Author's Note:
I know i said i would be on hiatus. I still am on 'hiatus'. I am just taking a while to update since i have so much to do and my inspiration is just all over the place. I had this written before, and finally finished editing it. I hope you guys like it. I felt terrible leaving this without at least SOME jesse and rachel, SOOOOOOOOOO i made this chapter EXTREMELY long and it has many Point of views which are split up. Hope you enjoy it!
DISCLAIMER:
I do not own glee. I wish i did, so i could fix season 2. the only thing i have control over is Rylie Graham, Arthur Hammel, and the plot.
Chapter 5 – Spectacular, Spectacular
Rachel's eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the morning light which streamed through the oddly familiar bay window. She had spent many nights in this bedroom before, always getting a better night sleep than in her own lumpy bed. The dim morning light shown through the glass, filtering through the thick red winter curtains and circling around the large room. A groan escaped Rachel's lips as recognition fell upon her like a ton of bricks; she had slept at the Puckerman's last night.
Her memory was hazy, only bits and pieces of the night's events coming through the inebriated cloud that fogged her mind. Amongst the mist, she could make out the setting of the classy jazz club Santana had booked. She could vaguely remember the way the soft light from the candle at their booth reflected off her martini glass, and her friends sitting around the table drinking alcohol, a lot of alcohol. Rachel's stomach flipped at the thought of how much alcohol was actually consumed, which only meant that she had vomited at one point of the evening.
Pressing her fingers to her temples, Rachel attempted to will the throbbing hangover headache away while small snippets of innocent conversations started to play in her thoughts. It was as if there was a small tape recorder in her mind, which accidentally fell into a bucket of water, and still barely worked; only a few incoherent broken words were played back in between the short circuiting and static. It was nauseating. Each sentence she remembered was like a small electrical shock to her mind, jolting talks about the date of Santana and Britney's wedding, how the light literally sparkled off their matching diamond engagement rings and how the bartender serving them looked like a young Bradley Cooper back to live. 'Expect his ass, too flat of an ass if you ask me.' Kurt Hummel's voice sung through the cloud, triggering an unexpected reaction: complete reminiscence.
Suddenly discussions her psyche was obviously trying to suppress came pouring down from stormy skies, clearing the miasma as the rain pelted her thoughts. Rolling over and clamping her eyes shut, she hoped for the multitude of memories to stop and sleep to regain control. 'Conversations with a significant other should make you blush at the thought,' Santana's words of wisdom whipped through like hurricane winds, 'tornado-ing' her worn down mentality, and only leaving the ragged remains of a cyclone storm. Sleep really was out of her reach, just like always.
"Crap," she whispered, the most important details of the previous evening flooding all conscious thought. She was swimming through the waves of awareness, key memories springing out of the water like flying fish trying to climb rapids and waterfalls. Each hurdle played in her head; the audition; her declination; their reactions; the vomit. "Oh god," she was ready to dig a hole to hide in, before a gentle humming floated into the guest room, silencing her thoughts completely.
The tune triggered a memory that she had nearly forgotten. It was approximately four years ago, when Quinn first arrived to New York…
It was an unusually warm December that year. The snow still covered the ground and the ice was yet to melt, but the air lacked a certain icy chill to it, making the night much more bearable. It was the only reason why Rachel had agreed to go to Rockefeller Center with Quinn.
"Hurry Rach," Quinn huffed out a small tuff of white wisp as she ran towards the rink. They waited until night was upon them, killing off time during the day at Rachel's favorite vegan café and two Broadway shows, to ensure space to move around.
"I'm running as fast as I can," Rachel called out to Quinn who was already nearing the rink, which was lit up with what seemed like a million little stars. Even from her distance away, Rachel could hear the gasp that escaped Quinn's lips.
The one activity Quinn had been looking forward to since she had arrived in New York was skating at Rockefeller Center. From the sounds of it, the sight was too good to be true. There were only a handful of skaters left circling around on the ice, allowing the lights from the Christmas tree to reflect fully off the frozen pond, and when Rachel reached Quinn, slightly out of breath, she immediately smiled.
Quinn raced to tie up her skates, but Rachel's motions lingered as she continued to gaze. The sight, however breathtaking, stung to look at; she had far too many bad memories skating. She had no idea she was staring until Quinn pointed it out. Even then, it took a small nudge on the shoulder for Rachel to start to lacing up her skates, but her brown eyes were still fixated on the ice, almost burning an invisible hole into it.
