Author's Notes: Once again a huge thank-you to everyone who commented, alerted or favourited. Seriously, it keeps me going when I get nervous :) Ironically the first draft of this was written before "Bad Reputation" (and "Bad Reputation" is actually hilariously appropriate to certain future plot points). On the plus side, at least I'm not exaggerating Rachel's role on the show :) I've also got a request for information at the bottom of the chapter. If you're a big Glee trivia fan I would really appreciate your help. If nothing else, it will make the next chapter come out much faster :). In other trivia notes, I'm taking the Mark Salling interview where he says that Quinn is currently living with Puck as canon. Extra-special bonus cookies for anyone who catches the musical conversation this chapter!

Warnings: Rated M for language, violence and suggestive sexy fun-times. Sort-of-spoilers for "Home", but not really. Don't expect episode fidelity from here on out.

Disclaimer: Glee, The Secret Garden ('There's a Girl', 'The Girl I Mean to Be', 'Come to My Garden'), blink-and-you'll-miss-it Showboat reference, "You Can't Always Get What You Want", "You're So Vain" and Jewish proverbs do not belong to me, alas. Speaking of which, I had no idea the libretto of 'Secret Garden' was so hella depressing until I started picking apart the lyrics.

Quick definitions: 'Pritzeh' is Yiddish for 'princess', 'Bubeleh' is a Yiddish term of endearment meaning 'little grandmother' and 'Shikseh' or 'shiksa' is Yiddish for a non-Jewish girl or woman (literally seductress) or 'that no-good pregnant Christian girl living in my basement'.

Chapter Summary: Rachel thinks that maybe she needs to re-evaluate her choice in inspiring musicals.

Chapter 3: Bitter and Sweet

"Don't be sweet, lest you be eaten up; don't be bitter, lest you be spewed out."

-Jewish Proverb

Still Not Thursday.

The trick is to be firm, but clear. Rachel has seen the obedience shows about alpha and omega and doggie treats. She will be strong; she will gradually ease into the conversation. She is just worried that perhaps her natural subtlety and delicacy will fail to convey her point.

"Jesse?"

"Hmm?"

"This is my bed."

"Nice bed."

"Yes it is. But Jesse..."

"'Mmm?"

"We have beds. Many beds. Beds with pillows! Beds with lumbar support! Beds with artfully-placed hand-worked fair-trade duvets!"

Jesse is still curled around a pillow and Rachel works really hard to ignore how he looks, all disheveled and sleepy-eyed. She tries to soften her voice. "Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"You have beds?"

Rachel explodes. "Why aren't you in one of them?"

xXx

Rachel had posted a MySpace video after supper.

Looking back, she's pretty sure that the most bizarre thing that has happened to her in the forty-eight hours that she has discovered just how awful her life actually is, made a contract with her literally demonic ex-boyfriend and turned the wrestling and hockey teams into the low-rent version of the Jets and the Sharks is having to post a MySpace video in order to placate Noah Puckerman. Seriously, if she was considering converting to Mayan end-of-world theology, this would be the trigger. Since she imagines there will be limited Broadway in the post-Apocalypse, she refuses to acknowledge that possibility.

But still, it was a horrifying realization that had, however, no effect on her choice of songs. Rachel is a pure artist, totally uninfluenced by outside forces.

Naturally, the seminal classic "You're So Vain" will appeal to the deep musical sensibilities of her actual fans.

So there.

(Which doesn't explain why, within half an hour, she got such incredibly nasty texts from Santana, Kurt, Mercedes, Quinn and Brittany.)

(Although she thinks that Brittany's wasn't so much nasty as post-modern performance art. Why else write, "R apricot scarfs gud 2 eat?")

(Actually, that was a nice counterpoint to Finn's text about fifteen minutes later, "U r mean. Y r clouds in yr coffee?")

(And how do these people all know her number anyways?)

Anyways.

She posted her MySpace video and decided that since denial had been working so well for her for so many years, she was going to start on her active campaign of pretending that she wasn't one wish away from becoming as horny as her ex-boyfriend.

Somehow that doesn't sound quite-

Anyways.

However, no matter how formidable a triple threat Rachel plans on being, her three-day check-in with her dads drained every last bit of composure she could muster. She barely summoned enough energy to continue ignoring Jesse and crawl into bed. Which was of course, completely fine until she woke up with feathers in her mouth.

Jesse is being, not entirely unexpectedly, stubbornly uncooperative.

"There certainly is no need to sleep on my fathers' 'Bed of Iniquity'. We have a number of very well-appointed guest rooms. Never used!"

Rachel could swear that a flash of panic passes over his face, before it settles into something hard and completely immovable. His voice is equally hard when he replies.

"And voices? What other rooms are equipped at optimum temperature, humidity and light regime to preserve and maintain delicate vocal apparati. My voice is my instrument! How can you ask me to accept anything less than the best?"

And while Rachel has a small, niggling suspicion of something, how can she argue with that?

xXx

Unfortunately, the morning stress doesn't end there. While Rachel is not the world's most observant Jew, she does attend Temple regularly and somehow thinks that attending today would be a really good idea.

