Hyper-focused on keeping her breath steady, Rachel zoomed across the finish line to complete her seventh lap around the outdoor track. Deciding that she'd make it an even two miles, she kept going and pumped her legs to gain momentum with each push. The soles of her shoes slapped heavily against the concrete sending her jetting past the various figures that blurred in her speed.
She felt her entire body working; her calves burned, lungs strained, and blood flowed into her limbs. Apart from the high she received from singing, these were the moments where she felt the most alive. When she felt at peace enough to just leave it all behind. Engulfed by the euphoria, she paved way for the endorphins to carry her through another lap around the football field.
At the last 100 meters, another rush of adrenaline surged through her veins and she quickened her pace, turning steps into leaps. Once she crossed the finish line, she checked her watch while she slowed down, immensely satisfied at the new personal record.
"You know this track is on private property, so you're technically trespassing!" Jesse shouted after the girl bolted past him without as much as a glance back.
Rachel spun around at the call and placed her hands on her hips, concentrated on catching her breath and trying to appease her need for oxygen.
"Also, it's like barely 20 degrees out here," Jesse added, smirking as he closed the distance between them. "You're so strange, Rachel Berry."
"It's called exercise weirdo, ever heard of it?" Rachel quipped, strutting past the singer to head towards the bench where she left her belongings.
"Yeah, twice a day at rehearsals, quite rigorously, I might add," Jesse responded as he trailed after her. "And I do vocal exercises every morning, thank you very much."
Rachel rolled her eyes while she used a towel to wipe the thin layer of sweat that covered the nape of her neck. "You know some people might call this habit of yours of randomly running into me stalking."
"Don't flatter yourself," Jesse replied. "We just got cut and your mother sent me out here to let you know that she's going to be another 20 minutes so you need to come back inside."
"Ugh, why?" Rachel groaned. Her muscles burned out, she sat down on the bench then slipped on a jacket before fishing for the water bottle in her duffel bag.
"Dunno," Jesse shrugged, plopping down to join her. "Goolsby's probably trying to talk her into incorporating more of his lackluster ideas into our Regionals set."
Rachel only nodded when she noticed her company's entire countenance drop dramatically. "Goolsby is the new assistant coach? My mom said he started after the holidays."
"Yeah, Dustin Goolsby," Jesse confirmed with a long-drawn out sigh. "I blame you, you know."
"What are you talking about?" Rachel breathed out after guzzling down half of a water bottle.
"All I'm saying is that we didn't need an assistant coach before you came into the picture," Jesse teased, earning yet another elbow jab from the irate brunette.
"Oh I'm sorry, St. Jackass, should my mother and I go back to pretending like the other doesn't exist just because your fragile male ego can't handle the fact that someone else has her ear now?"
Jesse stared at Rachel intently and bit back an amused laugh. She always had something to say.
"I'm joking," he said, leaning against her playfully and glanced at her sideways. "I was with her, you know? When she first saw you at Sectionals… you literally took her breath away. I think it's pretty cool that you guys found each other again."
Smiling, Rachel leaned back slightly before standing back up on her feet to begin her cool-down stretches. "So I take it you don't like Dustin?"
"No, and frankly, I don't think we even need him," Jesse said, running a hand through his thick curly locks. "I don't know how to quite explain it but something about him feels off. I don't think he get us but he keeps giving Coach C these random suggestions that don't make any sense. Like, he's in charge of Saturday rehearsals now and last weekend he modified half of our routine and it doesn't even fit."
"Well, what does my mom say about it?"
"She vetoed some of his changes but she's letting him try new choreo tomorrow. It's not even our style though, so I'm not sure what she's thinking," he lamented.
"Maybe you're just not used to change," Rachel stated, catching Jesse's insulted look while she bent over to touch her toes. "It's only been like two weeks, you might just have to give him a chance. Besides, we're talking about my mother here. If Goolsby's really that clueless, she's not going to let him tell her what to do."
"I guess," Jesse said thoughtfully. "I just don't appreciate the fact that he's coming in mid-season guns a blazing and trying to change things up. I don't trust him. We've worked too hard and we have a national championship to defend."
"Fair," Rachel agreed. "He's an outsider, so that makes sense. But don't you trust my mom?"
