(One year and three months later)

Rachel ran her hand through her hair and sat in the secretary's waiting room. She was already in her starting clothes and with her small bag that fit all her belongings. Nothing but the wallet with documents, some banknotes, Quinn's photo, the necklace with a star pendant. With a nod from her desk, she stood up and walked over to the table.

"Sign here, Berry." The secretary indicated the space with an "x".

Rachel took the pen from a small chain and did as the secretary had ordered. With this, all bureaucracy was formalized. She waved to the secretary who made a dismissive gesture with his hands to send her away.

"Leave this paper at the concierge and it's all over. Good luck and try not to go back."

"Thank you." Rachel nodded and left the room.

Rachel thought she would be thrilled to walk through those corridors. At least she had dreamed it since the first day she stepped on it, but strangely at the end of her quill she realized that she was terribly comfortable with the confinement. Rachel greeted one of the guards (the only one who behaved in the most humane way), walked to the inner porch where she was supposed to leave the paper. Bureaucracy made, and the first heavy gate was opened. Rachel took three steps forward and the prison had been left behind.

Behind the gate was the inner parking lot and the reception desk of the prison to serve visitors and lawyers. Gilmore was the one there waiting for Rachel. He smiled satisfied with the good work he had done in reducing his client's sentence. It was a masterpiece he had given in court by reducing the three-year sentence in a minimum security prison to a year sentence and an expensive bail, paid with Rachel's savings. She was broken and bankrupt, but she was free, right? Rachel lived in that particular prison for eleven months. The sentence also counted the two months that she was in a maximum security prison while awaiting the trial. But the court didn't count the two weeks she was placed under the tutelage of the state for interrogation. About this particular period, Rachel preferred to forget.

"Your friends came to celebrate your freedom," Gilmore said as they walked toward the second heavy gate.

A mixture of anxiety and disappointment filled Rachel's chest. She also didn't expect to feel so divided. Gilmore nodded at the guard at the outer gate, who unlocked the iron and steel structure. The engine worked to open the gate and Rachel could see the street that gave access to the prison. More than that, Sam, Seban, and Matt were waiting for her.

Sam was the first to run to hug her. There was a sense of complicity between them. Even Rachel taking all the blame, Sam was sentenced to forced community service for six months for helping Rachel flee the theater. The public prosecutors still condemned the rest of the choir to one month of community service or bail payment. Everyone paid the bail, except Puck, who was released from trial and sentencing. As expected, he joined the training academy of agents after school and was already acting as a one.

"You look good, Rach." Matt said instead of hugging his friend.

"Thank you," Rachel replied softly.

"Kurt, Blaine and Brittany sent messages," Seban reported. "I'll show you as soon as we get out of this place." The teenager pretended to shiver.

"Santana and Quinn?" Rachel asked no one in particular.

"Quinn hasn't been reporting for a long time, but she's studying at a university in New Jersey," Matt informed her. "We don't know Santana's whereabouts."

Rachel nodded and resigned herself.

"Come on!" Sam grabbed the bag with his friend's belongings and offered his arm. "The Lopez's are waiting for you."

Rachel had nowhere to stay after her release from prison and was apprehensive about it. It was a positive surprise for her to know that she would be staying at the Lopez's. The couple represented the closest she had to a family, but they rarely visited her in prison. They were there only on three occasions during all sorrow. Sam and Matt also visited Rachel in prison whenever was possible, in addition to Gilmore. It was Rachel who, in a way, encouraged the two button's friends to share an apartment, since they both moved to another city.

Matt was accepted into the college and was majoring in business. Sam was the leader of a new circle of buttons designed to produce and distribute pamphlets of all kinds: with banned lyrics, texts that belied official news, texts from banned authors. It was hard work that consumed Sam's entire time, but he was loving the job and was even getting paid for it.

Brittany had moved to Texas to get better at dancing, Kurt left the closet for his family and was in the only acting program that existed in the country, Blaine was in college studying law. Only Seban still lived in the city with his parents. Provisional situation because he himself was assigned to leave the country and integrate the same training program that Santana was in.