You know, unless G-d decides to smite her.

She needs a sign, some kind of theatrical vision or message from the heavens that she will still be welcomed into the Temple without turning into a burning bush or some other allegorical warning.

She really doesn't want to be an allegorical warning.

Just as she is trying to figure out what is the equivalent of a scarlet 'A' for devil-pacts, the phone rings and her eyes widen in fear.

Surely G-d doesn't have a cell plan?

The conversation is short but effective. Within two minutes, Rachel absently hangs up the phone, feeling more than a little dazed.

Who knew that the Voice of G-d sounds exactly like Mrs. Puckerman?

And according to G-d, via Mrs. Puckerman, she is to take Rachel to Temple to make sure that her fathers' absence doesn't result in her absence from being the "good little Jewish girl – you hear that, NOAH?-" that everyone knows that she is.

Honestly?

Rachel thinks that G-d is

a) Not subtle.

b) Kind of mean.

Jesse is strangely subdued when she tells him of her decision (minus the Voice of G-d part). He picks at his banana crêpe for at least five minutes before he musters up a wink and an overly broad grin. "Well, that will certainly allow me to test out the new sound-proofing on your room with the full extent of my vocal skills."

Rachel blinks. "By yourself?"

They both stare wide-eyed at one another before Rachel determines that yes, demons can blush. The worst part is, she actually was referring to the fact that she thought he was coming with her.

She refuses to think about the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach when she realizes that he's not.

She's still off-balance and more nervous than she wants to be when she hears the knock on the door. Then she's literally off-balance because she trips over the Elton doorstop as she turns the knob and does a graceful swandive into-

"Meep," says Rachel.

"I knew you wanted the gunshow."

Rachel quickly rights herself, hoping that G-d understands that Rachel is well aware that He hates her. Smirking Puck is now more irritating than humiliating, but she needs a diversion. Quickly. Rachel squints towards the car, and, with her usual social skill and grace, asks the first question that pops into her head.

"Quinn?"

Rachel wonders if she's imagining the dark look that passes over Puck's face.

"Out with Britt and Santana, doing whatever shit the three of them do together."

Now Rachel is concerned. There wasn't even a hint of sexual objectification in his voice. She fumbles with her keys and tries to think of how to respond. However by the time she turns around, Puck's already halfway down the driveway and she wouldn't put it past him to get his family to leave without her.

It turns out she has nothing to worry about.

Mrs. Puckerman pops out of the car and starts frantically brushing at his clothing and his –minimal- hair. Rachel turns her head to stifle her giggle at Pu- no, Noah. She's been really trying not to think of him as Noah. But somehow, irritably batting his mother's hand away from his collar, it's impossible to think of him as anything but.

Rachel's next unpleasant surprise comes when she gets into the back seat and discovers that in violation of all laws of convention, decency and Thermodynamics, Noah is sitting in the middle with her and his sister Sarah on the outside.

Trying to decide if it's too late to call shotgun, even if the seat is covered in... things that may or may not be moving, Rachel hisses at Noah while his mother starts the car.

"Why subject yourself to my close proximity without due cause?"

At the expression on his face, she carefully sounds out her revision. "Why. Are. You. Sitting. In. The. Middle?"

His eyes are suddenly really dark and Rachel swallows a nervous gulp as he leans into her.

"Because you're-"

His breath on her ear sends a wave of goosebumps down her arms.

"-way more fun to piss off than short stack, here."

Rachel bursts into laughter.

Then she laughs even harder, because Noah's expression... Noah looks like he was the one who had to witness Jesse's penis puppetry. Which she is still not speaking of. Ever.

Rachel can actually feel a slightly charitable burst of sympathy. Poor Noah! After thirteen years of pulling her hair, dumping various condiments on her outfits at community dinners and tearing off Mr. Bojangles' arm because "Why the hell are you spending all your time with that dumb toy?", she finally, finally doesn't care! Well, unless he interferes with her goals and outside social networking, in which case she will cut him, but otherwise...

Unfortunately, he recovers quickly. Certainly quickly enough to move just an extra inch closer to her, while Sarah stares at both of them like they're about to look over and eat her. Rachel wonders why he feels the need to brace his arm on the seat rest behind her, but puts it down, again, to him finding her more amusing to irritate than his sister and just trying to figure out a way to do it.

As they pull out of the driveway, Rachel can't help but watch Jesse standing in the window staring after the car. When she catches movement out of the corner of her eye, she becomes increasingly puzzled.

She knows why she's staring at the window.

She just wonders why Noah is doing the same.

xXx

"Are you feeling better, pritzeh?"

For one horrible moment, Rachel imagines that Mrs. Puckerman knows everything before she realizes that, despite the overwhelming evidence of Noah's existence, it is unlikely that Mrs. Puckerman herself is tied into the demonic soul-stealing circuit. However, some of her panic and lack of understanding must have shown on her face, because Mrs. Puckerman gives her a disturbingly kind smile when she clarifies herself.

"I understand you had to leave that club of yours early, and Hiram always talks about how much you love to perform."

