See Lights, See Stars, See Clear - 2

Disclaimer: Usual disclaimers apply/Same disclaimers as Chapter 1.

Oh, some of the opinions of this fictitious version of Jesse St. James do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the writer.

A/N: I do enjoy writing Jesse St. James.

Thank you all so much for reading/following/reviewing/favoriting this story. I appreciate them all so much, and I hope this lives up to your expectations.

This is un-beta'd, so I apologize beforehand for any horrible errors in spelling or grammar. If this reads awkwardly, I'm sorry (call me out on it if you want).

Finn-bashing, for making it easy.

Read. Enjoy. Review.

She was greeted by the harsh ringing of an alarm clock as she entered the room.

"You're late." Jesse informed her, swiping the clock from the top of the upright piano.

Rachel frowned. "I'm right on time."

"And in an audition, if the person ahead of you was so awful that they cut her audition short and they called you, you would have been marked absent." Jesse said simply. He tossed the alarm clock at her. "Turn that off. I think I've made my point."

Rachel barely got her hands up in time to catch the offending object. She found the switch to turn the alarm off, and turned to Jesse. "How long have you been here?"

"That doesn't matter." Jesse leaned against the piano beside him. "That's your first lesson: if you're late, you've wasted my time. Tardiness is unprofessional, and unacceptable."

"I was on time!" Rachel protested.

He gave her a patronizing smile. "Do you wear the same watch as Will Schuester, Rachel? If you do, I can find you a watch that works."

She glared at him.

He held out his hand, and she slapped the alarm clock back into it. "Just because the clock has offended you by its accuracy is no reason to be so aggressive towards it, Rachel. One might think you're jealous of its precision."

She growled.

He was surprised she didn't stomp her foot, as she used to be prone to do.

"Excellent." Jesse placed the clock back on top of the piano and crossed his arms. "I have to ask: is there a shortage of bigger spaces available in NYADA, that you've summoned me to a by-the-hour studio?"

"It was the best I could manage at short notice," Rachel argued. "I wasn't sure if we needed the piano/acoustics combination for a meeting involving a discussion of our contract so I found one just in case."

He gave a small hum of acknowledgement, and he held out his hand. "Documents, please."

She rummaged through her bag, and extracted one of her larger books. Jesse watched in both amusement and trepidation as she found the document she was looking for. "Here."

Jesse only looked at it, before lifting his gaze up to her. "Since when did you become tolerant of clutter, Rachel?"

The dropped jaw and indignant gasps were really getting old. Jesse snatched the papers out of her hands, and read silently.

Rachel dropped her bag onto a nearby chair and watched him nervously, since she knew it wasn't exactly her best work. She hadn't been doing much in the realm of documentation beyond the necessary school work for the past year or so, and she'd been a little rusty while she composed their agreement contract last night. She hoped he found it acceptable.

Jesse glanced at her over the papers. "Shouldn't you be warming up?"

"Don't you want to discuss the contract?"

"I do, and I recall saying we would, but I didn't specify at which point of our meeting we would be doing that." Jesse reminded. "Warm-ups, Rachel."

She took a sip of water from the bottle she held before she moved past him to the piano, beginning some vocal warm-up exercises. Internally, she wondered for the nth time since she first decided that Jesse would be an ideal instructor if this was really a good idea. After all, she and Jesse still held some residual tension from their previous relationship, and Jesse knew all her quirks and impulses. He knew how to rile her up, and honestly, she's had enough of that from Cassandra July, her dance teacher last semester. And unlike Cassandra July, she didn't know how to one-up Jesse St. James, since in a lot of ways, he was a more cunning and ambitious version of herself.

"Stop."

Rachel stopped abruptly, and glanced at him.

"Do that note again."

Rachel obeyed.

"Again."

Rachel frowned, but did it anyway.

Jesse nodded. "Better. Continue."

Jesse watched as the girl's face scrunched in annoyance, before he turned back to the document he was reading. Honestly, he didn't care what he read, he wasn't going to sign it, anyway. Not when it included ridiculous items like "not insult Glee Club" and "only favorable comparisons to Barbra". He had wanted to know what Rachel thought his limits as her mentor should be, but it's like a high school student wrote the document.

He glanced at his student, and signed internally. The sad part, as he learned yesterday from her narration of her life so far in NYADA and New York, and was now slowly really getting to understand, she really was. Deep down, Rachel Berry, for all her bravado and big talk of moving on in the big city, was still a high school girl playing at being a college freshman. She liked the freedom, but not the responsibility. She liked being a young adult, but seemed to lack the maturity for it. He understood from her stories what her professor had been trying to say: Rachel was getting by solely on the basis of her talent. But for a girl who was in one of the most prestigious performing arts schools in America (possibly even the world), she didn't seem to be really maximizing what she could be achieving.

