A/N: This is a continuation of my story To Dream a Dream. If you haven't already, I strongly recommend that you read that story first. Just in case you're a new reader and you insist on starting here, please know that Aplastic Anemia is a real illness (and I think it does actually have a cure now) but my variation of it, called Danton's, is not real and for the sake of my story I'm pretending there is no cure. Anything medical in my stories is (loosely) based on some facts but largely tweaked by my artistic license to fit my plot/vision. Mostly to add drama.

A/N #2: I get just as excited to see that I've gotten a review as I hope you guys do when you see a new chapter. I love detailed reviews, but even brief ones just letting me know you liked it, didn't like it, whatever, brings me joy. Knowing that people are actually reading my story and enjoying it, wanting more, makes this more fun. And it motivates me to keep writing/posting.

Chapter 1: Not a Walk in the Park

The wind blows her hair back, tickling her neck. She glides through the air with her legs extended in front of her. Eyes on the moon, her hand stretches out. She's getting closer to it. For just a moment, it's like she could reach out and touch it. Her hand blocks the moon entirely and she briefly loses its light. She brings her hand back, holding on again. Her stomach drops slightly as she swings backward. She enjoys the swooshing sensation. It's freeing. She feels weightless. Unburdened, if only for a moment. She'd get in trouble if anyone knew she was here. She knows its stupid. But she needed this. School starts tomorrow and she found herself unable to sleep. For some reason, she was overwhelmed. She's not even sure from what. Her room seemed stifling. She needed out. Now, calmer, she finds her thoughts drifting to the summer.

Celebrating the end of the school year with her friends.

Filming the horror movie with her friends.

Dylan's birthday party.

Her first moderate attack with her extended family.

Lunch with Dad.

Her first appointment with the therapist, Renee.

Her first "public" moderate attack.

Hanging out with her friends (and Blaine more and more).

Bleeding more: gums and nose. And period.

Singing with Mom.

Dates with Finn.

Time with her Hummel family.

The trip to New York.

Singing on a Broadway stage.

Talking to Renee, who turns out to be easy to talk to.

Dinner with Dad.

Cuddling with Mom.

Dizzy spells.

Bleeding too much from her period.

Having a severe attack at Santana's party.

Curling up with San to watch movies.

Her first massage.

Struggling to wake up.

Quiet days with Mom or Uncle Burt and Kurt.

Fun days with Finn or her friends.

Learning she's stage 3.

Hearing about bone marrow transplants for the first time.

Falling asleep on warm afternoons.

Writing songs with Blaine (and sometimes Kurt).

Dancing with Brittany.

Shopping with Mercedes, Tina, Kurt, and Blaine.

Recording videos with Kurt for his vlog.

Random day trips to or from extended family.

Weekly treatments; with various friends or family joining her.

Random karaoke parties with her friends. Just because.

Laughing at old romance movies with Quinn, Santana, and Brittany.

Hanging out at their spot.

Rachel leans back, gaining more momentum. The swing glides through the air. The repetitive motion and weightless sensation are helping her sort through her memories more easily. Renee is nice to talk to. She's glad she agreed to give therapy a try. However, that doesn't mean she doesn't still need time to herself to sort through her emotions on her own. Junior year starts tomorrow. If she can wake up in time to go. If. Mom was clear about that. No more multiple wake up calls. If she doesn't wake the first time, she will be left to sleep until she wakes naturally.

"Rachel."

Unexpectedly pulled from her musings, she is confused to see Mr. and Mrs. Johnson standing a few feet away. She slows her swing. They walk closer. When the swing stops moving, they stand before her.

"Um, hi?" Seriously, what is she supposed to say?

"Sweetheart, what are you doing out here alone? At night?" Mrs. Johnson's tone is both accusatory and concerned.

Not really sure how to answer, she lets her eyes sweep the park. The streetlights only illuminate the edges, leaving the majority of the park swathed in shadows. No sign of her mother, thankfully.

"Rachel?"

"I just….I needed…..to be alone. Really alone. Not just in my room with Mom across the hall or downstairs."

"And if you have an attack?"

The young brunette holds up her cell phone. The older couple share a look.