"Rachel, are you just going to sit there staring into space?" Quinn pressed again, waiting impatiently for Rachel to finish.
"Sorry, I just never thought I would go skating again." She admitted,
"Sorry, I just never thought I would go skating again." Rachel admitted softly, her brown eyes almost burning an invisible hole into the ice rink as she gazed out in front of her. The soft lights from the decorated Christmas tree twinkled off of the ice, making it sparkle. It looked so magical, but Rachel was aware of the deception behind 'magic'.
Rachel's eyes followed as Quinn stepped out onto the ice, gliding gracefully in-between the other skaters making their way off, and she hurried to tie her skates tighter. A smile dazzled Quinn's face as she spun around, taking in the surrounding beauty, and Rachel wanted so bad to be that care free again. She wanted to enjoy the moment as much as Quinn was, but as Rachel stepped towards the door, she went rigid. She could not, for the life of her, bring herself to step onto the frozen water.
"Rach, you ok?" she called out as she skated back towards her, leaning against the boards. Her white hat and gloves matched her white vest and white figure skates. The light blue sweater and jeans she wore made her eyes dazzle, bringing a power to the bright blue orbs. A power that could light an entire city, but as she gazed at Rachel, Quinn's eyes only reflected concern.
"I can't," Rachel's voice was hardly louder than a whisper.
"Hey, what's up Rachel? What's going on?" Quinn placed her hand on Rachel's arm, urging her to speak.
"I can't, I-I can't." She repeated over and over again, stray tears rolling down her olive colored cheeks, as she shook her head. Rachel tried to clear the fear from her mind, the fear of hurt that came when she remembered the golden hair and strong arms twirling her across the frozen pond in Ohio. She almost felt the heat of his chest against her cheeks, but this time, instead of bringing the comfort which it used to, it only brought a numbing pain to her heart.
She nearly ran down the street with ice skates strapped to her feet but a soft humming suddenly filled the air, and warm arms wrapped around her in an embrace that was foreign yet welcomed. It was a tune that Rachel remembered from Glee. The song that she and Quinn both admitted to loving during a class discussion, and ended up singing together in a duet at sectionals their junior year. The lyrics began to float in her mind, blending with the tune that danced around Rachel as Quinn held her in an embrace.
'When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comes to me.
Speaking words of wisdom,
Let it be.
And in my hour of darkness,
She is standing right in front of me.
Speaking words of wisdom,
Let it be.'
The two women stood there for a few moments, letting the Beatles' send the consoling needed, before Rachel finally spoke again.
"Thanks." Her voice was broken, and beaten, as if she went through war and returned. In her mind, that's what it felt like, the emotional war of heartbreak.
"Better?" Quinn slowly pulled back from the hug.
"Yeah, I just have some bad skating memories."
"Did you fall or something?" Quinn's question was innocent, but for some reason it seemed to pour salt on the wound. It brought a stinging pain in the back of Rachel's eyelids, one that could not be controlled much longer.
"Kind of, not a physical fall, but emotionally I fell, I guess." Rachel started to ramble, wiping away the stray tears which escaped their confines, and Quinn just raised a questioning eyebrow at her.
"You haven't changed that much Rach," Soft laughter danced across the air, melting into the ambiance, lightening the mood a little, and making Rachel feel safe again. "Still as dramatic as ever."
"Jesse and I went skating during the winter." She blurted, unable to stop the admission. "He had a skating rink in the back of his uncle's house." Quinn was stunned into silence. The last person she expected for Rachel to mention was Jesse, and Rachel could see the surprise in her features. "Well not a rink, but a frozen pond. It was our thing, and I have never skated with anyone other than him since. Even Finn and I haven't skated together. It still hurts to look at the ice." Rachel said in a rush, before clasping a hand over her mouth. She could not believe that she had said all that, especially to someone that she only became close with recently. "Oh my god, please don't tell Finn I spoke about Jesse. He will be furious if he thinks I still have feelings for Jesse."
"Hey, I am not going to tell him. Don't worry. Secrets safe with me," Quinn and Rachel fell into an awkward silence. It was as if there was a million words being said to a mute, but when Quinn cleared her throat, her soft voice began, unsure and advising. "I still think you should skate though, get over the hurt y'know?" Rachel nodded, giving thought to her friend's words each night before finally returning to Rockefeller Center again.
