It was easily the last place he wanted to be; Rachel's fault, again, just like everything else in his life. She'd insisted on the stupid wheelchair for ease of accessibility, knowing fully well that he wasn't adept at using a cane yet, not that he'd ever even bothered to try.

Everything pointed to the fact that he wanted nothing more than to simply ignore the reality that he was blind, that his life and career were summarily over, and that Rachel was back in his life.

She'd always embodied the proverbial thorn in his side, messing up his finely woven plans, laid out so perfectly, all until she came along.

Infiltrating New Directions would have been perfectly all right if she hadn't come along and made him fall for her after breaking his heart.

Coming back for her would have been easy if she hadn't abandoned him the next morning and broken his heart for the second time.

Continuing on with his life would have been just fine, sleeping with girls until they wanted more, doing shows and not thinking about Rachel, if she hadn't demanded a place back in his life while Finn held a place in hers.

"Are you here for the couple's counseling?"

"No!" Rachel shot out immediately, and Jesse's hands inevitably clenched into fists. "No, um— I'm just here for support and transportation. Jesse was in an accident, it's—"

"Yes," she said slowly, sounding like the very polar opposite of Rachel in the process, "I remember the chart. Jesse, what is it that you'd like to talk about?"

"Maybe you should ask Rachel here, since she seems to be awfully eager to talk. I, frankly, don't see the point of being here."

Rachel stepped in almost instantly, tone defiant. "The doctor recommended—"

"Not everything always has to go the way you want it, Rachel! I'm so sick of you running my life when you obviously don't care about any of it, let alone whether you're even a part of it!"

He could hear the sharp intake of breath that preceded every single one of Rachel's lectures, but it never came, as if the therapist had held up a hand to silence her. If she had, Jesse certainly couldn't see it.

"Jesse, would you say you resent your blindness? Or are you more upset about Rachel's presence?"

"I don't know that I want to talk about this with her in the room."

"Rachel, would you mind leaving us?"

"If— if Jesse wouldn't mind, I'd like to stay," Rachel's voice interjected, suddenly small and meek. It sounded as though she was looking at him when she said it, which made a significant difference. Even if he couldn't see it, she wasn't treating him like a second-class human being.

"Fine." His voice ground out the words sharply, accompanied by a lone nod as a deep breath followed. "But you need to stay quiet, Rachel."

"I can... do my best."

Licking his lips, his teeth held onto his lower lip for longer than necessary before he finally went on to say, "I'm obviously upset about losing my career. But she's the bigger issue."

"Why would you say that is?"

Because I'm in love with her. "Because Rachel feels the need to worm herself into every aspect of my life that's going right so she can ruin it. I was fine without her there before. She likes to lead you on and make you think that she actually cares about you as long as you keep offering her attention. But as soon as that attention so much as wavers even slightly, she's back to her boyfriend. I'm so sick of being led on."

"You don't actually think those things, do you?"

The drive back from the therapist was almost painful, neither of them daring to say anything lest they ruin the momentary, fake peace that had taken hold of them for the time being. Jesse didn't want to talk, because Rachel was the last person he wanted to talk to right now, and Rachel didn't want to spoil the pretense, knowing he likely wouldn't want to speak to her in the first place.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Jesse, this is stupid. I'm not leading you on."

"For fuck's sake, Rachel!" he finally bellowed, his first slamming against the passenger seat window, "deciding you suddenly need to sleep in bed with me? Massaging me in the bathtub? Whispering dirty shit in my ear because you know it's going to turn me on? You know exactly what you're doing!"

There was a long, pregnant pause as Jesse's now-aching fist returned to thigh. "You just want me to pay attention to you, because it's all you've ever cared about, Rachel. And as soon as you have it, you'll go running back to Finn. Because god, what a fun game! We trapped Jesse again! He's in love all over again, so I guess it's time to break his fucking heart!"

"Jesse!"

"What?" he snapped, glowering in her direction despite not knowing for certain where he was even looking. It made him feel better— that was all that really mattered in the end.

"Finn and I broke up over two weeks ago."

The silence could have been palpable, thick enough for a knife to struggle getting through it in the first place, and Jesse felt his temper rising in his throat alongside the reluctant hope he wanted so badly to crush before its inception in his chest, the car sliding to a stop as Rachel turned off the engine.