"Of course," Jesse scoffed in complete disbelief at the question. He'd be nothing without Shelby Corcoran and the doors she's helped open for him. His entire future was only possible because of her and what they've built together.
"Alright then, so just trust that she knows what she's doing," Rachel responded, throwing her arm above her head to stretch her triceps. "And honestly, consider yourself lucky. At least your problem is that you have too many coaches. Mr. Schue's been canceling practices because he's in a community theater production of Les Mis and they're in tech this week."
"You're joking," Jesse chuckled, still entirely perplexed about the workings of the second-rate show choir team.
"I wish," she shook her head, irritation flashing across her face. "He's playing Jean Valjean, and it's ruining my life."
"Oh wow. Is that why you had to come to rehearsal with Shelby today?"
"That," Rachel confirmed. "And because I've been grounded and Supreme Overlord Shelby Corcoran doesn't trust me to be home alone."
"Grounded?" Jesse asked in an intrigued tone.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Rachel replied with a smirk. "Hey, can you hand me my bag?"
Nodding, Jesse grabbed the workout bag to offer to Rachel but failed to notice it was unzipped and dropped all of its contents accidentally
"Crap, sorry," Jesse apologized, jumping instantly to gather the spilled items. He picked up a damp sweater completely stained with a blue substance that felt sticky in his hands.
"Jeez Rach, what did argyle ever do you to?" He teased, holding the sweatshirt up in the air to inspect the damage. "Did you spill a smoothie on this or something?"
Rachel's eyes grew impossibly wide and she pried the piece of clothing from Jesse's hands then shoved it in the bag she just picked up, her heart thundering in her chest in the process.
"Shut up, Jesse," Rachel growled, collecting all of her things in a panic-driven haste. The absolute last thing she needed was the captain and star of their rival show choir team finding out about the New Directions' penchant for slushie facials. She'd rather give up her solos for a month than show the enemy any signs of weakness.
"What?" Jesse prompted, snatching the duffel back and pulled out another item of clothing, a skirt this time, that was also drenched in the unknown substance. "How did you manage to completely miss your mouth? Or what, did someone throw a drink at you or something?"
After a few seconds of silence, Jesse's grin slowly faded when Rachel's entire body went rigid and face turned somber. He scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion then rifled through the bag again, finding other ruined shirts, skirts, and socks. "What is this, Rachel? Did someone throw a drink at you? Multiple drinks?"
"It's nothing," Rachel exhaled a loaded sigh, ripping the evidence away then zipped up the bag and threw it over her shoulder. "Don't worry about it."
"Wait, hang on," Jesse reached out for her arm and pulled her back before she could walk away. "Sorry. I was just teasing earlier, but what's going on?"
"I said it's nothing!" Rachel exclaimed, raising her voice out of frustration. "Just leave it alone, Jesse. Please."
Jesse released his grasp and stepped back as if he'd just been struck, hurt seeping into his facial features. "Okay, sorry. I was just wondering and I-I thought we were friends."
"We are," Rachel said quietly, her face flushing at the unbidden outburst. She took her fingers and brushed her forehead diffidently, mulling over how to explain herself. "I'm sorry. It's not you. It's—I get slushied sometimes, but it's not a big deal."
Not waiting for a response, Rachel pivoted on her heels and began to head to the school building. The sooner she went inside, the sooner she could end this conversation.
"Slushied?" Jesse asked for more elaboration as he ran after her. "What the hell? Why?"
"Yes, as in, occasionally, some ingrate jock throws a slushie in my face," Rachel responded, quickening her pace. "I know this concept may be difficult for you to understand Jesse, but not everybody thinks that show choir's the coolest thing in the world. And this is especially true at McKinley."
"What? So just because some idiots think that singing and dancing is lame that gives them the right to throw random shit in your face?" He asked in utter shock. "That's so fucked up, Rachel. Does this only happen to you?"
"No," Rachel replied. Although lately, it seemed like she's been the only target on Karofsky and company's radar. Before, she was lucky if she could get through the week with just one incident, but in the week and half she's been back since the holiday break, she's been slushied four times.
"Well, have you told anyone about it? Has anyone tried to stop it? Because that's literally the definition of bullying, Rachel. Maybe even assault. It also seems like this has clearly happened more than once," Jesse pointed out, his anger swelling.