Rachel mumbles something about a sudden, miraculous Shabbat-induced recovery, but really there's only one thing running through her mind.

Why would Noah tell his mother about Rachel's unfortunate exit?

It's almost like he can hear her thoughts, because when she glances over he glares at her and forces his words out through gritted teeth.

"Mr. Schue was being a real bitch after and wouldn't let me go pick up the mini-devil."

There is a brief moment of silence, then almost simultaneously:

"Moooo-ooom, Noah called me a deeee-vvil!"

"Language, Noah!"

"So you were going to blame it on me?"

Unfortunately, Rachel is, as usual, half a beat behind everyone else and all of the car's occupants turn to stare at her. Noah's smirk is expected, Sarah's look of sympathy less so, but Mrs. Puckerman... Mrs. Puckerman opens and then closes her mouth, before her lips tilt up in a very strange smile.

"Noah asked me if anything was going around in the community."

Rachel almost doesn't hear his mumbled reply and she's positive that it's too quiet for his mother.

"Yeah well, you open your mouth so much I didn't want to catch that shit."

She would have thought that covered it fairly nicely, but Noah seems to be sinking deeper and deeper into his seat. And... are his ears turning pink?

He's... embarrassed?

Rachel is honestly baffled. His language may be appalling, but she thinks it quite commendable to attempt to avoid potential sources of contamination.

Sadly, the puzzle that is Noah Puckerman occupies the rest of the ride to Temple and through the entirety of Rabbi Greenburg, which seems ridiculous since she honestly doesn't care. She has to admit that it is a good distraction from checking to see if her panda-head sweater has caught on fire. However by the time everyone is milling around and talking she knows that she needs to ask at least one of her questions or her allegorical punishment will involve exploding messily in the foyer. Taking a deep breath, she turns to Noah who is casually flicking spitballs at the eternal light.

"What I don't understand is... You're never at Temple anymore. Did something change?"

Noah scowls.

"Yeah, my Mom's knowledge of where I'd been putting my dick."

Rachel tries to think of a way to put this delicately. "Forgive me, but I thought that your er... exploits were pretty obvious."

"Not as obvious as a pregnant cheerleader in her basement."

Rachel winces, then attempts to clarify. "So your mother wasn't pleased to discover she was about to become a grandmother?"

Noah actually snorts.

"She says, 'Shiksa' like it's the fucking password to my balls."

It takes two seconds for their eyes to simultaneously widen in horror.

"Not like that, Berry! It's just... fuck... You have no idea, between Knocked-up Barbie Hitler and Jewish mother owning my soul, it's literally like living in fucking hell."

Rachel can't help the quirk of her lips as she mutters, "Oh I have some idea."

To her surprise, Noah doesn't take this as a throwaway joke (which, since most of her jokes don't seem to register as jokes, isn't maybe that surprising), but his face actually darkens into an impressive scowl.

"Listen Berry, if someon-"

"Noah! Noah! Come say hello to Mrs. Ben Israel."

Rachel almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

The only people more horrible to engage in conversation than Jacob Ben Israel are either of his parents. She flashes Sweet Smile of Complete Innocence Two and a Half while slowly edging towards the door.

"Well, I'll just go wait over he-"

She must have hit a rough patch on the carpet because Noah's sudden grasp of her arm feels a little bit like being electrocuted.

"Like fuck you will. If I have to hear about Jewfro's fucking bris cut by cut, you get to ralph right there with me."

Rachel blames the thought about learning anything about Jacob's below waist parts for what happens next.

"Can't make me!"

In the ensuing –quiet- struggle where Rachel tries to determine the politically correct way to take out Noah's knees without alerting Mrs. Goldberg to her actions, she somehow finds herself tucked into Noah's side, hands pinned behind her back by the steel arm around her waist. She aborts her attempts to kick his shins after her first try where he says loudly, "Rachel, I'm a good Jew. Don't make me work today, baby!"

Trying to ignore the gasp from sweet Mr. Cohen and the wide-eyed stare of Rabbi Greenburg, Rachel determines that there is only one appropriate course of action. She plasters her widest, most intense smile on her face as she whispers up towards his ear. "I'm going to kill you."

Noah leers –leers- down at her. "Sorry babe- there's only one way I'm going to go and I don't think you're up for the ride."

"I only dated her because my Mom said I was a fucking Nazi for not dating Jewish girls."

xXx

There's that brief moment of freefall where what should be hurt just resolves as empty space before Rachel finally puts the pieces together. It's so obvious that it makes the plot of "Titanic" look like nuclear physics. In one morning and less than thirty seconds of maneuvering, No-Puck has convinced the entire Temple that he has a one hundred percent Jewish girlfriend.

His mother must be very happy.

Undoubtedly his actual girlfriend, Quinn, will be less happy, but Rachel thinks that Puck hasn't thought that far ahead.

She doesn't care what he thinks of her, but somehow being used just isn't fun anymore.