"I also had a moderate attack this morning," in the bathroom, which was not only inconvenient, but horribly embarrassing, "so I know I won't get another for at least a week."

"Rachel, we know it's really not our place but we care about you and your mother. We really don't think just taking your phone is good enough. You're stage 2."

"3." She notes their startled expressions. "I guess Mom hasn't had a chance to tell you yet."

"I'm very sorry, Rachel. That's upsetting to hear. But it's also more reason to not be out here alone!"

"There are four stages. The fourth stage is the final stage. Hospitalization or at least bed rest, often followed by death. I may not get to that point, but I might. I'm only one stage away. I want to take these….escapes….while I still can. Who knows if I will get to again? Ever?"

The Johnson's share another look, this one sadder.

"Let's start walking back."

Knowing it wasn't a request, she silently stands and walks with them home. On the three block walk Mr. Johnson regales her with stories of his youth, making her smile. They pause in front of the Johnson's house.

"Well, goodnight." Rachel says lamely.

They shake their heads. "I'm just running inside for a moment. I'll meet you both at your house, Rachel."

The girl frowns. "But I—"

"Let's go." Mr. Johnson cuts her off, taking her arm and guiding her to her house.

"You're going to wake my mom, aren't you."

"Yes we are. But not right away."

Rachel frowns deeper. They enter the house and pause, listening. Silent. Her mom is still asleep, then. She takes off her sandals, then lets her neighbor guide her to the kitchen. They're only sitting for a few minutes before Mrs. Johnson arrives with a small box. She bustles quietly around the kitchen.

"This recipe is my special hot cocoa. It's been passed down in my family for generations. All of the children are convinced it is magical." She explains as she mixes things together.

Rachel is intrigued. She's never had hot cocoa in the summer before. It's a cool weather drink. Her dads were sticklers for only eating/drinking seasonal items during the appropriate season. Once it's finished and sitting on the table, Mrs. Johnson sets out 4 mugs. Rachel slumps.

She gives her a kind but stern look. "Go wake your mother, please."

Cringing, Rachel stands. The steps creak quietly as she walks up them. She wonders what would happen if she just went to bed. Or changed into pajamas before waking her mom. Realizing she'd never get away with it, she walks into her mom's room. She keeps the door open now. It's almost never shut. Only when she's changing. With a sigh, she sits on the edge of her mother's bed. That slight motion is enough to wake her.

"Rach? You okay?" When Rachel doesn't respond, her mom sits up, looking at her closer. "Why are you dressed? What's going on?"

She twists the hem of her tank top between her fingers. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything, you know that." Guilt floods her.

"Um, first, just remember that you love me."

Amusement, concern, and suspicion all flash across her mother's face. "Rachel?"

"Come downstairs, please?"

"Rachel?" Her mom sits up straight, eyes narrowing.

Rachel stands and begins walking out. "And you might want to put on a robe. We have guests."

"Rachel!" Her mom's tone is sharp.

She quickens her pace, trying to ignore the sounds of her mom scrambling for a robe behind her. She makes it to the kitchen first and slides into her seat. The Johnson's look on in amusement.

"What did you tell her?"

"To remember that she loves me."

They attempt to stifle their laughter. "Oh, that'll get her down here fast."

Sure enough, her mother appears seconds after that prediction, still tying her robe closed. She enters the kitchen looking tense and nervous. Seeing their neighbors sitting at their kitchen table just before midnight certainly didn't help ease her mind.

"Stan? Beatrice? Is everything okay?"

"Why don't you sit, Shelby?"

Still on edge, her mother does. "What's going on?"

"I couldn't sleep," Mrs. Johnson begins, "so Stan suggested we take a walk. Imagine our surprise when we ran into Rachel at the park."

Her mother freezes. She doesn't even seem to be breathing. Her face pales as she wraps her mind around what she was just told. When her mom's eyes meet hers, Rachel wonders if her grounding will be lifted in time for Thanksgiving. Instead of yelling like Rachel expected, her mother slouches forward. She rests her face in her hands and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. When she repeats the process, it's shaky. Shame joins her guilt, twisting uncomfortably in her gut.

"The park."

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

Her mom clasps her hands together and presses them against her mouth. Mrs. Johnson slides her a mug.