"They don't care," Rachel shrugged, focused on weaving her way through the parking lot. "Teachers see it happen all the time. And our principal could not care less about anything that isn't about bringing more money into the school. He literally just walked by earlier when a hockey player pushed Kurt against a locker."
Jesse balked at the information then lunged to grab Rachel's arm again, causing her to stop in her tracks. "You can't be serious, Rachel. That stuff only happens in like movies."
"Well and apparently in my reality," Rachel grumbled, turning back around to face him, her expression riddled with defeat. "But it's fine, Jesse. I'm figuring it out. I'm handling it. And those losers are going to get bored soon anyway and they'll move on and find something else to entertain them in their miserable lives."
"This is insane. You have to tell your mom then," Jesse demanded, his tone firm.
"No, absolutely not," Rachel said, yanking her arm away and squaring her shoulder as if she was gearing up for a fight. "Jesse, do not, under any circumstance, tell my mother what I just told you."
"Oh my god, Rachel! Why not?" Jesse said incredulously. "You know Shelby would take care of it instantly. You don't deserve to put up with that. No one does. It's completely barbaric and you're just letting it roll off your back! How are you just so okay with this?"
"I'm not!" Rachel snapped causing Jesse to flinch in surprise. She breathed in deeply and tried to get herself under control. She could feel herself losing it, but she was not about to break down over this. Not here, not now.
"It's not okay. Don't you think I know that? I hate what they do to me and my friends at school. I hate how they treat us. I hate how it makes me feel. But I also just need to deal with this myself right now without you or my mother swooping in to come save me. Okay?"
"No," Jesse said, shaking his head in total disapproval. "You're in the wrong here and you're being incredibly stubborn for absolutely no good reason. You need to tell Shelby or one of your dads before it gets out of control. Asking for help doesn't make you weak, Rachel."
"And I will, okay?" Rachel sighed, her shoulders sagging. She paused to collect her thoughts then gazed into the blue eyes that were piercing into her with such concern that made her stomach twist in guilt. She looked away and stamped down the flurry of emotions bubbling inside her.
"I promise. If it gets any worse or if it escalates past the slushies, I swear I'll tell my mom. But it's my life Jesse, and I get to decide on how to handle this. I get that you only want to help, but this is my problem, not yours. And I chose to tell you because we are friends and now I'm asking you, as my friend, to please keep this to yourself for now. Please."
Responding to the severity laced in Rachel's voice and the pleading look in her all-too expressive eyes, Jesse found himself nodding his agreement against his better judgment. "Fine, suit yourself. But don't be a martyr, Rachel. It's not worth it. You don't deserve to be treated that way and it's not okay that they just get away with it."
"I hear you Jesse," Rachel assured, the short-lived tension easing out of her body now that she's avoided being exposed for the time being. "Thanks. I know you're only looking out for me. And I swear, if I ever find myself in the middle of a sing-off, I will call you for help."
"Shut up," Jesse laughed. "Also, I am just going to point out that none of that crap happens here at Carmel. It's not tolerated. Especially if you're in VA. We get respect."
"Yeah, yeah," Rachel rolled her eyes, waving him off. "Your arrogance is showing St. James, and it is not flattering."
"Are you kidding me?" Jesse scoffed, opening up his arms wide and spinning around smoothly. "Ladies love this."
"In your dreams!" Rachel shouted back, already yards away and entering the building.
Replaying the encounter with Jesse in her head, Rachel walked through the nearly empty and expansive halls of Carmel with a hurried pace. Usually, she liked to take her time to explore the impressive fixtures of the affluent public school, but she was afraid Jesse would catch up to her, and she was no longer interested in entertaining that conversation any further.
She made it to her mom's office on the third floor, located right off a wing the school designated for the music department. Shaking off her still-racing thoughts, she allowed herself a moment to regroup before knocking on the closed door and waited before receiving permission to enter.
"Hi Rach, how was your run?" Shelby asked without looking up from the stack of papers in front of her.
It was times like these when Rachel found her mother sitting at her desk buried in papers to grade or working through Vocal Adrenaline routines that she often wondered why the woman ever left the stage behind. Why anyone would trade in the bright lights of Broadway to teach high school students in suburbia.
But then she thought about how fiercely loyal Jesse was outside when she questioned him earlier or the dozens of Christmas gifts her mom received from students last month, and she also realized how beloved Shelby Corcoran, the teacher, was.
