
"You. . .you. . ." Rachel bursts into tears, reaching out to hug both of her dads.
"And Blaine said that I could stay with him for the weekend," Finn adds helpfully. "And Puck said that he would actually go to class and take notes so that I could skip Friday."
It doesn't take long to realize that a reunion in the middle of Lincoln Center is not the best idea, and with Santana in charge, they push their way free of the crowd and explode onto the muggy New York sidewalk. Despite the warm air, Rachel shivers a little in her sweat-drenched shirt.
"Well," Leroy says playfully, "Hiram and I are absolutely bushed. Long flight and all."
"But. . ." Hiram protests.
"I think we're going to call it a night. You kids don't do anything we wouldn't do!"
"My God," Hiram gasps, glaring at Finn. "Actually, don't do things we do do. Understand?" He then swivels to look at Kurt. "You, on the other hand, are encouraged to try some of the techniques we suggested. Do you still have those videos we gave you?"
Kurt turns bright red and begins sputtering, while Blaine just looks intensely interested. Leroy sighs indulgently and shakes his head, putting a gentle hand on Rachel's shoulder.
"Sweetheart, we'll see you at nine tomorrow for breakfast, right?"
"Of course, Daddy."
She's then engulfed again in both of her dad's arms, feeling tightly pressed kisses to the crown of her head.
"We're so proud of you, sweetie."
And then they're walking off, two smartly dressed men with their hands linked. Rachel feels a sudden, pressing sadness in her heart. She realizes that she doesn't need her dads anymore, which she finds inexplicably sad.
"We gots to get moving, too," Santana says, reaching out and grabbing Brittany's hand. "I promised my sorority sisters that we'd swing by their mixer tonight. We're already mad late."
Brittany nods solemnly. "But better late than wetter," she says.
"Good job, Rach," Santana says ruefully. "I hate to admit it, but. . .you really are a star."
"Thank you," Rachel says, surprisingly pleased by the rare compliment. "I'm really glad you came."
"Yeah, well. . .whatever," Santana says, shrugging off the sincerity of the words. "C'mon Brit. Let's make like a tree."
"Finn's as tall as a tree," Brittany says conversationally as they begin heading toward the subway. "Are we going to give him a makeover?"
The remaining four stand around, a little awkwardly. Rachel hums in the back of her throat.
"Well," Blaine says finally. "Where to now? It's like old times, isn't it? The four of us on a double date?"
"If I remember correctly, our double dates usually ended with you and Finn talking football and Rachel and I having a diva off," Kurt mutters.
"Not always," Finn protests. "There was that one time that you guys gave Rachel a makeover and I just sat there."
"Or the time that we went to see Phantom at the community theater, and Finn just sat there," Blaine says helpfully.
"Or when we went to the beach and you got really, really bad sunscreen and I almost drowned and Rachel had to give me mouth-to-mouth, but she didn't know how, so Blaine had to, and then you got pissed that we were kissing."
"Or that time at the movies when we told Finchel we were going to the bathroom, but really we went to—"
"Okay, okay," Kurt says, lifting his hands, his face bright red again. "I concede! Some of our dates are even more disastrous than I remembered."
Rachel giggles a little, and reaches out to catch both Kurt and Finn's hands. "Well, we haven't had a double date in New York City, yet. A lot of things have changed since Lima."
Kurt quirks one eyebrow, but Rachel can tell that it's all for show, now. He wants to melt into the comfortable camaraderie that the four of them share as much as she does. It's been a hard two months for all of them – Kurt getting cut from the singing groups, her failure to bond with her classmates, Finn's injury, Blaine. . .she glances quickly at the fourth member of their quartet. He's standing there with the same old easy charm, one arm loosely looped around Kurt's waist, a broad grin on his face. Well, maybe it hasn't been hard for all of them.
"I vote for the Popover Café!" Blaine says eagerly. Rachel claps her hands, and Kurt groans.
"What's that?" Finn asks, his head whipping back and forth between all of them.
"Only the greatest restaurant in New York!" Blaine says grandiosely.
"It looks like Aunt Marge's house," Kurt explains. Finn's eyes light up.
"Ooh. . .do they have cookies like Aunt Marge?" Kurt groans and elbows his older brother. Rachel giggles. "What?" Finn asks, a hurt expression on his face. "She makes great cookies."
A/N: D'awww. . .Rachel, so cute. And no, I never thought that I would consider her to be all that cute. Anyway. . .
COMING SOON: Rachel and Kurt go on a date, Klaine have an intimate discussion. . .in the bedroom! (wah wah wah!), and Blaine learns the true value of the dollar. Meanwhile, Santana has a traumatic experience, Brittany is promoted to the cash register (who decided she can handle money?) and Finn makes a life-changing decision.