"It's my special cocoa. I made yours extra special." She adds with a wink.

Her mom clasps the steaming mug like a lifeline and sips it.

"Mom…"

Her mom holds up her hand, stilling her. "Not now. Tomorrow. When I can talk without screaming or crying, we will discuss this."

Rachel looks down into her own mug, blurred now by a film of tears. At Mr. Johnson's gentle prompting, she begins drinking it. The warm liquid is sweet, but not too sweet. It's thick, but not syrupy. Smooth, creamy, delicious, and oddly comforting. Special. She smiles slightly. Magical. Peeking up, she sees the three adults watching with small smiles. Her mom's smile nearly breaks her heart. It's soft but sad and something else she can't define. She looks away, taking another sip. She doesn't deserve that smile. They drink silently for a while. Rachel's eyelids droop. She rests her head on her hand and finishes her cocoa.

"Go to bed, Rachel." Her mom says quietly.

After sleeping for several hours after her attack, she hadn't been tired at bedtime. Now, though, she's pretty sure she could sleep at the table if she closed her eyes.

"Thanks for the hot cocoa. It was the best I've ever had." Rachel tells Mrs. Johnson quietly.

The woman smiles warmly at her. "You're welcome, Rachel. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She nods to Mr. Johnson as she stands.

She passes her mom's seat and the woman doesn't move. She doesn't even look at her. Rachel pauses, uncertain.

"Go, Rachel." She repeats, eyes fixed on her mug.

Hot tears fill her eyes and she leaves the kitchen. The warm, sleepy feelings from the cocoa are washed away by the cold and slimy shame from before. It slithers through her stomach, making her wonder if she'll throw up the delicious beverage she just enjoyed. She's still struggling to hold back sobs while she changes into pajamas. She hears the muffled voices of the adults below. Does her mom regret taking her in? Is she realizing she's too much trouble to be worth dealing with? Her dad has said that on a few occasions. Granted he was always drunk when he said it, but still. He wouldn't repeat it if it wasn't true, right? Maybe sober adults are just too nice to say it outright to her.

The sheets are cool when she slides between them. Curled on her side in her dark room, she can no longer hold back. Her chest heaves with gasping breaths, salty tears drenching her face, her hands in fists. All that's missing is pain and it'd be an attack. Well…it's missing physical pain. Does emotional pain count?

How could she be so stupid? Who cares that she'd felt like she was suffocating? She should have gone to her mom instead of going to the park. Or even just sat on the patio. Rachel squeezes her eyes shut as hard as she can, wishing she could go back to this afternoon; curled with her mom, laughing at some stupid show, relaxed while recuperating from the attack. She squeezes her hands into even tighter fists, gasping more. Even after that. She wishes she could go back just an hour and a half to when she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling the walls closing in. She could have called Kurt. Or Finn. Even her dad, she's sure. Anything but leaving and making her mom regret involving herself in her life. The woman can't even bear to look at her now.

But she smiled when she saw you enjoying the hot cocoa. Rachel shakes her head. Wishful thinking. She was probably just putting on a nice act for the neighbors.

"Rach?"

She opens her eyes, still sobbing. Her mom's concerned gaze meets hers. It makes her heart twist with confusion and hope. She's worried now?

"Honey?" Her mom sits on her bed and rubs her arm. "What's wrong?"

How can she answer that? She curls into a tighter ball, trying to calm down.

"Rachel, I need you to try to calm down."

Her hand rubs her back now. Rachel can't help but flinch a little. Both at the pressure on some bruises and at the acknowledgement that she probably let her over-emotional mind steer her thoughts in the wrong direction. When she feels her mom lay behind her, wrap her arms around her, and begin humming, she knows she definitely overreacted. Of course her wonderful mother still loves her. Still wants her. Her mom kisses her temple and she cries harder. Guilt, love, relief, shame, and exhaustion all clammer for her attention. It drains her.

"Breathe, baby." The words are whispered by her ear. "Nice breath in, come on. Good. Once more."

She's so exhausted she doubts she could even sit up. Her breathing is calmer, but tears still leak from her eyes.

"Talk to me. Please."