Rachel resolved that whatever she did in the future, Broadway or otherwise, that she'd do it with as much class and diligence as her mother, who seemed to tackle, overcome, and excel at any challenge thrown her way.
"It was good," Rachel finally answered. "I set a new PR and I think my split time is almost as fast as dad's."
"Very impressive," Shelby said then looked up to examine her daughter, smiling instinctively at her presence. "And also very competitive of you."
"I get it from you," Rachel joked, picking up one of the loose documents closest to her. "What are you working on?"
"Finalizing VA's budget request for Nationals, it's due to our Booster Club tomorrow," Shelby replied. "I'm almost done but it'll be another fifteen minutes or so. Make yourself comfortable on the couch, I turned on the space heater so you can warm up."
"Nationals?" Rachel questioned, brows furrowing in scathing offense. "But you haven't even won Regionals yet! That's so presumptuous of you! We could still beat you guys, you know. We're just as good as you are."
"Woah, slow down there, killer," Shelby placated then snatched the piece of paper away from Rachel's hands. "It's only a preliminary request. They just want to see some numbers in case we do win so they can plan ahead."
"Oh," Rachel pouted. "But still. I do think it's a bit bold of you to just assume. The New Directions could still win. We're working hard too."
"I never said you weren't kid," Shelby sighed, absolutely dreading the fact that she has to compete against the girl. "Nobody is underestimating you. I know you guys are good. You, especially, my love. But we've talked about this before, Rach. Chinese wall, remember?"
Rachel matched her mom's sigh and nodded. They had a lengthy discussion a few weeks ago about navigating their tricky situation. Being on rival show choir teams was less than ideal for the mother and daughter. However, Shelby made it clear that she was Rachel's mom first, coach of Vocal Adrenaline second. They decided they would both try their best to keeps things objective and respectable. They also agreed to enforce a Chinese wall. A business term, Shelby explained, that meant enforcing a figurative barrier as a means of restricting the flow of information to avoid their conflict of interest. Shelby didn't talk about Vocal Adrenaline business and Rachel didn't discuss what the New Directions were up to. It was to keep things impartial and fair, so that nobody could fault them later on for sharing any intel, intentional or not, that could influence the competition.
Perhaps to anyone else, the precaution may seem excessive or even slightly paranoid, but to the two-time national championship winning coach and her equally overly-ambitious and competitive daughter, there was nothing remotely trivial about show choir.
Before Rachel could respond, a knock on the door tore her away from her thoughts and captured her attention.
"Come in," Shelby said, still maintaining a curious gaze on her daughter, wondering where the girl went just now.
"Hey, sorry Shelby," Dustin Goolsby apologized. He walked into the room tentatively to the sight of the mother daughter in the midst of a stare down. "I just wanted to drop this off on my way out. They're the transfer papers."
"Great, thanks," Shelby accepted, breaking her gaze first. "Dustin, this is my daughter—"
"Rachel Berry," Dustin acknowledged, extending his hand out to the girl. "Your performance with the New Directions at Sectionals last fall was inspired. Also wow, you and your mom look so much alike. You could be sisters. And I bet you're just every bit as talented as Shelby here."
"Thanks," Rachel smiled politely as she accepted the handshake.
She took a brief moment to size Dustin up, Jesse's voice in her head clouding her impression of him. He was an objectively handsome man who looked nice enough at first glance, but Rachel had to agree, there was something discernibly off about him that she can't quite pinpoint yet. Usually, compliments, of any kind, thrilled her, but Dustin's didn't sound genuine at all; it sounded like a man who was trying a tad too hard to say the right things to impress his new boss' daughter.
"It's nice to meet you," she allowed herself to say.
"Wonderful to finally meet you," Dustin replied. "Shelby talks about you all the time, and I imagine that I'll be seeing you around quite a bit and definitely at Regionals, right? Maybe you'll give us a run for our money."
"We'll definitely try," Rachel responded, not caring for his patronizing tone and swallowed back a smart reply.
"I bet," Dustin chuckled. "Well, I actually better go but I just wanted to make sure you got that so we can process it as soon as possible, Shelby. And it was lovely meeting you again, Rachel."