She doesn't struggle as he drags her over and, in fact, manages to miss most of the discussion which is actually about Jacob's Bar Mitzvah rather than his bris and only marginally less disgusting. She doesn't look at Puck, because while she doesn't care about his opinion, she does care about the Temple and murdering him on the grounds probably will prompt that allegorical warning she was so worried about. The only thing that she doesn't understand when they finally finish and head out to the car is why, after having more than sufficiently made his point, it took so long for him to let go of her waist.

Rachel doesn't bother talking in the car either. She's not really in the mood to play along with whatever it is that Puck is doing and she likes Mrs. Puckerman and Sarah too much to say the other things that are on her mind. She stares fixedly out the window, even when Puck appears to be attempting Morse Code with his finger against her arm. When they pull into the driveway, her eyes are unconsciously drawn to only one place.

Jesse's still standing at the window.

Rachel wonders if he's moved the entire time they've been gone or if he reappeared with that lost look on his face just before they arrived. She doesn't think on it too much longer because she could swear that she heard a low growl from the seat beside her.

Puck's scowling at her house, more specifically... Maybe the hedge? Or... the window?

Does he have a problem with her attempt at Japanese floral arrangement?

Having solved the mystery of Puck's behavior and not wanting to feel any more of that unpleasant churning sensation in her stomach, Rachel forces out Cheerful Disposition without Overpowering Manic Edge (Still Unsuccessful and thus Unnumbered).

"Well, thank you so much for bringing me to Temple! I believe that it is important to exercise social connections amongst those of disadvantaged cultural backgrounds and you certainly allowed me to do that!"

She can't believe that Puck grabs her arm before she can exit.

"Mom, don't we have all that extra shit for lunch or something today?"

Rachel can see mirror-Mrs. Puckerman blink very rapidly before she develops a, quite honestly, terrifying smile.

"Such a good boy, Noah, to remind your mother like that. Rachel dear, we have so much food today- no need for you to cook all by yourself. Join us!"

It's not a question.

On the other hand...

Rachel has a very clear visual of how that meal would go. She can just see the Puckermans, Quinn and her having conversation about which boyfriends she and Quinn have had in common and how far they got with each of them.

While Puck's doing what?

Pretending she's his girlfriend in front of his existing girlfriend and mother of his child?

Rachel closes her eyes and, for once, doesn't need to do anything with her voice. It is frighteningly easy to just let weeks of exhaustion finally come up from underneath. "Honestly, I am very grateful for the offer. But it has been... I am very, very tired and I'm afraid that I need to rest."

She closes her eyes because Mrs. Puckerman and possibly Sarah are probably two of the only people in the world who seem to actually like her and it hurts her to think of offending them. The wholly unexpected gentleness of Mrs. Puckerman's reply nearly brings her to tears.

"Of course, bubeleh, all princesses need a little rest now and then. You come have meals with us when you feel better."

Rachel nods, not trusting herself to speak, and stumbles out of the car in her haste to get away. Somehow, she makes it to the door and braves one glance behind her before she enters into the house.

She wishes she hadn't.

She knows Puck is angry that she foiled his plans.

But why did he look like she'd punched him instead?

xXx

"I need your help."

Jesse looks up from where he's striking various musical poses in the mirror.

"Wish help?"

Rachel shakes her head, too tired to be offended by his enthusiasm.

"Friend help. Or pretend friend help. Just... help that falls under my second wish, I think."

Rachel had given herself one day to mope. A day where she wasn't supposed to work seemed like a good day to reflect on the nightmare that was her life and what, exactly, she was planning on doing about it. Jesse had seemed to sense some of her mood, because he hadn't said much, although, strangely he had spent most of the day in some kind of physical contact with her. She had remembered her MySpace video and crawled into bed, not even really noticing when Jesse crawled in with her.

But that was yesterday.

Today, Rachel Berry is back.

Tired, a little battle sore, but entirely ready to take on the world again.

"You must be wondering why I seemed so wholly invested in a Glee club that would do precisely nothing to advance my stated goals."

That certainly gets his attention. The look he gives her holds more respect than she's ever seen him offer.

"It seemed to me an... odd lack of understanding of the musical world, particularly with your training and background."

The corner of her mouth twists up, "And I'm betting, that if you had really been planning on a musical career, Vocal Adrenaline would have been good for a scholarship but worthless for an audition."

Jesse leans forwards, a small smile spreading over his face. "Do go on."

"Have they looked at our former Glee clubbers? April Rhodes and Mr. Schue?"

She shudders.

"Seriously... Mr. Schue..."

Rachel shakes her head. "I mean, what do they think Glee prepares them for?"

Jesse's smile becomes a grin. He and Rachel sing out in unison, "Don't play Fiddler to audition for Tevye!"

Once they stop stupidly grinning at one another, Jesse's face sobers.

"Then why?"

"I felt that I had most of my technical aspects under control by the start of this year, or at least, I could afford to slow down slightly on the professional side. What I wanted to advance-"

Rachel takes a deep breath. "-was the personal. I wanted to be special, part of something special that people at school could see and respect. Of course I wanted us to be National Champions, grinding clubs like you overproduced Vocal Adrenaline monstrosities into the dust! But mainly, I wanted to work to succeed while meeting people who cared about the same things that I did, who might have actually understood me."