Her mother has been holding out her arms this whole time, reaching out ready to hold her, comfort her, and support her. But time and again she shies away, uncertain or doubtful. When will she just trust that she can fall into those arms and be caught lovingly? Even now, when she broke a rule (a rule she has already broken in the past) and angered and upset her mother, her mom is still standing before her and practically begging her to let her help. Rachel clenches her fists, ashamed and angry with herself.

"I'm sorry."

"Oh baby girl, I know you are. And we'll talk about it in detail tomorrow, trust me. But right now I need to know what has you this upset. I need you to tell me, Rachel." It's both a demand and a desperate plea.

She's glad her mom is behind her; they can't see each other's faces. It's probably the only way she'd be able to get the words out.

"You were too angry to hug me goodnight." She mumbles. "You always hug me goodnight. "

The arms around her hold tighter. "I'm sorry, hun. I was….am angry. And upset. But I didn't intentionally not hug you. Are you sure that's all? This is a pretty big reaction to a missed hug."

"I thought….I…..just for a moment….thought it meant you….regretted taking me in. Dealing with me, dealing with….all this. I know its a lot to put up with."

Her mom climbs over her so that they're face to face. In fact, she firmly holds her face, forcing eye contact.

"I know you're tired, but please tell me you're awake and listening because I really need you to hear this." Rachel nods, eyes widening at the forceful tone. "I love you, Rachel. So much. More than anything or anyone. More than life. If it was a choice between saving you or a thousand strangers, I'd save you with no hesitation and no regret. I do not regret taking you in. I have not, not even for a second. Just the opposite, actually. Every moment I get to be with you brings me joy. Are all of those moments easy? No, of course not. Your attacks and other health issues aren't easy to handle, but I'd rather deal with them every day than not have you. Any life with you, any time I get with you, is better than any without you. Please, please never doubt how much I love you. I always want you in my life. No matter what. Nothing you could say or do could possibly change that. Ever."

Tears of a different variety slip down her cheeks. Rachel ignores them, taking in a shaky breath instead. "Even….even leaving in the middle of the night?"

Her mom's smile somehow manages to portray both love and sorrow. "Even then. Nothing will change how much I love you. Nothing will make me regret finally getting you in my life."

The fingers wiping away her tears and warm and soft. Her eyelids feel heavy but her heart is light. "I love you, Mom."

It doesn't feel like enough, but it's enough to wash the sorrow from her mom's smile.

"Do you need your oxygen tank?"

"No."

"Okay. Now, you really need to sleep. If you can wake up, you have school tomorrow."

"And if I can't?"

"Then Uncle Burt will come over after taking Kurt to school."

"You'll be late, then."

Her mom shakes her head. "Don't worry about my job. I've worked it out with May and with HR. I can go in late as often as I need to as long as I let them know. You are my priority."

"But you already quit Vocal Adrenaline." She's mumbling again, barely awake enough to talk.

Her mom huffs a laugh. "This again? Rachel, we've discussed this. I didn't quit. I passed over the title of coach to Dustin. I'm still working with them, just as the assistant. More of an advisor. That way I have more time for you." Rachel opens her mouth. "And don't apologize again. I already told you that I want this. I want more time with you. I would have done this last year if Dustin had earned my trust sooner."

Rachel smiles, even though her eyes are closed. "Okay."

"Good. I want you to—"

Rachel opens her eyes. Her mother had grasped her hand and is now staring down at it.

"Mom?"

"What's wrong with your hand?"

She sits up and leans over Rachel to turn on the lamp. They both examine Rachel's hands. Her palms and fingers are coated in a thin layer of blood.

"Rachel…" her mother breathes "..what happened?"

She blinks slowly, still looking at them. Huh. It takes a moment for her to push the fatigue aside long enough to grab the memory from just minutes prior. "I…..squeezed my hands into fists."

Her mom runs her fingers lightly over them. "How hard were you squeezing?"

A barely perceptible shrug. "I was upset."

Her words hang like anvils, the weight of them pulling her mom's mouth down into a deep frown. "Do they hurt?"

"No."