Rachel did not skate the second time, nor the third time, but over the next few weeks, she and Quinn came back twice a night. Each visit Quinn tried to get Rachel on the ice, and when she had succeeded, Rachel felt empowered. She glided out the meet Quinn in the middle of the ice, singing 'Let it Be' as loud as her lungs would allow, but with each glide Rachel took, the lingering memory of the curly hair boy stung her heart.
Rachel dragged herself out of bed, glancing around the room one more time as she slipped a pair of slippers on her feet. She grabbed the robe Quinn left for her, and pulled it on before making her way down the hallway, following the familiar hum. The soft light from the living room lamp guided Rachel's way through the large Brooklyn home, and to Quinn who sat comfortably on the couch with a cup of coffee in her hand.
"What are you doing up?" She asked glancing up from her book briefly, "With all the martinis you drank, I would assume you would still be sleeping until tomorrow."
"Couldn't sleep with all that light," Rachel motioned to the window, before stepping into her friend's kitchen.
"In the pot." Quinn answered the unspoken question, and a few moments later Rachel joined her friend on the couch, her own coffee in hand. Rachel hissed slightly as she took a sip, allowing the heat to fill her chest, warming her from the inside out.
"Where's Noah?" She asked, but Quinn continued to read, savoring another page before, closing her book and gingerly placing it on the side table.
"He always leaves at eight and seeing as it's ten, he has been gone for a few hours," Rachel nodded, finally understanding why so much of the sun decided to wake her. "Seriously Rach, what're you up?"
"I told you I couldn't sleep, I think I'm hungry." A small rumbling noise came from Rachel's stomach, as she took another sip of her coffee. She remembered most of the night, but there were still some uneasy moments. Worries about how her behavior affected Santana and Britney caused Rachel to finally ask the looming question, "What happened yesterday?"
"Nothing too serious. Don't worry, Santana isn't mad or anything, she was actually really happy you could make it." Quinn eased her friend's concern, before standing and handing Rachel a small pile of clothes. "I washed your stuff, I had the time, but I was hoping you would be hungry, 'cause we are going out."
After much protest, Quinn finally managed to drag Rachel to a small café in the center of New York. It was surprisingly empty, simply decorated, and had a great selection of healthy choices for hangover meal. Rachel and Quinn both ate in silence. Rachel took in the décor and listening to the soon to be out of date pop music played from the small radio, while Quinn debated on how to initiate her plan.
"So," Quinn began, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. After speaking to Rylie last night, she had been devising a plan in her mind; a plan that had to go perfectly for Rachel Berry to attend that ever nearing audition. The theatre was ten minutes away, and with the audition an hour away, they had to start moving fast.
"So?" Rachel mimicked, taking another sip of her tea, waiting for the truth.
"The cannon theatre is down the block." Quinn mumbled into her tea.
"I knew we came here for a reason." A fork clattered against the small dessert plate, emphasizing Rachel's frustration.
"Look, I'll cut right to it—" An attempt of explanation was interrupted by an obviously irritated Rachel. It was the reaction which Quinn was actually hoping for. An angry Rachel meant a greater chance at the real truth which was stopping the born actress away from the stage. An angry Rachel also meant Quinn had the opportunity to use forceful persuasion, a tactic she was excellent at.
"I think you already have Quinn, I can't go." The excuse was lame, and both of them knew it. A smile graced Quinn's lips for a brief moment before finally calling Rachel out.
"I don't care if you think you 'can't'." Her tone was almost sinister, as if she had already won, and she truly had. Quinn had succeeded in getting Rachel to that audition; the faster Rachel accepted it, the sooner this conversation would be over. "Rachel you have to do this, or else you will regret it for the rest of your life. A lead role a block away and you 'can't' go? I think that's just a load of bullshit."
"Quinn, you don't understand—"
"You're right, enlighten me."
"You are starting to sound like Rylie." Rachel scoffed, attempting to avoid the topic, agitation building within her belly. Not towards Quinn, but towards the truth which left her mouth, and why that same truth could not be seen by Finn.
"Rachel, I will start swearing like her too if you don't give me a good reason why I shouldn't drag you down the street and place you on the stage myself." The stern strength behind Quinn's voice sent a shiver down Rachel's spine, as if she was a child being scolded for eating a box of cookies before dinner. The calm ferocity forced the truth out of her. She gulped, before uttering the one name that would hold the cure for Quinn's confusion.