As soon as the door closed behind Dustin, Rachel spun around and slammed her hands on the desk. "Transfer papers? Are you taking in a new VA member mid-season? Who is it? Are they better than me?"
Her mouth agape at the outburst, Shelby narrowed her eyes at her daughter and shook her head firmly in disapproval. "Nuh-uh, no. Absolutely not."
"But mom—"
"Rachel. No. Chinese—"
"Firewall or whatever," Rachel groaned. "Yeah, yeah. I know. But I—"
"Sit down right now, Rachel Barbra," Shelby commanded sharply, pointing to the couch with a stern finger.
"Ugh fine," the teenager yielded, dragging her feet languidly over to the couch then drooped down dramatically. "This is so unfair. I still don't understand why I had to come to rehearsal with you today. I was fine at home by myself."
"I beg to differ," Shelby replied hotly, fighting back the smile that seemed to form every time her daughter now called her house home. "Lest we forget your after-school activities this week."
"Well I don't know what else you expected me to do with all that free time," Rachel argued from her perch on the couch. "I can't use my phone, can't go on the internet, can't watch TV, can't do anything. I was so bored I even finished all my available homework for the rest of the month!"
"Oh, my poor baby," Shelby frowned in wry sympathy. "Perhaps now that you understand what you have to lose, you'll think twice the next time you sneak out and lie to your dear old mom."
"Mom, I know," Rachel whined in objection. "I get it. I have learned my lesson. I was wrong. You were right. And I am sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry but will you please just set me free. Give me time served or something. Anything. I'm begging you. Isn't it bad enough that you made me sell my Lady Gaga tickets and then made me pay for your dry cleaning? Or the never-ending chores. The house is literally so clean, mom. There's absolutely nothing left to tidy or organize. I don't know what else to do!"
"So your solution to that this past week was to rearrange my entire closet on Monday, set my kitchen on fire on Tuesday, and then spend two hours on a business call with my manager yesterday?" Shelby countered back, raising her eyebrow nearly to the ceiling. "You two planned an entire cabaret show for me, Rachel. What were you thinking?"
"The real question is why you won't even consider it!" Rachel rebutted, crossing her arms and slouching back against the cushions. "It's not my fault Marty called the house phone, am I just supposed to start ignoring calls now, mother? And also, he is awesome. He has so many ideas! Mom, listen, there's this new original musical he wants to talk to you about and the composers literally only want to work with you. It sounds amazing. You have to go back to New York, and you must take me with you."
"The only thing I must do is finish up this paperwork so that we can go home," Shelby replied. "To our house, here in Lima, where we live."
"But New York, mother," Rachel said as a matter-of-factly.
"But nothing, daughter," Shelby replied, sucking in an impatient breath. "Rachel, I already have a job. You have school. Your dad is here. Our family is here. We have lives here that we can't just pick up and leave, my love. I know you know how difficult it is to make big changes. I understand the hype and if in three-and-a-half years, you'd still like to move to New York for school, then I will support you all the way. But for right now, kid, you're stuck here with me… and still so very much grounded."
Rachel groaned audibly as if she was in gut-wrenching pain, which caused Shelby to drop her head into her hands out of sheer frustration. They were at the tail-end of week two of Rachel's grounding and as expected, her one and only child had not made things easy. Since Leroy left, the girl teetered from being sullen and reserved to being perfectly normal and unaffected, and Shelby could not keep up if she tried. Rachel would wake up in the morning and be an absolute delight but then be sorely ill-tempered by the time the mother tucked her in for bed. Most recently, they've been sparring about commuting her sentence. But as much as Shelby wanted to give in, to salvage her own sanity, she knows she wouldn't be doing Rachel or herself any favors if she conceded now. She needed her daughter to realize the error of her ways and learn her lesson, no matter how difficult it was for the both of them.
"Mom?" Rachel called, growing uncomfortable at the thickening silence between them.
After inhaling a calming breath, Shelby lifted her head, smoothed down the wrinkles on her dress, and scooted the chair closer to the desk. Clasping her hands in front of her, she began to address the girl in a calm and even manner.