No more than anything else, anyway. Her eyes droop more. The bed shifts and feet shuffle away. She doesn't remember falling asleep, but she must have. Her hands are clean. A washcloth, tinged red, sits on the nightstand. One hand is bandaged. Her mom is carefully wrapping the other. Through half-lidded eyes she watches her mother use tender care to bandage the minor cuts. But it's the look on her mom's face that draws her attention. It's love. And guilt. And sorrow. How could she have ever doubted how much her mom loves her? Green eyes meet brown. The corner of her mom's mouth lifts.

"Go back to sleep." She whispers.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finn taps his pen on the table in agitation, eyes constantly jumping between the empty seat next to him, the clock, the door, and Mr. Schuester. It's the first day of Junior Year and he hasn't seen his girlfriend yet. Kurt sent out a group text stating that she would be late. This is their first class of the day. He's glad that he, Rachel, and Brittany were allowed to stay together in Spanish this year. Actually, when they all got together to compare schedules, they discovered that Ms. Pillsbury had worked hard to arrange their schedules so that as many of them shared classes with Rachel as possible. It was a relief for all of them. She doesn't have a single class without at least one other gleek with her.

Class is half over when she walks in with Coach Sylvester behind her. His shoulders relax and he can feel himself settle down just from knowing she's here. She looks tired, but she's smiling. Mr. Schuester looks relieved, too. He smiles brightly at her and briefly rests a hand on her shoulder.

"Glad you're here, Rachel."

A few kids who had classes with Rachel last year smile at her. Brittany waves enthusiastically, making Rachel grin and wave back. He grabs her hand as soon as she's seated. He's startled to feel something other than soft skin. Carefully turning her hand over, he sees the large band-aid covering most of her palm. He frowns. Rachel turns her hand back over. The smile she gives him promises answers later. Surprisingly, she lets him continue to hold her hand. Last year she'd squeeze his hand, then pull it away so she could focus. Today she seems content to just hold his hand and listen to Mr. Schuester. When class ends, their teacher holds them back.

"Rough start, Rach?"

"Sorry, Mr. Schue. I didn't mean to be late."

The curly haired teacher shakes his head. "That wasn't my point. I want you to know that we purposely scheduled my class as your first class of the day. We know mornings are particularly hard for you, so you don't have to worry about being late to school or to my class. Just come in when you can. Anything you miss I'll gladly go over with you later. Alright?"

She nods. "Thanks, Mr. Schuester."

"It's not a problem. Anything we can do to help make this a little easier on you, we will do."

Rachel swallows hard, but manages a genuine smile. Finn's smile stretches across his face. Mr. Schue totally rocks. Best teacher ever.

"So what happened today? Just a rough morning?" Finn can't help but ask.

Rachel looks away. "Um, sort of. I…..didn't get much sleep last night, so I had a really hard time waking up this morning. Uncle Burt came over after dropping off Kurt. Mom went to work and Uncle Burt waited until I was ready for school, then drove me here."

"Why didn't you sleep much? Did you have an attack?"

"Not last night, no. Yesterday, though. Last night….I….well, I did something stupid that I don't intend to do again."

Mr. Schue's eyebrows shoot up. Finn's pretty sure his face matches his teacher's. "Something….stupid?"

"Yeah. Mom's going to talk to me about it later today. I'll probably end up grounded." She mumbles.

Finn laughs. He can't help it. She glares at him. "I'm sorry, Rach, but….it's hard to imagine you getting grounded. The only time I can remember you being grounded was last year when you left the house alone without telling your Mom."

Rachel looks down, biting her lip. Finn's face falls as understanding dawns. Mr. Schue looks concerned.

"Rachel…..you left your house alone?"

"Yeah. Just before 11 last night."

"Rachel!" Their teacher scolds.

"I know! I just…had…..it was…I was having a hard night and felt like the walls were closing in on me. I needed fresh air. I needed an escape."

His chest kind of hurts. He can't even imagine what was going through her mind that made her start panicking like that.

"Rach," he begins gently, "if you feel that way again, you can call me. Any time of night."

She looks up at him. "I know. I almost did, actually. But what I really needed was fresh air. I needed to not be indoors. Don't worry. Mom will yell at me later. If it happens again, I'll wake her."