"Might have actually liked you," Jesse says softly.

"Yes well," Rachel shakes her head. "That's all behind me now. I assumed that things ran like the competition circuit, and that my driven and admittedly grating personality was not fatal to most interactions, which was obviously a mistake. So I need to refocus my energies. The problem is that I need to seriously ramp up the professional side of things if I am to make my goals. My current lessons are inadequate and I'm going to need to find some kind of group forum at the Academy to balance out not getting that kind of challenge in Glee. I would imagine that you've compiled a fairly extensive dossier on me and would probably know better than anyone else what I need to fix weak points and strengthen my resumé. I need to advance further on the circuit than I did last year if I am to catch the right kind of attention."

Jesse reaches over to tap her lightly on the nose. "Got it. And yes, I do have an embarrassingly large dossier that it will nice to be able to actually use rather than just document the number of times a single person can listen to 'Break My Stride'."

Rachel refuses to think about what any of that admission actually means. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have some concrete ideas by the end of the week. In the meantime, I am going to attend one session of each of my other school clubs that I have sadly been neglecting and decide whether or not I will continue or gracefully bow out."

Rachel is a little shocked when Jesse actually appears to be pouting. "I don't get to dress up for Renaissance Club. I like codpieces."

There are times when Rachel forgets that Jesse is permanently naked.

This is not one of them.

She tries to laugh off her discomfort and really, she is genuinely puzzled. She decides that a good compromise is to flutter her eyelashes, while using her Expression of Exaggerated Innocence (Work in Progress).

"I don't understand- why would someone of your size need one?"

The air suddenly smells like the electricity before a storm.

Rachel dares a glance at Jesse and barely stifles a gasp. Jesse's eyes are flickering between gold and solid black and... is his face shifting?

His voice is rough and raw and nearly unrecognizable. "You need to leave."

"Now!"

Rachel doesn't argue. The tips of his fingers are gradually lengthening into bone-white claws. As she reaches the door, his final hoarse words chase her down the stairs.

"Don't play, little girl. You might not like my kind of game."

xXx

Rachel finally creeps back upstairs when the air no longer smells like ozone. She knows this is stupid, perhaps one of the single stupidest things she's ever done. But in spite of herself, all she can see is the tendons in Jesse's arms nearly snapping as he restrains himself from going after her.

She thinks she owes him this much.

He's on the floor, collapsed in the center of a series of very deep grooves, but otherwise looking exactly like the demon who offered her three wishes such a short and long time ago. Not thinking too hard about what she is doing, Rachel gently props his arm over her shoulder and half-drags, half-carries him to her bed.

Rachel looks down at Jesse, so pale and drawn, as she pulls the covers over him. She stands there for a full minute, staring, before she finally finds the words she was looking for.

"This would be so much easier if you weren't the best friend I've ever had."

xXx

Jesse is still unconscious Monday morning.

Rachel knows that there are a number of things that she should be worried about, including the fact that someone might notice that she missed another MySpace video. Unfortunately, all she can think about is that Jesse is still unconscious, not because she cares, because of course she doesn't, but because it means that she has to suffer through the idiots at McKinley by herself. Of course that's it. Not the fact that her eyes were watering last night when she wrapped her arms around him (body heat helps unconscious people, doesn't it?) because that was due entirely to allergies! Why would she ever care about such a... a hypocritical hypocrite! He spends all this time trying to sing to her and use stupid pick up lines and really bad seduction techniques and then he gets mad at her for one teensy tiny flirtation? Well, if by 'mad' she means 'growing extra razor sharp appendages' which is still completely unfair.

It takes every ounce of stubbornness she has to leave for McKinley and not find 'just one more blanket' for Jesse.

For a school Rachel doesn't actually care about, a surprising amount of Rachel's morning is spent in active avoidance of people and situations. The thing is, not caring doesn't mean not finding massively irritating. So when Jacob seems to be on a heat-seeking mission to intercept, Rachel utilizes her full knowledge of escape routes to evade. She lucks out in Spanish because Mr. Schue seems distracted (which actually is normal standards about now) and she does nothing to draw his attention. When Puck seems like he might actually make eye contact, or worse, walk towards her, Rachel ducks behind Moose having a gentle philosophical conversation with Dave Karofsky, so that Puck is unable to see her over all of the giant, hammy fists.

Her luck runs out at lunch in the auditorium.

In hindsight, Rachel realizes that the awareness of her life plan amongst the people she deals with might occasionally make her a wee bit predictable. Perhaps swapping the Glee room for the auditorium isn't a dramatic enough shift in locale. That is all water under the bridge though when Rachel realizes who it is who is opening the doors to the auditorium. Rachel can hear them before she sees them, which isn't unusual, but implies a lack of the coordination they normally have when approaching her for these friendly chats.

"- going to lose that weight Mercedes if I have to stick my finger down your throat. I am not giving up this opportunity to climb McKinley's ladder. Cheerios is my ticket up."