"Finn."
"What about Finn?" Quinn's rage was hidden behind a veil of disinterest. As if the man's existence within this issue was irrelevant. It was a mask of honesty that broke through the mental wall in Rachel's mind that surrounded the powerful Finn, liberating a freedom to the forefront. "Does he have a say on what you do from day to day?"
"Yes." It was the truth. Finn had a hold on Rachel's actions. Everything she did, she did with Finn in consideration. She could not lie about that, but the minute she answered, she felt ashamed. As if she would be punished for uttering the simple word that fell from her lips only a moment ago.
"Excuse me."
"I mean, no. I don't know." Rachel stumbled over her answer, looking for something to redeem Finn from the light she had just painted him in. "He was just so upset about me going to this show and he said it would hinder his job at the post, I can't do that to him."
"How on earth with a paying job hinder his job at the post?" It was a question that Rachel asked herself each day since the first time he asked her to quit pursuing acting.
"Well, I don't know." She honestly did not know the solution to that impossible riddle. After months and months of asking herself she could not come to a reasonable conclusion.
"A paying job that earns more than him?" Quinn furthered the inquiry, trying to guide Rachel in the right path. Hoping that maybe asking the hard questions would finally make Rachel try and ask them.
"He just doesn't want me playing such a promiscuous role, which I understand." Another excuse. 'Excuses are the nails in the house of failure.' It was a motto that rung in Quinn's mind, and if she heard another lame attempt at dismissal from Rachel, Quinn was going to literally slap her friend back into reason.
"How many times do I have to call bullshit?" Quinn's calm finally snapped. She was sick of Rachel dancing around the obvious.
"Quinn, you have to understand his position." That was the final straw. Rachel was going to see reason, not the reason created by a controlling jealous twit. She took a sip of her tea before dwelling into her own rant, interrupting Rachel's justification of Finn Hudson's manipulation.
"No, I don't have to understand him, because he has to understand your passion and accept and support it. Why can you support him and him not you, answer me that. Can you?" Rachel remained silence, eyes wide and unsure as Quinn continued. "You work hard every day at the O'Leary's, and make more as a waitress than he does at the post.'
'You know Will won't make you work so hard if you are in a show, and you know this show pays well. You will probably make more in this show alone than working at both the bar and on stage. So, enough with the excuses get your ass to that theatre, and audition the shit off that stage, you got me?"
Rachel nodded eagerly, an anger bubbling within her belly, fueling the fire that would drive her to success. A smile was firmly on her face as they paid the bill and headed out the door towards the cannon theatre.
Rylie was starting to get nervous as she paced up and down the lobby. Maybe she isn't coming? What if Quinn failed? She thought before stopping in the middle of the lobby, eyes wide with fear. Oh God, what if Jesse kills himself over this! She nearly screamed at the notion of Jesse going further into his obvious depression. He may not have come out and said it, but Rylie could see the affects of long waking hours, and a deep rooted melancholia that could only come from heartache.
"I will kill Finn for this." She hissed through her teeth, glancing down the hallway towards the dressing rooms. She had told Jesse to wait there until after Rachel begun performing. Rylie wanted to ensure that Rachel performed, and not run at the sight of the curly haired love of her life. She was about to make her way down to his room, and inform him of Rachel's absence, when she heard the lobby doors swings open.
"Rye! Sorry I'm," Rachel glanced down her watch and then smiled, "early."
"Well early is a problem around here," Rylie laughed in relief as she pulled her friend into a large hug and nodded at Quinn who was beaming with pride. "Arthur is actually in the auditorium taking notes on the dance routines, it shouldn't be much longer. Do you have a song picked out?"
"Oh, um," Rachel paused for a moment before the song came to her, "Yes. Yes I do."
Jesse heard her enter the theatre, the sound of her sweet voice drawing him in. She did not even sing yet and yet he was completely done for. He could hardly contain his composure as he waited within his dressing room. How on earth was he going to survive being in the same room as her? His hands were shaking, his throat was uncomfortably dry, and his palms were starting to get a slight film of sweat. If he was anyone other than Jesse St James, he would think this was what being nervous felt like.
He was taking a steadying breath when the auditorium door slammed shut. It's time he thought and gingerly stepped out of the safety of his dressing room. He could not be seen by anyone until the right moment, and now that tricky transition from sanctuary to war arrived. He felt like a spy as he skillfully slinked down the hallway. He had almost made it safely, and unseen to the auditorium doors when an eerily familiar voice filled his ears.