"Why didn't you wake her last night?" Mr. Schue inquires.

"She looked peaceful. I keep disturbing her peace with attacks or not feeling well or being upset. I didn't want to disturb her."

"It's a parent's job. And one she's happy to take on."

"I know that" She insists. Then, softer, "now."

Mr. Schue's face softens. "Alright. I'm sorry. I know it's not my place."

Rachel grins at him. "Well, you're my teacher, coach, and sort of honorary uncle, so I'm not offended. I know you care."

Mr. Schue's eyes shine with unshed tears. The man blinks them away and pulls Rachel into a hug. Finn swallows a grin at how sappy his teacher can be at times. But he gets it. He feels the same way Rachel does about their teacher.

"Alright, get to class you two." He says gruffly, handing them late passes.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Her fork scraped along her plate, pulling the last of the broccoli into a pile. She speared it and debated if she could actually eat more. Probably not.

"I'm glad your first day back was good."

"Yeah. It was nice seeing a few of the classmates I'm friendly with, but not close enough to to spend time with outside of school. And I saw all of my friends over the summer, but seeing them all in school was more….." she's not sure how to finish it.

"Normal?"

"I guess, yeah."

"Are you finished eating?" Her mom is eyeing the remaining food on her plate.

Rachel nods and stands, taking her plate to the sink. Once they're cleaned up, they sit in the living room. No point delaying the inevitable.

"Alright, sweetheart. What happened last night? You seemed fine when you went to bed. You seemed fine when I checked on you before I went to bed. But then I was awoken just before midnight to discover that you'd sneaked out of the house to walk to the park."

Rachel twists the hem of her shirt between her fingers. "I'd woken up and couldn't fall back asleep, which is weird for me. I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I just…..I needed to get out before I suffocated."

Her mom takes one of her hands, careful to not apply pressure where the bandage is. "When you felt like the walls were closing in, how was your breathing?"

"Huh?"

Her mom's thumb is drawing circles on the back of her hand. "Were you breathing normally? Or faster than normal? Did you feel like you were having trouble getting air in?"

She thinks back. "I was breathing a little faster than normal." More than a little, but no point worrying her mom.

"And what were you thinking about while unable to fall back asleep?"

"Just….everything. The changes. The future."

Her mom nods slowly. "Okay. I know you're not scheduled to talk to Renee again until next week, but I'd like to see if she can get you in this week. Does that sound good?"

Rachel shrugs. She's spoken to Renee a couple times. She likes her well enough, and finds her easy to talk to, but its still hard for her to just open up and talk about stuff. She'd still rather not.

"Okay, we'll do that." She hesitates, but continues. "Rachel, why didn't you wake me?"

"You looked peaceful." At her mom's look, she gives her the same explanation she gave Mr. Schuester and Finn. Her mom is shaking her head before she even finishes.

"Rach, I'd rather you wake me. Talk to me. Or just crawl into bed and let me hold you. I want you to. It's not disturbing me. Trust me, baby girl, finding out you were going through this alone is more disturbing than a little lost sleep."

"I will."

"Rachel, I mean it. I—"

"I will! I….I've gotten better about it, haven't I?"

And she has. A couple times this summer she went to her mom for comfort when she was upset or overwhelmed with everything going on, when her thoughts became too much for her to settle on her own. Once she even crawled into bed with her mom during the night when she'd woken up upset from an unsettling dream.

"You have, hun, and I'm happy about it. But it sounds like either your thoughts overwhelm you more often than you're letting on or you're upset and not seeking comfort more frequently than I'd realized."

"I seek comfort."

"But not as often as you actually need to."

Damn she's good. "I don't want to be…."

"A burden?" Her mom's one eyebrow raises. "Rachel, we've had this discussion as well. You're not a burden. What you see as a burden I see as just me taking care of my daughter, which I enjoy doing. So let me take care of my daughter."

She blinks against the film of tears that has arisen and swallows hard. "Okay."

She's pulled into a warm hug. She sinks into it. Feeling needles pierce her chest, she presses her face deeper into her mom's shoulder. Her mom holds her tighter and hums, rubbing her back firmly. She releases a breath when it's over.

"Better?"

She nods. Her mom kisses her head.