"Rach, I know you are unhappy with your grounding. You've made that more than clear, but like I've said before kid, this is what happens when you break the rules. There are consequences. And despite what you may think, I'm not doing this for my own sake. I don't necessarily enjoy taking privileges away from you. And I am not doing this to purposefully make you feel miserable, I can promise you that. I just want you to take this time to reflect about the decisions you made and how and why you're going to make the right ones in the future. Okay? I love you and I don't want to fight about this anymore."
"I love you too," Rachel responded without hesitation, sighing heavily. She chewed on the inside of her lip in thought, her stomach clenching at the realization that she's been stewing in her anger and frustration all week and unfairly taking it out on her mom. She had no one else to blame but herself for being in this situation, and there was no reason for her to be causing her mother so much grief for what was, at the end of the day, her own fault.
"And I-I'm sorry if I've been acting like a brat. I'm just not used to being in trouble like this. But I understand that I deserve it and why you're being so hard on me. I know I was raised better, but I haven't been acting like it. I should be trying to regain your trust, but I keep complaining and pushing your buttons. I don't really mean to, I'm just frustrated, but I am sorry, mom," Rachel said remorsefully, her eyes nervous and downcast at the end of the apology. "I will try better."
"Thank you, Rach," Shelby acknowledged and gave her daughter a weary smile. "Apology accepted. I know you're a good kid and I realize that things haven't been easy recently. But, on the bright side, you only have to get through the rest of this week, and next. That's only ten more days until it's all over and we can move on. However, there will be no more attempts at cooking in the meanwhile," she added, trying to lighten the mood.
"At least we know your fire alarm works," Rachel shrugged sheepishly. "But thanks mom, for being understanding and not, you know, killing me or anything yet. Dad sorta threatened to last week."
"Well we'll see after ten more days, but you are welcome," laughed Shelby. She briefly glanced down at the incomplete papers before pushing them away, deciding instead to take advantage of Rachel's agreeable and talkative mood at the moment. This was always how it went these days, especially now that she and Hiram were adhering to the joint custody arrangement and Rachel was spending the full week with her. She'd often find herself at a cross between her work and her daughter, and she was habitually choosing the latter now.
"How are you feeling about tomorrow, baby?"
"Oh, I don't know," the girl replied, suddenly finding a rapt interest in the throw blanket next to her. She unfolded it and placed it across her lap, as if she needed the extra layer of protection from the change of the subject. "Okay, I guess."
"Yeah?" Shelby inquired, leaning forward at her desk and resting her weight on her forearms. "It's okay to be nervous, baby. It is your first therapy appointment. Do you have any more questions for me?"
"No," Rachel shook her head, grazing her hand against the soft, fleece material. "I don't think so. I think I know what to expect from what you and dad have told me. But—I don't know mom, do you really think I have to go?"
"I don't think you have to go, but I think that you should, my love," Shelby answered, her voice gentle and soft. "I think that it'll help you to have someone to talk to and to help you learn how to deal with everything that's going on in that pretty head of yours."
"I get that but is it really necessary?" Rachel questioned, ruminating it over in her head. "I'm perfectly capable of accessing my pain. I cry every time I sing a solo."
Despite the gravity of the conversation, the mother couldn't help the small laugh that escaped from her lips.
"That may be so, but I would still love for you to learn other ways to access and cope with your pain," Shelby said, clearing her throat and swallowing back her amusement with the previous statement. "You said you were okay with this, Rach?"
"Yes, I am," she nodded, honoring her commitment to her parents that she'd at least try. "But you'll be with me, right?"
"I will be picking you up from school tomorrow to take you to your appointment, yes," Shelby confirmed. "And if it's what you want baby and the doctor says it's okay, then I would be more than happy to sit in this first session with you."
"Okay," Rachel said, slightly reassured about what's to come.
"Okay," Shelby parroted.
She peeked at her computer screen for the time and then flicked her eyes up at her daughter catching the girl in the middle of a wide and drawn-out yawn. She closed the folder and began collecting her work without another thought. "Alright kid, you win. Let's go home."
Closing the door to her dad's house behind her the following evening, Rachel's stomach growled reactively at the smell of savory spices perfumed in the air. She followed the aroma of dinner cooking to the kitchen to find Hiram standing at the sink focused on draining a steaming pile of freshly cooked pasta.
"Hey dad," Rachel greeted.
"Hi, sweetheart!" Hiram beamed, turning his attention to the sight of his little girl finally home. "I didn't even hear you come in."