Sure, she had won NYADA's Winter Showcase. That was a big deal, previous winners have all gone on to respectable careers. But she hadn't capitalized on it. She hadn't signed up for any of the more challenging classes, not auditioning for anything of substance.

And he was worried about her relationship with the guy… he wants to say Benny, but that can't be right. The junior. The junior who's so talented he barely made it through a summer stint on a Broadway show as a dancer. A dancer. He used to think Rachel had better taste than to settle for a dancer, but obviously he had been mistaken.

As it is, a dancer was already a giant leap up from her previous relationship with Finn Hudson.

Honestly. Rachel was beating him in the contest of bad life choices. At least he'd just cut his collegiate life in California short. She had been willing to be tethered to a ball and chain masquerading as a tub of lard in the form of a football player who couldn't dance (or sing). A football player who couldn't make it through a football championship without the help of a bunch of girls and couldn't replicate the effort one year later. Heck, he didn't even get into Ohio State, and that was a party school.

Maybe he was being too harsh. After all, Rachel was here now. But that didn't discount from the fact that she still kept referring to events in her old high school even in a discussion about New York.

And yes, Jesse might still be a little bitter. But it was OK, bitter made for excellent material for acting out angst and anger, and those were usually the basis for acting awards, the Tonys included.

Jesse paused, and glanced back at the girl. "Do you have your elliptical in New York?"

Rachel frowned, confused. "No?"

"Do you jog?"

"No."

"Go to the gym."

Rachel shook her head. "No, Jesse what–"

"Your breath control is appalling. Your range is better, but you're making unfortunate breathing breaks."

"I breathe fine."

Jesse was skeptical, but he merely shrugged. "It'll just be a pity if all the money you threw at Madame Vivienne was for naught. She would be so disappointed. Best we keep this to ourselves."

Rachel gasped her offense, because how dare he insult her by invoking the name of her tyrannical vocal coach in Lima. The woman had been demanding and a perfectionist, had honed Rachel's perfect pitch to the point of tears, and had instilled the discipline of proper breath control when singing, and now this… this… this jerk dared to tell her Madame Vivienne would be disappointed in her?

Jesse watched, amused, as Rachel obviously mentally scrambled to construct her comeback, her retort, her tirade against him. Poor thing, apparently having dated Hudson for so long made conjuring suitable comebacks futile to the point that she wasn't so quick in making them anymore. "If you're not going to respond in a timely manner, let's continue." He rolled up the contract. "How much time do you put in singing, on a daily basis?"

"What?"

"Most of your classes are lectures." Jesse reminded. He slowed his speech and cut up his query into phrases. "How much. Time. In a day. Are you. Singing."

Rachel scowled at him. "I sing all the time."

"Not answering my question."

Rachel sighed. "I don't know. I have vocal lessons every Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays for two hours."

"Solo, or in a class?"

"Class."

"How about one on one work?"

Rachel shrugged.

Jesse frowned. "Really?"

"I have classes, Jesse! And this isn't like high school where I can get out of class by saying I need to work on something for Glee Club to prepare for Sectionals, Regionals, or Nationals." Rachel reminded.

"Odd, considering your Glee Club were hardly ever prepared for competition." Jesse mused.

"It's in the contract that—"

"I haven't signed it yet," Jesse pointed out. He waved his hand dismissively. "And that wasn't an insult, that was a statement of fact. So you haven't been getting in a lot of practice? Isn't Carmen Tibideaux one of your performance teachers?"

"Everyone in my class is talented, Jesse. I don't get to have a solo just because I want it." Rachel argued.

Jesse quirked an eyebrow in her direction. "Since when?"

Rachel opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Jesse smirked. "Interesting."

Rachel worked her jaw, eager to defend her statement. After all, in a class full of talented singers, why would she get more solos than everyone else? Jesse didn't know what he was talking about.

"Can you tell me what song you performed to make your professor think you should get some additional help?" Jesse asked, idly glancing at a nearby wall before he leaned against it.

"Not While I'm Around." Rachel answered.

Jesse frowned. That… was concerning. The song from Sweeney Todd was good, but not much of a challenge — not for someone of Rachel's ability and talent — and certainly nothing that should have caused red flags to be raised. If her teacher found Rachel's performance lacking, this was more dire than he had expected. Well. First things first. "We're going on an open call."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "What? No! NYADA freshmen are discouraged from—"

Jesse gave her a look. "You're not going to get hired." He reconsidered. "Well, probably not. But what we're looking for is a professional opinion on where you are, market-wise."

"What good will that do?"

"You'll know for sure if you're as destined for stardom as you think you are or if you're going to become just another small town girl grasping at straws." Jesse shrugged. Lie. He wanted a professional casting director to tell Rachel to her face her areas of improvement, for her to get a dose of reality, and so she can come face to face with the truth about the talent pool in New York.