Rachel is still processing all the wrongness of that statement when Kurt and Mercedes, and only Kurt and Mercedes, appear in front of her. They're not quite in-sync the way they normally are. But perhaps only someone like Rachel who lives for the beat of the music, would notice that everything is just a half-step, a half-swaying arm off. There's also an edge of panic that undermines Kurt's normal glee when he finally speaks.

"Word is that that your male counterpart hasn't been seen for days. So when do we get the hand-engraved invitation from Vocal Adrenaline?"

Apparently, Friday, the weekend, and half of Monday count as "days". Rachel mentally rolls her eyes. Kurt's way off his game.

"Never, so far as I know."

For once, it's Mercedes who snorts.

"Girl, you still crazy enough to believe he's sincere?"

For once, Rachel uses the response she should have used all along.

"I believe that he is exactly as sincere as Santana's motives for dating Finn, Shelby Corcoran's motives for dating Mr. Schue and Sue Sylvester's motives for inviting you and Mercedes to join Cheerios."

"Shelby Corcoran?"

Rachel is aware that some mystical shield activates when she talks where only certain words and phrases penetrate the world around her. That doesn't stop her from offering the best advice they'll never take. Well, best advice for her anyways.

"Perhaps," Rachel says gently, "you might want to consider why my decisions are so much more dangerous than everyone else's."

She thinks she hears a weak, "Shelby Corcoran?" and she knows that she must have been speaking in that special Rachel vocal range that no one except her can apparently hear or understand. Well, if they can't hear the good stuff....

She really shouldn't. It's a terrible, no good, bad idea-

Rachel transitions into Innocence with A Touch of Melancholy Version 3.1. "It's so sad about Jesse, though."

Of course they hear that just fine.

"So something is up with his whitebread ass."

Rachel demurely lowers her eyes.

"Well, of course you know his parents are in Bali. It seems..."

She gives Quick Sigh Fourteen, not missing Kurt's flash of irritation. It's really tempting to turn it into Long Sigh Twenty-Two, but she thinks that even they might catch on at that point.

"It seems that the move is permanent. Since Jesse's scholarship is guaranteed, he thinks that this will be a marvelous opportunity to gain international polish and connections if he finishes out his year there."

Mercedes seems to be wavering between an odd combination of skepticism and rapacious curiosity. They're on the line, she can tell. Honestly, she's surprised they've swallowed this much.

"I only found out because I wanted to co-ordinate our schedules for the next week. He... he announced that we should stop seeing one another in the line for Lima Community Theatre's production of 'Brings in 'Da Noise, Bring in 'Da Funk'!

And she's got them. Because what is more predictable than Rachel Berry being utterly humiliated by the guy that she's interested in?

"I... " her voice drops so that they unconsciously lean forwards like twin vultures. "I really liked him."

Her breath catches and that is part of the plan. It is.

"So what do I do now?"

She's still acting.

She has to be.

If only someone, anyone would be willing to answer that question.

When she doesn't hear "Shelby", she feels an entirely unexpected burst of... something. Even if it started as acting, even if she doesn't care about what they think about her, having someone to talk to who's not after her soul would be-

They're gone.

Mercedes and Kurt have completely forgotten her existence in their hurry to share her pain with the world. Rachel clinically notes that their power-hustle out of the auditorium is perfectly inline with one another. She totally deserves some kind of humanitarian award for consistently uniting the gleeks in their desire to see her humiliated.

Surely there must be something from her Musical of the Day that will remind her why she ever wanted to care about these people's opinions? She quickly hums the first line that appears in her mind.

"There's a girl who no one sees/ There's a girl who's left alone."

Rachel thinks that maybe she needs to re-evaluate her choice in inspiring musicals.

The thing is, Rachel knows that the gleeks can be good friends... to one another. She isn't quite ready to think yet about why they could never be one to her.

(And maybe, if she thinks about Tina's Stuttergate and Mercedes' Weightgate and Kurt's Gaygate and Artie's Artiegate she can see that it doesn't take much for them to turn on one another either.)

(The thing is though- they turn back.)

xXx

"You told them I moved to Bali."

Rachel smiles weakly.

"Yay tropics?"

It only occurred to Rachel after her moment of insight, that she had not only lied, but lied in a huge dramatic "Music Man" kind of way. This was not made better by a very-not-unconscious Jesse showing up in the auditorium so that he could tell her about some of the classes he'd already found for her, apparently willing to pretend that Sunday otherwise never happened.

It took Rachel approximately thirty seconds to blurt out the whole sorry mess.

She fidgets nervously under Jesse's all-too penetrating stare.

"That's... brilliant! Even given my level of talent and execution, it would have been difficult for me to come up with something so ridiculous and yet so appealing to the mouthbreathers who populate McKinley."

Rachel bites her lip, still mortally embarrassed. "But someone's going to check it out, Jesse. I knew that we needed to deal with your student status, but like this... How can we possibly make this look real?"

Jesse's smile is reassuring on more than one level. "Don't worry- I'll take care of it. It's better than the tragic accident that Shel- that I had planned on anyways."

Despite how amazingly well he is taking this, Rachel has much larger concerns with the way she's behaved.

"I don't understand though, Jesse."