As expected, Quinn left the country and was exiled in the East before she could face trial. The beginning was troubled, but soon she managed to catch up with the pace of studies, the new culture, the roommate, and the absence of familiar faces. Quinn also took the opportunity to meet Shelby as part of a personal promise she had made to Rachel. She would never say that to her girlfriend, but from what she saw, she couldn't tell how Rachel could fit into that family. Shelby had a young daughter, a successful, conservative husband. How would they embrace a young woman in exile with a prison passage?

What about Santana? Well, she had another I.D and citizenship.

Focusing on Rachel again, well, she was really feeling lost. It was as if the world had passed, things happened and she was left behind. It was amazing how the chains could be comfortable when you get used to them, and freedom becomes frightening.

Gilmore pointed to the car and Rachel said goodbye to her friends right there. She was grateful for their caring, but their presence could be stifling when all she wanted was to remain quiet in a corner until she decided what to do with her own life. Or even let the buttons decide. Rachel got in the car and the ride to the Lopez's didn't take more than 20 minutes.

Rachel stared at the familiar two-story blue house and a mezzanine. Many of the good memories she had were there. But when she returned to that home, she was afraid she would no longer feel as comfortable as before. She herself could hardly feel comfortable in her own skin.

"Want me to walk you to the door?" Gilmore asked.

"It won't be necessary."

Gilmore took a small packet from his jacket and handed it to Rachel: it was her original buttons, with the edges painted in gold.

"Try to go back to the routine, get a job when you can. That's all you need to do for now."

"No missions then?"

"No missions until you can resume your own life."

Rachel took the bag, thanked the lawyer, and walked slowly to the modest house on the outskirts of town. She hesitated to ring the doorbell, but when she did, a small woman with expressive brown eyes and dark skin answered. Maribel welcomed her with open arms and hugged her.

Rachel wept for the first time since her sentencing.

...

Rachel stared at the movement of the chair on the porch of the house. There was nothing special in that place: it was just a little busy street where boys passed, cars passed, there was some garbage accumulated in the door of the houses because of the bad cleaning service, many of the houses were poor, and there was a guy who lived with luxurious cars in front of the house that Rachel was sure was a dealer. It had been a week since she was released from prison and she still didn't know what to do with her life. Her job, at that moment, was to clean the house and help Maribel with whatever she asked.

Juan opened the front door with a can of beer in his hands and sat down in the chair next to Rachel. They were quietly comfortable until Juan broke it.

"I assume you read your mother's letter."

"You presumed it right." Rachel sighed.

"I thought you'd be so happy you'd respond right away."

"She is my mother... but I don't know her, Mr. Lopez. I don't remember her... not at all, I have nothing of her but the letters. With all due respect, but I feel Maribel is more my mother than Shelby."

"You look a lot like her, as far as I can remember." Juan forced a smile. "I don't know how she is now, but I'm sure you two are almost identical with approximate ages."

"Well, she's married and I have a little half-sister called Beth."

"Nice. She must be well matured and sure of herself now."

"You remember her a lot to whoever says you barely knew her." Rachel fired. There was no malice in her voice: nothing but melancholy and a good deal of irony. "I never told you this, but I met Lester Goldman, the boyfriend who was with Shelby when she became pregnant with me. I went to the capital to look for him and to confront him."

"When was that?"

"Before I was arrested. The organization… Actually Santana gave me this information. She found out that Lester Goldberg was Shelby's boyfriend at the time she was in college with my dads. Santana thought he was the most likely person to be my biological father."

"Oh!" Juan raised his eyebrow, interested in hearing the story of the man who allegedly rejected his girlfriend and unborn child. "And what answers did you get from him?"

"That he can't have kids and that he already knew that at the time." Rachel said without emotion. "He told me that he broke up with Shelby because he knew at that moment that she had slept with another person, probably with my biological father. So he broke up with her and left without looking back. As you know, my dad Hiram was my mother's best friend and so he assumed my paternity."

"I'm so sorry, Rachel."

"Do you remember when I asked if you knew my mother?"

"Yes."

"Goldman gave me a clue. He hinted that he knew my mother had hooked up with, and I quote, an inexpensive doctor who probably wouldn't know of my existence."

"Oh..."

"Mr. Lopez, do you know if my mother got involved with any of your colleagues?"

Juan leaned back in his chair, silent for a moment, pondering what his next words should be.