"Why the fuck wouldn't you tell me that, Rachel?"

"I didn't think—"

"Didn't think that, what? That the guy that pined for you for years and years wouldn't want to know that you finally broke up with your boyfriend? After you've been living with him for weeks? What the fuck, Rach?"

"Jesse, I don't—"

"No, you know what? You're right. You don't owe me anything, and I clearly don't owe you anything, either, Rachel, so I think we're done here."

It would have been a far better exit if he could have actually gotten out of the car without her help. As it was, the fall he took was inevitable, sharply scraping his elbow on the pavement as he hit the ground.

"Fuck."

"Jesse—!" The way the car door slammed, the way Rachel's heels pattered across the anxiously ground and around the car to get to Jesse— it was all far too predictable. Jesse itched all over for something more comfortable, something that actually made sense for once. Something that wasn't Rachel Berry.

"Don't," he ground out, jaw set as he pushed himself up off the ground with his arms, still shaky even as he managed to barely stand with the help of the door handle on the car. "Don't talk to me, don't touch me, and don't you dare help me."

It took him half an hour to get to walk a stretch that should have normally taken him two minutes under regular circumstances, but what was important was that he had made it on his own.

What Jesse didn't know was the fact that Rachel had followed him closely, making sure that the elevator was already there when he pushed the button, making sure the door was open to his apartment as he got to it, and making sure that the keys that had fallen out of his pocket got picked up again.

From that point forward, Jesse began going to therapy on his own, insisting she wait for him outside while he spoke to the woman supposedly "helping" him. Particularly after he would get his cast off, he'd informed her, and even Rachel could tell that Jesse was excited for the date to get here already. The doctor had already delayed it twice, arguing that he wanted to make sure that it was all healed before he removed the cast, that six weeks just wasn't enough for two breaks to fix themselves properly, no matter what Web MD was telling them.

With it finally off, it had taken the arguments of two nurses, one doctor, and Rachel to get him into the wheelchair as she brought him down to the car, and even then she could tell just how excited he was for his leg to be free once more.

"Now I just have to be able to see again, and we'll be back up to speed," he muttered, sounding entirely too optimistic for her tastes as she drove him back to his apartment (despite the fact that it was arguably their apartment by this point, really).

"At least let me help you out of the car and upstairs."

"Rachel, I understand that you've been getting your contented little fill of playing my dominatrix nurse as of late, but all good things need to come to an end. I'm going upstairs, and I'll be taking a shower. On my own."

It was as though one of his legs had shriveled to about half its former size, former muscles diminished, weak. Her dad's arm had been the same way, and she watched with a frown as he struggled to find his footing upon closing the door.

Finally, silent, not wanting to encroach on Jesse's pride, she simply moved up to slip his arm over her shoulders for support.

He didn't say anything, but he didn't stop her, either.

"Well? What's the verdict, nurse Berry?"

"Your skin looks kind of flaky and paler than everywhere else. Darker hair. And... pretty much non-existent muscles."

"I figured that was the case," he sighed, flexing his leg as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm going to take a shower, okay?"

"Jesse, it's going to be really easy for you to pull a muscle, and without severely restricted muscle movement, I really don't think—"

"Rachel, I could really do without you molly-coddling me every second of every damn day. I can take a fucking shower by myself."

And a part of it, Rachel was damn certain, was simply the fact that having the use of his leg once more was the first step to having his independence, his autonomy back, one less reason to be attached to Rachel every step along the way. Jesse hated to be tied down, and no matter how concerned she was about the potential of him hurting himself, the chance of his pride being wounded if she denied him the right to at least try and shower by himself was far greater.

"Fine."

It was hard enough, watching him struggle to the bathroom— blind or not, his muscles were still despondently weak, and without the support of the counter and the toilet, she wasn't entirely certain that he would have made it.

One second, it was about watching him to make sure he actually got to the shower in one piece without collapsing, platonic, innocent, more worried than anything else.

But with his having reached the shower safely, the next moment suddenly found itself rooted in an entirely different feeling, Rachel swallowing hard as she silently watched Jesse undress. He'd already taken off his pants, but nothing else had followed until now, and Rachel could feel the way her breath seemed to stick in her throat as he slipped out of his boxers, letting them pool at his feet.