"I just got here, everything smells so good," Rachel said, surveying the meal preparations happening around her.
"Dinner should be ready soon. What's all this?" Hiram inquired, wiping his hands down the apron draped over his neck then grabbed a box full of miscellaneous items from Rachel's hands. He set it down the island and began rummaging through it.
"Sheet music, books, and a bunch of mom's old notebooks from workshops and rehearsals when she worked in New York," Rachel said excitedly, standing on her tiptoes to peer into the box. "Isn't it cool? She said I could practice and study and spare you from enduring the same fate as her this past week."
"A saint, that woman," Hiram remarked, clutching his chest in gratitude and chuckling at the vexed look streaking across his daughter's face. "How was the week with your mom? Everything go okay?"
"Mhmm, it was good," Rachel nodded positively. "But I uh—the other day I forgot to take the plastic off a frozen pizza and accidentally set it on fire in the oven while mom was at rehearsal. She freaked out and then ran a red light on her way home."
"No way, I cannot believe she didn't tell me!" Hiram exclaimed, a merry and contagious laugh ripping from his throat. "And that reminds me, why didn't you invite her in for dinner like I told you to?"
"I did, but she said she had to get home to get ready," Rachel shrugged, walking over to inspect the pungent sea of red simmering at the stove. "She's going to watch Mr. Schue perform in Les Mis tonight with Aunt Kim and Frannie."
"They didn't invite you?" Hiram asked, offering the girl a taste of the homemade marinara sauce and grinned when Rachel hummed in approval.
"Mom actually did because they're making Quinn go. I think as punishment," Rachel laughed, leaning against the island to continue to observe the older man cook. "But I don't know, I wanted to come home and hang out... I missed you."
"Yeah?" Hiram questioned, setting down the spoon and turning to give the girl his undivided attention. "I missed you too, Tink."
"What?" The father prompted after a few moments of silence, noticing delight coloring Rachel's expression. He snapped the kitchen towel in his hand at the girl lightheartedly in order to elicit a response.
"Nothing," Rachel chuckled, tearing the towel away defensively. "You just haven't called me that in forever."
"No? Well you are our Tinkerbell. I'll never forget you telling your daddy and me that you need applause to live," Hiram recalled wistfully.
"What?" The teenager shrugged, her lips curving upwards at the memory. "It was true then and it's true now."
"Right, but you were four-years-old then, Rach," the father pointed out. He reached over and cupped her cheek with a light touch, wondering where the last ten years went.
"How was the therapy appointment, sweetheart?"
"It was okay," Rachel relaxed at the familiar comfort. "Mom said to let you know that she's made a standing appointment every Friday for now so you'll have to take me next week."
"Not a problem," Hiram ensured, dropping his hand to squeeze his daughter's arm reassuringly. "Did you like Dr. Montgomery?"
"Yes, I did," Rachel said truthfully. "She was easy to talk to and she made me feel comfortable. Mom likes her too, I think they clicked."
"Good, Rach," Hiram said, drawing on experience to search his daughter's eyes for any hints of dishonesty, relieved to find none. "That's really good. And I am very proud of you for being so open-minded about this. I think it'll help you process some of the things you've been through this past year and help you deal with some of the pressures or anxiety you feel."
"Yeah that's what mom said too. We did an intake assessment, so I mostly just talked about myself this time," Rachel shared.
Her eyes flickered down to the linen cloth she was still holding, nostalgia seizing her emotions almost instantly. She can't recall how or when it started, but Leroy had a habit of collecting decorative kitchen towels that were monogrammed with silly phrases on them, and Hiram made it his mission to gift him with every single one he could find. He must've collected dozens throughout the years, and Rachel found them all when she helped pack up the apartment a few weeks ago. They were sitting in storage now, ready to be forgotten, but somehow, perhaps in the shuffle of the division of the two homes, one made its way to Lima. A faint smile formed on Rachel's lips examining the one in her hands that said 'Chop It Like It's Hot' with a silhouette of a knife sewed on the center, slightly amused that this is the one that survived the purge.
She folded it neatly, as small as she could get it, and set it on the counter behind her, finally bringing her gaze up to meet her father's a moment later. "Can I ask you something, dad?"
"If it's to shorten your grounding, then the answer is an emphatic no," Hiram gave a half-smile, picking up on a shift in the mood. "Your mother scares me just as much as she scares you. Maybe even more."