"Rachel, you know very well that Maribel and I consider you as our own daughter. Not only because of your deep friendship with Santana... it's who you are. We think your friendship with Santana did very well for our daughter. Santana was a loner who didn't get along with her own siblings. But you came and we felt Santana finally connected to someone else. First we loved you for that. Then, with time, I loved you for who you are. You are an amazing and good girl."

"But there's no chance of that happening, right?" Rachel wiped away a tear she barely felt she was about to fall.

"Maribel and I had ups and downs in our marriage..." Juan lowered his voice. " Unfortunately, I can't say I've been a faithful guy all the time. I've never had affairs." The man took a deep breath, clearly embarrassed by such revelations. "Which doesn't mean I've never... slipped."

"What?"

"One night I met Shelby at my regular pub. We were both frustrated. My life wasn't easy with a job that paid poorly, that take long time and energy, and I had two small kids to raise. Santana wasn't born yet. Shelby was young college girl. She was so beautiful, attractive, full of life... she had this boyfriend who didn't treat her well. It was this boyfriend who beat her and hurt her wrist that I treated. We talked, maybe we exchanged a few compliments, and we got some drinks... "

"You are my mother..."

"One time yes. It doesn't mean that I... doesn't mean that Shelby hasn't stayed with other guys. This happened in the bathroom of the pub, next to the toilet, my good Lord! It was just a quickie! We probably didn't use protection, but I never imagined..." Juan ran his hand over his face.

"But once that's enough, that's what they say."

"Right." The doctor finished the beer and threw it deliberately in the middle of the lawn itself in front of the house. "I can arrange a DNA test, on condition that Maribel will never know."

"I understand..."

"I'm not that guy, Rachel. I had my faults, but I'm not the guy who leaves home thinking of cheat on my wife. I love Maribel and my kids. All of them."

"Sir, I'm not saying this to ruin your relationship with Maribel and I don't want anything from you. I just wanted to know that part of my story."

"When Santana brought you here for the first time, I honestly missed it. Missed your story, you know? I've never connected the dots. I've never imagine that… that could have had consequences."

"And I didn't know anything, sir. Nada! I was totally innocent. I had never thought of my biological father until I heard about Santana's theory about Lester Goldberg. And I only looked for him because he is a powerful man who could get me out of this country. After that, I think I was just curious to know about my origins. That's all."

"I will see about that, Rachel. We will see. Now, wipe your tears, Rachel. Learn that a Lopez doesn't cry for anything."

...

"It's cool not to be under the 'can not touch' policy, is it?" Sam was walking alongside Rachel by the town's shopping mall.

The girl looked at her friend and nodded.

By the time Rachel passed in the prison, Sam and Matt visited her sometimes. In the visitor's area, although it looked a lot like the prison cafeteria, the police were always watching: she couldn't touch her visitors. A rule that made Rachel roll her eyes because inside the prison there was almost everything: drugs, small contraband, trade. Things that the prisoners got through loopholes that the corruption of the system provided. Even homosexual relationships were given thick sights inside the walls. You couldn't kiss someone who you really loved during the visiting days, but being raped in prison it's ok? Well, it couldn't, it was a crime, but who had the courage to give in at the risk of being shredded in much worse ways? Rachel herself was almost raped by a cellmate. In fact, she had to use her fists more than once to impose herself, and she thanked God (and Santana) for all the self-defence lessons she had.

"What movie would you like to see?"

Rachel looked at the posters of all the national and international films previously approved for display: she had no interest in any.

"Your call. I have no preference."

"Rachel..." Sam stared at her worriedly.

"That's ok, you can choose!"

"If you're not in the mood to see a movie, then we can just talk... we can sit right there, order an ice cream, I'll keep my big mouth shut and you can talk whatever you want. What do you think of this new plan? It's been a month since you left prison and haven't much to say, Rach. I understand that your year sucked, but you have to get over it! That's what I and everyone else are doing: moving on."

"But it's what I wish everyone would stop doing!" Rachel snarled, calling attention to who was next to them.

Sam, disconcerted, looked around, smiled awkwardly and pulled Rachel away. The movie day had lost its meaning. They walked silently out of the mall where there was a busy avenue and a neighbourhood that separated them from the park. They walked in that direction, and when there was enough quiet to talk again, Sam created the courage and asked the capital question.