It was just to make sure that he would be all right. That he wouldn't slip in the shower and kill himself on accident. Really, she could keep coming up with reasons to justify what she was doing, biting her lip as she slid out of her own clothes, gaze still holding on fast to his perfect form, but in the end, it was all Jesse. She couldn't help it.

As the shower turned on, Rachel steeled her resolve, promptly slipping past the curtain and in with him. For just a moment she just watched, unwavering from her position as he stood, the majority of his weight focused primarily on one leg, letting the spray of the hot water wash over his face and down his body.

But when she noticed him reaching for the shampoo and inevitably going for the conditioner instead, she couldn't help but step forward, daring to grab the correct bottle, carefully slipping it into his hand's trajectory until she was sure that he'd reach for the right one.

Realizing that she was tearing up upon watching him took her by surprise, suddenly so much harder to hold back and stay quiet, biting her lip to keep herself from making any undue noise as he washed the shampoo out of his hair.

The silence rang clear as he paused, then, just holding still under the comfort of the water.

"Rachel," he whispered, turning around to face her.

It was only then that he finally lost his footing on his good leg, slipping and barely catching himself with the help of Rachel's support, having rushed forward to hold him up in a sudden flash of panic, her arms wrapping around his back to join once more in the middle of his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against his back, holding him closer.

"I'm not."

Getting to wash him— properly, herself— was as much of a comfort to her instincts as it was a surprise— she would have never expected Jesse to let her, not after everything that had happened, but there it was, her hands slipping over and down his skin to make sure every last bit would end up clean as he held himself up by the support bar on the wall.

And having Jesse return the favor by washing her body, as well, wet hands sliding expertly over her skin with enough intent to make her shiver, almost made all their fighting worthwhile.

Nothing went said about their shower for another week. Rachel and Jesse had, after all, fallen into a deceptively comfortable routine, and there was no need to mess with their system just because she couldn't stop thinking about him. About how much she wanted him.

The strength in his leg was coming back, and as good as that was, Rachel couldn't help her concern. He was becoming less dependent on her, and, in turn, she was losing her grip on him.

What was she supposed to do whenever he decided that he no longer needed her? That he was okay on his own? When he learned to read Braille and didn't need her there to read to him, the melodic lull of her voice no longer a good enough replacement for independence and fearlessness.

The fear behind losing Jesse became unspeakable, the shower too lonely without him there, the slippery, soapy skin moving against hers now seeming more like a distant memory rather than the reality she wanted it to be.

She'd taken to reading to him every night. Watching something with him. Cooking for him. Keeping him busy, entertained, always talking. Anything in the hopes of him, perhaps, changing his mind about her— about keeping her around and not just kicking her out whenever he decided he was done and no longer needed her.

"I was thinking maybe we could listen to the Wicked soundtrack and sing along after dinner," she muttered softly, still in nothing but her towel as she brought Jesse a blanket with which to curl up on the couch.

It was getting colder out, the days shorter with every day now. Halloween had come and gone, and Thanksgiving was only a week away. Still, this was Los Angeles, and not New York City. As much as she liked how temperate the springs, summers, and falls were in California, the comfort of the mid-seventies was nothing in comparison to the weather across the continent. She missed the hope of a real winter, the snow, the rain. Winter without snow seemed like a birthday without presents— deprived, starved, lonely. It was no wonder Jesse felt so bereft in this city. It was everything he'd ever grown up with. Everything seemed temperate and beautiful, but there were no real emotions hidden underneath the fake smiles and blind applause.

It had been two weeks ago that Jesse had complained that he wouldn't be able to see the snow regardless, in response to which Rachel had been unable to help her laugh at the thought, grinning widely at him, something she knew he'd be able to hear in her voice. "But you could feel it, couldn't you? On your eyelashes and your tongue and in your heart."

"I think you're a drama queen," he'd joked, and promptly grabbed for the pillow beside him to throw at her. He'd missed horribly, but it wasn't really the point.

Rachel had laughed, and before she knew it, she was dragging him up and off the couch, into her arms to spin him around briefly, just enough to let him catch his footing.

She'd never have expected him to keep going, taking her up into his arms to dance, whispering something into her ear about what button to press on the stereo on the wall, filling the room with music and setting her heart on fire as he spun her, twirled her, made love to her in dance, Rachel making sure that he didn't run into anything in the process.