"I pride myself on my honesty, particularly when it comes to those aspects of myself that are both grating and essential to my future success. I am manipulative but only in pursuit of a larger goal, which is why none of this makes sense! I don't care what they think of me and I don't want them to like me. Then they start talking and a part of me wants to toy with them like I'm a cat and not one who sings 'Memory' either!"

"What's happening to me, Jesse?"

"Personally, I think that it's a marvelous sign. Every good diva should know how to toy with her audience! Honestly Rachel, if the worst thing you do when you no longer care is condemn your ex to Bali, I don't think that you have anything to worry about."

If Jesse's smile is a little strained, Rachel pretends not to notice.

She can't afford to.

xXx

After lunch Rachel sends Jesse to the infirmary. Literally.

"I don't care if I am supposed to use my, admittedly limited, social skills to pretend that yesterday didn't happen. You still look like well..."

"Hell?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "You really need to work on your comedic repertoire, but yes. Which means that you are going to go lie down in a nice bed until I finish my extra-curricular activity this afternoon."

Surprisingly, Jesse doesn't protest, which Rachel takes to mean that either he's feeling a lot worse than he's letting on or he's planning something that she really doesn't want to know about. Either way, it's with a clear conscience that Rachel leaves him at the door to the infirmary and heads to Math.

The afternoon passes quickly because Rachel can admit, if only to herself, that she's rather excited about giving some of the other clubs a chance for more than yearbook photos. Her first club might seem like a bit of challenge to integrate, but she has every confidence that she will rise to the occasion.

After all, what could possibly be misinterpreted about her presence in the Black Students Union?

While Rachel spent slightly more time in the club last year, her only presence this year was for the initial signup in the BSU dedicated room. She knows that the club must have changed since last year since all the members except for her were, well, Seniors. Their sponsor takes a completely handsoff approach and so it is remarkably likely that she will be the only person there. But even if she is actually the only member, it is certainly one group that Figgins would never dare disband and, if nothing else, she will have a quiet room in which to work on her plans.

Her first indication that something is off is when she opens the door and is greeted by an entire table full of every refreshment and snack food known to man. As she turns her head to see the widescreen television, full-size couch and state of the art gaming system, she realizes that something is very, very wrong. That's before the lump on the couch she assumed was a particularly unusual body pillow snaps upright and meets her eyes.

xXx

"You!"

"You!"

"..."

"You can speak?"

xXx

Rachel is very aware that Matt Rutherford does not want her there. Perhaps it was the "What the hell are you doing here?"

Or maybe the "Fuck."

Or maybe the followup, "Don't tell me the male you is gonna pop out of your suitcase."

Rachel chooses to only answer the last query, because someone's obviously not in the text tree. And because it's sort of somewhere between her lie and the truth, enough that she won't get in trouble-

"He's having a personal crisis."

Mainly that he can't wear clothing and is sprouting horns, but she thinks that may fall under the category of unnecessary information.

She is learning this socialization thing.

Unfortunately, that only makes Matt scowl harder. "So what, you're going to pretend to be black while your boyfriend's busy?"

Rachel meets his gaze unflinchingly. "My Daddy is African-American. Would you like a blood test?"

For nearly the first time when dealing with the cruelty at McKinley, Rachel is witness to a remorseful facial expression. She almost doesn't recognize it until Matt speaks.

"Fuck, I'm sorry Berry. I'm just used to having this all to myself and I thought you were making up stuff to horn in on a pretty sweet set-up. I know that being surprised isn't an excuse for being a dick, but I was. Both surprised and a dick."

"Believe me, I am just as surprised to learn that you are capable of human-audible speech. I had a theory that you were communicating in ultrasound."

Shaking her head to rid herself of the image, she continues. "I have to admit that I don't remember this room looking like, well this, when I took my initial club tour."

Matt shrugs.

"What I know is that Figgins was looking for more money and must of applied on every single thing that ever existed. I think he ended up getting some weird grant to, like, promote black culture outside cities or something."

Rachel stares at the room and then at Matt and then back at the room.

"So black culture is Xbox and Red Bull?"

Matt blushes. "I was the rep for the club, 'cause well I am the club. I might have, um... helped him understand my deep cultural roots and stuff."

Rachel looks at Matt in an entirely new light.

"Have you ever considered a career in theatre?"

"No."

Well, that has a slightly chilling effect on the conversation. Rachel mentally places 'theatre' on her list of socially inappropriate topics like 'I am talented and you are not', 'Why is the class hamster sleeping in a plastic bag?' and 'Sex- not just for boys!'

They stare at each other warily for a few moments before Matt breaks the silence.

"Wanna play Call of Duty?"

"Sure."

xXx

"Strafe outside, you ignoramus! Outside!"

"Fuck! I'm on it, Berry!"

Dimly, Rachel wonders if she should have mentioned that her fathers think that the best way to maintain pacifism is to transfer violent desires to such outlets as first person shooters.

"Are you trying to aggro, you blubbering cretin?"

Eh. She thinks that he'll figure it out.

xXx

"Dude, what you did to that one base? I'm never going to be able to eat pizza again."

Brief silence.