"If you don't want us to ask any more questions, why don't you just open up and say what are you feeling? So we won't bother you any more with our stupid questions, and you can take a rancid off your back."

Rachel stared at Sam, her best (male) friend, and looked away.

"I'm not ready."

"Then that's it? Are you just going to close up?"

"It's not simple. Never was!"

"I know you've been a little depressed since you left, but that's precisely why you can't turn people who loves you away. And I love you, damn it!"

"It's precisely because you're my best friend that I want you to understand. I'm not a good company right now and I need room to breathe, to cry, to be alone for the first time since they put cuffs on my wrist. All I want right now is to get home, lie in Santana's old bed, listen to music until I fall asleep. That's it."

"And then Rachel? What are you going to do when you cry while listening to music do not go any further?"

"When I feel it won't do any good anymore, then I'll come to you."

"Promise?"

Rachel nodded. She kissed Sam on his cheek and walked away, promising to do exactly what she had described. She got in the Lopez's house and waved to Maribel, who was working on a new craft piece she made.

"Rachel!" The woman shouted from inside her small workshop.

"Yes?" Rachel picked her up.

"An envelope came from the hospital for you. I think it's the result of those tests you did."

"Thank you, Maribel."

Juan Lopez ordered Rachel to do a battery of exams to check the girl's health condition. Rachel did all routine work exams, plus a thorough gynecological check. What Maribel would never know was that there was the result of another examination among regular clinicians.

Rachel thanked the older woman and went upstairs to the room that once belonged to Santana Lopez. She found the sealed envelope on top of the dresser, checked to see if Maribel was nearby and closed the door. She opened the envelope and searched for the result that most interested her at that moment.

She read the result three, four times to be sure. Then, like a button she was, she pecked the paper. At least it was a therapy to prick the two exam sheets. While chugging in as few pieces as possible, she sang softly.

"Here's to us. Here's to love. All the times that we fucked up. Here's to you. Fill the glass…"

Juan Lopez arrived from the hospital early in the evening after 24 hours on duty. He hugged and kissed his wife before giving her a kiss on Rachel's forehead. He went to the bathroom, washed his hands and face before returning to dinner table. He poured himself the vegetable soup that his wife had prepared.

"You two will take care of the kitchen cleaning," Maribel warned before went upstairs to her well-deserved bath and then watch her favourite soap-opera.

Rachel stayed at the table with Juan.

"Your exams have arrived?" Juan asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yes sir."

"Do you have any changes?"

"The report says that everything is normal, but my gynecological examination indicated the presence of a bacteria."

"It must be nothing serious. I am not an expert in this area, but there are bacteria that cause discharge and they are common. It's easy to treat it with antibiotics and genital antiseptics. You'll be fine. Don't forget to bring all the results to your consultation with my colleague"

"I know... I won't forget."

"Did you see the other result?"

"Yes sir."

"What did you do to it?"

"I destroyed it. She'll never know. Don't worry."

Juan nodded and continued to take his soup. He wanted to act normal, but inside his heart was beating hard. Although Rachel was the result of a literally five-minute drunken fuck in a stinky pub restroom, he respected that young woman. Rachel was brave and had good character. He couldn't be prouder. Rachel, for her part, couldn't demonstrate, but she was relieved to finally know the truth.

...

"Rachel?" Maribel knocked on the bedroom door that once belonged to Santana. The girl answered promptly.

"Yes?"

"You got one of those letters we can't talk about." She showed the sealed envelope with Rachel Berry's name written and no recipient ID.

Rachel took the envelope and felt a small bulge through the paper: a button.

"Thank you, Maribel."

"You're welcome... oh..." She said before turning around and leaving. "If there's anything about Santana there..."

"I'll tell you." Rachel smiled discreetly. "Don't worry."

"Thank you."

Maribel closed the door and Rachel opened the envelope. Inside there was nothing but a white button and a note. Rachel grabbed her backpack to leave the house.

"Maribel!" She shouted while went downstairs. "I'm leaving, but I should be right back soon."