Natural. Perfect.

Now everything felt different from that moment, something out of a perfect picture book in retrospect. It had felt so serene, and yet, even then, she'd been unable to embrace the peace and happiness of the scenery. Jesse, on the couch beside her. Jesse, with a silly grin on her face, laughter echoing around the room.

Her panic over losing him was crippling her enough to keep from noticing where the good had gone, when she'd lost it, or whether they'd ever really had it in the first place.

She'd hidden all of his alcohol, too. Before then, she'd had half the mind to resolutely toss all of it out in one go, but considering the financial investment that amount of wine had to have been, she didn't want to incur Jesse's wrath entirely, just settling for hiding it in the back of one of his bookshelves, the top row, behind the ones where the dust gave away that they went on mostly untouched. It was a silly notion, all things considered, as Jesse was blind, and wouldn't reach for a book in the first place unless he wanted to mope about how he couldn't read the words on the page, but just in case, she'd told herself. Just in case.

From his spot on the couch, struggling with the blanket she'd tossed him, Jesse cleared his throat. "Maybe."

Moving to sit beside him, Rachel temporarily let go of the towel closure, tucking it in on itself, her breath seemingly stuck in her throat, rebelling against her.

"What if I told you that I was sitting naked next to you right now?" she breathed, staring at Jesse with an expression not even she would have been able to place properly if prompted just then.

It seemed as though Jesse had sincerely tried to hold onto the silence of the moment, deep breath trapping itself in his gaze at the wall. "... are you?"

"No," she whispered, finally tearing her gaze away. "Of course not."

"Of course not," he echoed bitterly, and Rachel had to fight to keep the lump in her throat from coming up in a sharp wave of self-loathing.

It took another two hours until the feeling in the pit of her stomach stirred again, Jesse reaching past her to grab for the blanket once more, only to let his hand stray against her breast, soft, lingering. Not even Rachel could tell whether it was deliberate or not, but if anyone had asked her then, she wanted it to be.

"Jesse," she breathed, swallowing hard as he promptly pulled his hand away as if burned by her.

"I'm blind, Rachel, I wasn't trying to make a move on you." Even as he fell back in his seat, Rachel couldn't stop her own hand from ghosting over the spot he'd lingered on, closing her eyes as a slow breath escaped her.

"What if you were?"

It was hardly even whispered, but Jesse heard every word. "What do you mean?"

"What if I wanted you to?"

"This isn't funny, Rachel," he growled, reaching forward for her hand, and catching her wrist perfectly.

"I'm not trying to be."

For a second, she could have sworn he was looking perfectly into the eyes as though he wasn't really blind, could really see her, but it was gone again fast enough that she left it to her imagination.

A moment later, none of it mattered anymore.

Rachel was everywhere, all at once, his functioning senses culminating together in a veritable feast for him, a sermon for every single thing about her worth worshiping.

She was beautiful, of course, but her voice, her song, her words, her soft sighs and whimpers— they were almost more beautiful. The way she smelled, like jasmine and sometimes lavender, with just the hint of apricot in her hair beneath everything clean and perfect that was Rachel. The way her hand felt in his, small, delicate, like it was tailored to fit there.

Tugging her toward him, Jesse's hand found its way into her hazelnut strands expertly, knowing exactly where to go, how to tug, when to touch as he leaned his forehead against hers.

He'd missed kissing her more than anything, and if nothing else, he knew, knew that he'd rather get the chance to kiss her every day for the rest of his life than live in a world where he could see everything but Rachel.

If he couldn't see her, what was there in the world worth seeing?

"This isn't just a game to me, Rach," he whispered, his body aching just to kiss her, hold her, tear her clothes off and make her his again.

"I never said it should be."

In a moment, his lips met hers, and she whimpered out loud at the sudden contact, the culminated need that burned in him to kiss her, hard, his hands cupping her face as though he could see what he was doing.

But no one needed to see to do this right.

Pushing her back against the couch, thanking his lucky stars for his newly rebuilt leg strength, Jesse groaned out loud, his hands raking down her body as he untied the towel from the way she'd wrapped it around her, half the mind just to tear.