"So….what's my punishment?" When her mom raises an eyebrow in surprise, she goes on. "Not that I want to be punished, but…I kind of ended up telling the glee kids about last night. So, um, if you don't punish me Uncle Burt will."

Her mom laughs. "And you'd rather I punish you than Uncle Burt?"

"Well…..yes." She finally admits.

Her mom is still chuckling. "Maybe I should be asking Burt about past punishments that have worked for you."

Oh. Whoops. Rachel attempts to keep her face neutral. "Well, you don't have to."

Her mom laughs again. "Now I really think I do. It sounds like they were quite effective."

"They were, but that's not entirely why I'd rather it come from you."

"And why's that?"

"You're the one whose rule I broke. And…you're the one I upset."

Her mom stops laughing and looks at her sadly. "I really was upset, Rach, and I'm still not sure you really understand why."

"I broke your rule….again…..and worried you."

Her mom nods slowly. "True. But it went beyond worried. When we had this discussion last year, I was worried and scared when I couldn't find you. You were stage one. Now you're stage three. Your attacks are more frequent. You get tired and dizzy more frequently. I know you don't like it, but you need constant care. You can't be truly alone anymore, Rachel. It's just not safe. So if I had woken up last night before you returned and not been able to find you, I would have been…..absolutely hysterical. Terrified."

Rachel hugs her mom tight. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about how you'd' feel, I was just…..trying to escape the suffocating thoughts. My only focus was getting outside. Alone."

Her mom hugs her back. "I get that. Understand that those suffocating thoughts may come back. If they do, tell me immediately. If you had woken me up last night and told me, I would have gone with you. If you needed space, I would have walked, or driven, a ways behind you. Then you could have had your escape and you would have had someone nearby in case something happened. I'll do what I can to give you time alone, but…."

"But I can't be truly alone."

Her mom's only answer is kissing the side of her head.

"For the record," before she can say more, her mom is already chuckling softly. She ignores it. "If I hadn't had an attack earlier in the day, I wouldn't have gone to the park. I would have sat on the back patio. I may have needed an escape, but I really don't like going through attacks alone. I wouldn't have gone far."

"That's good to hear. Now, for your punishment."

Rachel groans.

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She sighs and puts her head down. An essay. She should have known an English teacher would punish her by making her write. Plus, it's a punishment that doesn't take anything away from her (she doesn't have a whole lot left she can do) and doesn't put a toll on her physically. Clever mother. She should have let Uncle Burt punish her. She was allowed to choose from a variety of topics: how to identify a panic and/or anxiety attack (and how to handle it), coping with a serious illness, how to ask for help (when dealing with a serious illness), or how to hold on to some independence while dealing with a serious illness. Rachel had rolled her eyes at the topic list, but understood why those were her options. She chose the topic of panic and anxiety attacks, curious if that's what had happened to her Monday night. Turns out, it probably was an anxiety attack. And she certainly has things to be anxious about.

Her thoughts wander to the first Glee club meeting of the year. Everyone was happy, but without a twelfth member they can't compete. She's trying not to read into it, but there was a definite undertone of "what will this year be like" surrounding her. Whenever solos, dancing, or competitions were mentioned, her teammates eyes would flick to her. "Can she?" She could practically hear their thoughts. She honestly don't know. But God she hopes she can. Singing is her passion. Singing in the basement with her mom (or Kurt) is fun, but not the same as singing on a stage. She misses it. She's been looking forward to it. They sang a group number just for fun and to get them "reset" for glee. It was fun, lighthearted, and not strenuous at all. But they can't all be like that. She swallows these thoughts down. It'll be a good year. She'll rest more but she'll still sing and perform.

She will.

Even if it kills her.

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Shelby sits in the basement at her piano. She had moved the alert base down here so that if Rachel needs her while upstairs, she'll know instantly. Her fingers glide along the keys, following familiar songs. Her mind wanders. As usual lately, she mostly thinks about Rachel and her health. Her battles. She realizes she's humming and that it's something new. A new tune. A new melody. It's been a while since she's tried to write her own song. It could be good for her, she decides. Smiling slightly, she lets her fingers and her heart lead her to a place where she can release her emotions.