She put on her grey and pink helmet, her black jacket, climbed Santana's old motorcycle, and set off toward the church that one day she and Matt could visit Santana one last time before the old leader left the country. If the note made a meeting right there, it was because there was someone big wanting to talk to her, and that someone wasn't parliamentarian Pierce. Despite her anxiety, Rachel drove carefully because the last thing she wanted was to be caught by some patrol. She arrived at the church, parked the motorcycle, and entered the building. Since she had no access to the place, she sat down on one of the benches at the front, looked at the Christian altar, and waited.

It took half an hour to the priest go up to her and sit down next to her. Rachel, who was never Christian, smiled and respected the celibate's presence.

"Many come to ask for blessings here in this parish when they are about to make a long journey. Is it your case, my child?"

"My journey is already long, Father."

"Really? At such a young age? How old are you?"

"I'm 20 years old."

"It doesn't look like the age of someone who has already had a long journey."

"Well, Father, HE made the mother of the journeys and lived only 33 years. Not always a long journey means distance or age."

The priest smiled and patted the girl's shoulders.

"Perhaps you need to reflect a little more about journeys in the sacristy. It's a quieter place where you can better prepare for it."

Rachel nodded and smiled. She knew exactly what the sacristy represented. When she arrived there, she met Gilmore, who only waved her into the secret passageway. Gilmore put the electronic button on the device, typed the password, and validated it with his fingerprints. Then the door opened. In the luxurious place where the big buttons gathered, there was none other than Lester Goldman waiting for her.

"Hello, Rachel Berry," the man said calmly.

"Mr. Goldman... what are you doing here?"

"Checking if I should make a deal with you."

"A deal?"

"Rachel... I had the pleasure of meeting with Santana Lopez in Washington. She's an interesting young woman and passionate about the cause, I must say. I was impressed."

"I know her… so?"

"What I have to say, Rachel, what you've been through, the torture you've been subjected to..."

"I was raped there, sir." Rachel said aloud for the first time the violence she suffered on the days she was 'detained for questioning' shortly after being arrested in the capital for singing What's Going On.

"You weren't the first and you won't be the last. Many of us went through that and became stronger. Don't think that you are special because you were tortured and, as you said, raped. That's what they do with political prisoners."

Rachel turned her face and held her own emotions. She would never allow herself to cry in front of a man like Goldberg.

"I didn't say a word!" Rachel said with clenched teeth.

"I know you didn't. Again, that's no news."

"What is your problem? You call me here, in my city, to say in my face that everything I went through wasn't much at all? That not say anything even with a pistol pointed at my head, even when there was a man beating the hell of me and tearing off my clothes was what buttons do? Go to hell Goldman!"

The man was silent for a moment. Goldman, experienced as he was, poured himself a whiskey, lit a cigarette, and crossed his legs as he snuggled into the chair. He looked at Rachel and knew that despite all the anger she felt within herself, she could still feel intimidated by him. This was an advantage he liked to keep.

"Did you find out who your biological father is?" Goldman asked. He kept his voice quiet, controlled, like an expert negotiator. Shouting was for the weak.

"Yes, I did."

"Was he that doctor?"

"He's a doctor, yes."

"Did Santana Lopez know?"

"I don't think so."

"How do you think she'll react when she finds out?"

"She will understand. She knows I didn't ask for any of this."

"Ironic, isn't it? That your slut mother had just fucked up with your best friend's father?"

"Ironic that my slut mother possibly fucked up with my best friend's father, because her boyfriend at the time was assaulting her."

"Bingo."

"You're a monster and you don't even deny it."

"No, I don't. What's the point, Rachel?" Goldman smirked. "Here is thing: Santana did almost a talk in Washington about why I should help you out. The problem is that every time I talk to you, I only think about how much you have done absolutely nothing to deserve this gift. I may be a monster, as you said, but I'm fair with all my fellow buttons. Santana and Seban… they are too special to stay here. Quinn Fabray? She's useful for our purposes. You? Well, you're loved, no doubt. You can sing, but what else?

"Here is the proposal. You can stay and work. You will have a salary and every assistance that a button deserves. Or you can go out and stand on your own as an illegal immigrant. All your button privileges will be removed. If you choose to leave, it will have to be right now because I'm leaving in an hour. You won't even have the right to say goodbye to the people who harboured you... to your biological father. What do you say?"

(concludes in the next chapter)