"No, that's not it," Rachel replied with a soft chuckle. They've been through a lot in the past year, but the one thing she always found constant was her dad's ability to make her laugh. It's the one thing that hasn't changed, the one thing she hoped never would.
She stepped away and rounded the island, as if putting the distance between them would make it easier for her to share what she wanted to say. "I don't want to make you upset or anything, but I was just wondering," she paused, uncertain if either of them were ready for this conversation. "Do you ever miss daddy?"
Hiram swallowed thickly, his chest wringing at the sadness clouding the girl's features. The pain brightening his daughter's eyes effectively pulled him back to, what he's decided, was the worst moment in his life so far. Through it all, it wasn't the glaring feeling of defeat he woke up to the morning he realized that his marriage was over or even the profound emptiness he felt the first night he spent alone with Rachel in Lima that's stayed with him. It was the seconds after he and Leroy told their daughter they were separating that kept him up at night. It was how Rachel's breath hitched, the manner her brows crinkled in pure confusion, the way her lashes fluttered almost frantically to stave off the tears in that moment that left him reeling. It was knowing that he was inherently responsible for his daughter's heartbreak that haunted him mercilessly. It was how she was looking at him now that tore him up inside, splintering his already shattered heart into a million more pieces.
It was also the intensity in her gaze, and the kind of broken expression she wore that one didn't usually see in a teenager's face, that drove him to be genuinely honest with her, probably, for the first time in months. "Yes. I do miss him."
"Yeah?" Rachel asked desperately, drinking in the first bits of an unveiled reaction from her father.
Hiram nodded. "Of course I do."
"Okay," Rachel breathed then stared down at her feet, almost as if she was willing them to remain planted. "Because it's really important to me to feel like I'm not alone in this," she managed to choke out, missing how the color drained from her father's face instantaneously at the admission.
"And it's important to me to feel like I'm not the only one acting like I lost something," she continued, not waiting for Hiram's acknowledgement before plunging forward with her thoughts. "And that I'm not the only one who's missing us and missing how things used to be… because you and daddy were my best friends, and we did everything together. But sometimes it feels like I lost you both and it's not fair," she whispered, shaking her head furtively. "Because I feel like I'm the only one who cares."
"You're not," Hiram replied as convincingly as he could, blinking back the stinging pressure building in his eyes. He moved immediately to erase the distance between them and gathered up his daughter in a crushing embrace, lifting her small frame off the ground. "You're not alone, Tink. And I care. I promise you that I care."
After a relatively quiet weekend at home with her dad, Rachel sat in the computer lab on Monday morning fixated on printing out a copy of the English paper she had due first period. With absolutely nothing else to do, courtesy of her perpetual grounding, she spent the better part of the last two days writing it, actually quite pleased with the result of her thorough work.
She downloaded the essay from her email, clicked print, and gathered her belongings to wait for it by the Xerox. Grabbing and stapling the assignment, she strolled out of the library right as the five-minute warning bell rang.
She was halfway down the hall when a frigid cold blast hit her from behind. Rachel shrieked in utter shock and turned around right in time for Karofsky to swipe the paper in her hands, crumple it up, and toss it in a nearby trash can.
"Better get to class, loser," the football player laughed viciously, pushing the girl before walking away with a cruel pep in his step. "Wouldn't want to be late."
Still rooted to her spot, Rachel only trembled with rage, a vortex of anger and frustration swirling at an alarming rate inside of her. For a few moments, all she could see was red and she only noticed Santana standing in front of her after the cheerleader placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Holy crap, Berry. Are you okay?" Santana asked, marginally concerned by her teammate's increasingly labored breathing.
After not receiving a response, Santana noticed Rachel's gaze drop down to the slushie in her other free hand and watched resentment light up brown eyes. She also pivoted slightly to follow Rachel's sight land on Karofsky collecting books at his locker a few yards away.
"Here," Santana offered the weaponized drink. "He totally deserves it."
"No," Rachel shook her head firmly, still breathless with anger. "No. That would be too easy. I-I think I have a better idea."
A/N: Bit of a set up chapter, but I'll be back soon with more. The sincerest thanks for reading and for dropping your encouraging notes! It warms this writer's heart.