But she deserved epic romance, so his fingers remained fastidious, slow, leaving a trail of kisses to follow on her leg.

What he couldn't see, he would explore with his mouth. Feel his way along her body.

"Rachel," he choked out, dragging the panties she'd put on down and off her body, leaving her naked and exposed to his touch. Not a hair's breath would go uncharted, not on his watch. Being unable to appreciate her by sight, he'd make up for every last bit of it with his hands, tongue, lips.

She'd always had a sensitive neck, Jesse going straight for her weak spot as his hands trailed lower over her breasts, massaging, kneading, claiming them as his own as he worked what would likely become a rather sizeable hickey in due time onto her neck with a groan against her skin. Rachel moaned, encouraging his fingers to quest lower, past the slight, softly splayed out indent along her hip where the hem of her panties dug into her skin just enough to leave a mark.

Exploring by touch.

The soft dip of her skin at her hip earned a kiss, his mouth daring to follow the journey his hands were taking over her skin, finally reaching the apex of her body, fingers playing at the folds of her mound, too inquisitive for their own good.

"I can smell you, Rachel," he breathed through her whimpers, leaning in to gently nip at the skin of her inner thigh. "You're intoxicating. It's like I'm getting drunk off you."

"Jesse," she whimpered hotly, bucking her hips up in response to his mouth, finally allowing himself to lick a hot stripe up her entrance, up, up, up until he finally found her clit, suckling softly, licking, alternating whatever he found had her squirming the most under him, watching her come undone.

Stopping just before she finished— or sounded as though she might, Jesse pulled back, up her body again, kissing her hard into the cushions of the couch with another moan.

"You're overdressed," she complained.

She was right. Making quick work of the problem, Jesse was suddenly reminded of just how wonderful it felt to press up against Rachel, naked, not a single barrier to come between them. The shower had been too wonderful for words to express.

Now, not even water could come between them, Jesse's fingers daring to slip between their bodies and inside hers, pumping in and out at a heady pace as Rachel came unraveled underneath him, her whimpers quickly escalating, feverish, needy.

"I can feel you clenching around me, Rachel. Your body, it's— it wants me. You feel— amazing."

"Jesse, please," she begged, small hands tugging his body back up to come face to face with hers once more. "I need— more. Please, I can't—"

"Yes," he groaned, letting his finger abandon its quest for torture, and instead aligning himself at her entrance and pushing in with one long thrust, burying him deep inside of her.

"Rachel—"

It was almost too much, buried to the hilt inside his soulmate, knowing, for once, that she wanted this just as badly as he did, that this was really, truly, completely where he belonged.

"M-move—"

The choked command was more than enough for Jesse, who didn't need to be told twice as he shifted his body atop hers to push in and out of her in slow, languid, fluid strokes, angling himself to go deeper with every thrust until Rachel was crying out, moaning every time he pushed inside of her.

"I— oh my god, I want you, Jesse. Want you to g-give to me—"

It was going to be a damn challenge holding on if she kept talking like that, Jesse burying his face in the crook of her neck, free hand reaching down to touch her, thumb insistent upon her clit, fully intent on getting her off, here, now, while he thrust inside of her.

"Jesse, look at me. I don't care if you can't see me, just— look at me, please."

"Oh god, Rachel," he groaned, opening his eyes, Rachel gently grasping the sides of his face, directing him to look at her.

His thumb sped up, relentless.

"O-oh!"

Her sudden orgasm was as unexpected for him as it was for her, but the pulsing around his cock was enough to send him over the edge, tucking her closer to him as he spilled inside of her with another groan. Birth control aside, nothing compared to the feeling of claiming his woman like this.

"Fuck, Rachel," he groaned with a pant, holding her close as he gently nuzzled at her shoulder.

There was a long pause as they rested against each other, everything perfect even if just for a brief moment, the rise and fall of Rachel's chest against him almost enough to make him fall asleep like this, tucked against her perfectly.

"Can we— can we go to bed? I want to fall asleep and wake up next to you," she finally whispered some eons later, stirring slightly in his arms, Jesse almost unable to keep himself from dragging her off right then.

It wasn't until fifteen minutes later, both of them safely tucked under the covers, Jesse's leg wrapped protectively around both of Rachel's, that sleep overtook them both. And for once, Jesse wouldn't even have complained of insomnia.