Because he wasn't sure if she was still the Rachel Berry he had known, just playing down her confidence, or if she really was this shadow of herself.

"The open call I had in mind was for a dancer/singer, so I figure, we'll be told what you can do in terms of dance, but also what you can do to get cast." He continued.

"They don't tell you that."

"Not usually, but you're talented enough to make an impression that they'll want you to improve to the point where they can hire you."

"I'm underage."

Jesse gave her a look. "Do you trust me?"

Rachel set her jaw and looked at him defiantly. "When is this audition?"

"Saturday. Two o'clock." Jesse told her. "What song do you think will you be singing?"

"On My—"

"No."

"But–"

Surprisingly, even to himself, Jesse hid his exasperation well. "Did you see the box office return for the movie? It was a holiday movie, it got nominated for an Academy Award. Everyone saw it. And thanks to Tim Burton making people think Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter should be allowed to sing in film musicals, and now Russell Crowe, everyone thinks they can sing Les Miz. As if it wasn't bad enough before, now you really can't sing Les Miz at an audition. Don't sing On My Own."

"…It's a classic." Rachel feebly finished her earlier protest, but knew when to cut her losses.

"Something else." Jesse said definitively. He gave her a pointed look. "Not Defying Gravity."

Rachel rolled her eyes in exasperated compliance. "Anything else?"

"I want you to send me a new video every day of you singing."

"Excuse me?"

"Every day that we don't meet, you have to send me a video."

Rachel crossed her arms defensively. "I don't know what you're up to, or what elaborate ploy you have up your sleeve, but I will not be your personal jukebox, Jesse."

Jesse shook his head in annoyance. How can she still doubt his motivations? "I am not one of your glee teammates who only appreciate you or your talent when I need you to win competitions."

"No, you're the guy who tried to seduce me away from my team and then dumped an egg on my head when that didn't work."

"I apologized."

"That doesn't change facts." Rachel retorted. "Finn would never—"

"Oh yes, of course. Let's talk about Finn. Let's discuss how the guy who screwed up your chance to win Nationals your junior year, you were willing to marry." Jesse interjected. "Has he ever apologized to you? For anything?"

"That's…" Rachel protested.

"I have always been supportive of your career, Rachel. Of your future, your ambition. I have never downplayed or tried to dissuade you from where you wanted to be." Jesse reminded. "And I watched each one of your videos, even when I detested the user interface of MySpace. Trust me, if I'm asking you to do something as simple as delivering a song on video, there's a reason for it."

"What?" Rachel demanded. "What reason could there be for you to ask such a thing?"

Jesse sighed, and spoke as evenly as he could. "You need to be singing regularly, Rachel. Practice makes perfect, remember? Besides, having it on video will give you a better idea of your performance."

He didn't know why he had to tell her, since she had told him as much when he had asked her years ago why it was imperative that she record and upload a new MySpace video every night. Apparently she had forgotten.

That was worrying.

Rachel sulked. "Fine." He had a point.

Jesse had to smile at her petulance, and decided to reel in the disagreement before she completely sank into her sulking, opting now for humor. "Besides, I figure it'll be nice blackmail material, for when you'll refuse to cast me as your leading man for unfathomable reasons…"

"Shut up."

"I mean, I'm reasonably good-looking, some say even better-looking than most people, after all, and I have an insurmountable amount of charm…"

Rachel felt herself smile, despite herself. "Shut up."

"I imagine you wouldn't want to compare to my incandescence, but–"

Rachel rolled her eyes, laughing softly. "Okay!"

"Okay?" Jesse pressed.

"Yes!" Rachel conceded. "You win! Do you want those videos in a CD, or shall I email it to you?"

Jesse shrugged. "Surprise me."

Rachel shook her head before she gave him a haughty look. "Oh, and by the way, you being more incandescent than I am is impossible."

He smirked. "Keep telling yourself that."

She shot him a mock glare.

Jesse laughed as he approached the piano and sat down, bringing his folder full of sheet music with him. "I'm warning you now: I'm not forgetting that you think you're more incandescent than I am."

Rachel smiled as she watched him sort through the pieces he had brought. She thought back, considering once more if she was right in choosing him as a mentor, and realized with a start he had been able to criticize her, told her of some elements in her behavior and attitude that he didn't like, but managed to do so in a way that didn't diminish her or degrade her in any way. Sure, he insulted her breathing technique, but it was possible he was doing that from one professional to another.

"I do, you know."

Jesse glanced at her from where he was organizing his music on the piano. "Do what?"

"Trust you."

Jesse paused, letting that confession sink in, before he looked back up at her and grinned. "It's the warm smile, isn't it?"

Rachel rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Shut up."

"The twinkle in my blue eyes?" Jesse pressed, jokingly. "Or the charm: I bet it's the charm."

Rachel pointed to the piano. "Play."

"The natural curl of my hair?"