"That was fucking awesome."

Rachel smiles, a totally unplanned and unacted grin.

"Well yes, I schooled your ass. And everyone else's asses, for that matter. It was a regular educational institute!"

Matt's still got this wide-eyed look of awe. "We totally need to do that again. I've never got that kind of score before. Ever."

Rachel's not sure what thought crossed his mind, but suddenly he's not smiling anymore. Really not smiling anymore.

"Look Berry, you're not going to go Swim Fan on my ass now, are you?"

Rachel freezes in place, trying to determine if she'd just heard that right. Looking over at Matt and his wary, expectant expression, Rachel realizes that not only did she hear that, but that he actually wants to know.

Since Rachel is literally incapable of registering the gut-wrenching shock of this wholly unexpected suckerpunch, her mind starts logically dissecting how and where Matt, on the basis of no previous personal interaction, would have gotten this idea. She knows that she's been enthusiastic in public, particularly with Finn, but certainly not to the point where one could be genuinely scared of Swim Fan level awfulness. Which means that someone he trusts called her 'Swim Fan'.

It's not exactly a hard process of elimination.

For Matt to put more weight on it than the normal transsexual rumors, it must come from someone who would actually have reason to know. Which means one of her two non-demonic exes.

Well, she knows that Puck's chosen endearment is to tell people that she makes him want to light himself on fire. Therefore Finn must be 'Swim Fan'.

She really needs better taste in ex-boyfriends.

Not that it matters.

Matt just spent several hours with Rachel in a room with refreshments, a wide-screen t.v. and the most expensive gaming system known to man. Even in a teenage boy's paradise, the bond created by graphically destroying hordes of post-Communist Russians was not enough to try to view her as an actual person.

Rachel mentally shrugs.

Because honestly?

It really is his loss.

She doesn't say anything as she grabs her things and heads to the door, but she pauses before she enters the hallway. She really did have a good time, so she thinks that maybe giving him something to think about is only a fair return.

"You have nothing to worry about. I'm tired of liking people who hate me."

As dramatic exits go, it probably isn't up there with such classics as Rachel Berry Uses Her Hips As Deadly Weapons and The Room Is Watching And So Is The Hallway, but somehow when she feels Jesse's arm settle over her shoulders two steps later, Rachel thinks that she may actually like this one best.

Almost unconsciously, she hums the same refrain on repeat as they make their way to the car. Because even with an inspiring guerilla musical production, sometimes you just need the Stones.

"You can't always get what you want,/ But if you try sometimes you just might find/

You get what you need."

xXx

"So what classes are offered Mondays that would flesh out my repertoire?"

"The club was that bad?"

"..."

"I'll find something violent."

xXx

Rachel normally doesn't carry her musical of the day over to her MySpace, but she thinks that today might be a worthy exception. She had been fine after the burst of adrenaline from leaving the school, but as the afternoon wore on... She's just so... so tired.

"I need a place where I can hide,/ Where no one sees my life inside,"

She can feel Jesse step up behind her, the hand that runs through her hair as he finds a harmony underneath her. She knows that she likes it too much. She can't ever forget that it's only make believe.

"Where I can make my plans, and write them down/ So I can read them."

All her plans and plans within plans and color-coded addendums seem to be incapable of dealing with the reality of people. And maybe she wouldn't care so much if they were capable of dealing with the reality of her.

"A place where I can bid my heart be still/ And it will mind me."

It occurs to Rachel that in all her brilliance at wishing to not-care about McKinley, she had forgotten that that didn't mean not-caring in general. That, even while she doesn't want their good opinion, she can't help but wonder what it is about her that causes them to keep attacking her over and over again.

"A place where I can go when I am lost,/ And there I'll find me."

There has to be somewhere where she can stop having to defend herself. Just somewhere where she can... rest. G-d, she wants to be able to rest.

When she plays back the video before uploading, she numbly notes that she sounds really, really good. Jesse's harmony also sounds good, but she supposes that she's the only one who will ever know.

Jesse, for once, is not commenting or doing much of anything except watching her with a disturbingly neutral expression. It's easy enough to pretend that he's just another piece of furniture as she gets ready for bed and collapses underneath the covers.

As she drifts to sleep, Rachel could swear that she hears Jesse singing quietly, almost too low to hear. The words wash over her, faint and scattered, destined to disappear by morning.

"Come to my garden/ Rest there in my arms."

xXx

Help please!

The following is a plea for canon information. Based on Rachel and Puck's near week-long relationship in Mash-up covering two practices (starts just after the practice that mash-ups are assigned, then includes the Thursday that Puck chooses Glee over football and one in between where he sings Sweet Caroline), I'm assuming that Glee has two practices a week- Thursday and probably Tuesday since football practice always seems to be the day after Glee. If I've somehow missed some other canon indicator of days or number of practices please let me know while I can still re-write bits and fanwank things into workability! Also, did anybody see what Care Bear Rachel had in the Madonna episode? I'm trying to remember if I just missed the scene or if I can give her the Care Bear I want her to have picked out.

Any and all comments welcomed and appreciated!

Updated May 9, 2010