"I'll be right back Rylie, just heading to the washroom," was all he heard before a warm body connected with his. "Sorry, I was—Jesse?" And there goes his cover.
"Quinn." He whispered and nodded quickly before glancing back down the hall towards his dressing room, where his haven was.
"I don't know, I don't want to know," She stated flatly raising both her hands in surrender, "I'll ask Rylie later, I have a feeling she is a part of this. Just don't upset her, not now, not today." Moving past him towards the restroom in hast, Jesse felt as if he was losing his shot at Rachel. He could not let Quinn slip away and back into the auditorium without knowing. He could not let her talk to Rachel without knowing. He caught her arm before she could move any further, hoping not to freak her out or send her the wrong message in anyway.
"Quinn, I just want her happy." The realization dawned in her eyes. It was as if everything was answered, why he was there, his emotions, all of it illuminated before her. She let out a sigh as he released her arm from his grasp.
"St James, I can't say this because I am literally not allowed to be on your side, but," she paused for a moment, glancing around her to ensure the secrecy of her words. "I'm rooting for you. You better have a damn good reason." He nodded at her parting words and slid into the back row of the auditorium. He watched as Quinn appeared a few moments later, walking down the aisles, past his row, giving him a subtle nod before joining Arthur and Rylie at the director's table. He watched Quinn whisper something to Rylie who nodded gently giving the necessary introductions. He hardly heard the conversation, his attention fixated on the stage before him, waiting for his fantasy to take form, the voices registering somewhere in the back of his mind.
"Art, this is Quinn, a dear friend of both mine and Rachel's. Quinn this is Arthur Hammel, the director of our little play here." Rylie's voice fluttered through.
"I would hardly call this production little Rylie," He said as she shook Quinn's hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise, but Rachel is the one who should merit the pleasure of your introduction." Quinn was smooth, and he realized it in that moment. Skillfully boasting about the 'auditionee' in such a charmingly clever way. She's good was all he thought as he continued waiting in the agony.
"I look forward to meeting the great Rachel Berry, as well. Rylie has told me so much about her."
"And here she is now," He felt his world drop into his stomach. He nearly ran down the aisles to the front row, wanting to be as close as possible to her audition, but he gripped the armrests, grounding himself as the electricity shocked through him, stopping his heart with tremendous force. He only heard her footsteps, and yet her presence was intoxicating. "Rachel, what will you be singing for us today?" Rylie asked, getting right to the point of her audition.
"I will be singing 'Death on Two Legs' by Queen." Her voice, god, her voice. It was only ten words, and yet he felt the earth give way underneath him. Then, he saw her. Rachel Berry, the goddess of the stage. Her dark locks flowing down her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. She had grown up beautifully, her face slightly thinner than before, and obviously older. Not too old, perfect for her age. Perfect like she was. Her body was still petite, but her curves were extenuated. Her breasts larger and her hips swaying to the beat of the British band he never expected her to sing. Her brown orbs shimmered in the stage light, expressing the emotions in her song.
Her voice stopped time. It was as if he was suspended in limbo watching her stomp all over the stage, expressing a type of anger that sent a chill down his spine. At this point he was not sure whether the song was for him or for Finn. He almost let himself interrupt her incredible rendition of Freddy Mercury's ballad to ask, but knowing better, he stopped himself, allowing the magnificent power of her song to wash over him in waves.
"I will be singing 'Death on Two Legs' by Queen." A band I thought I would never sing again. Rachel thought before taking her spot center stage, willing the emotion, the anger to come. Rachel thought about what Quinn had said to her, she thought about Finn, his unwillingness to see reason. How he managed to suppress his passion, and her dreams. Their fight, played in her mind during the instrumental introduction of the song, and his impossible stubborn attitude towards acting fueled the power needed for the first words.
You suck my blood like a leech
You break the law and you preach
Screw my brain till it hurts
You've taken all my money
And you want more
How could he blame their lack of money as a reason for her not to act? It was absolutely appalling. She bought the groceries, she lent him money for sporting tickets, and she was the one who paid for the darkroom, equipment and construction. She financed his dreams, like he did hers years ago, but the difference between them is she never judged or banned his passion.
Misguided old mule with your pig headed rules
With your narrow minded cronies
Who are fools of the first division
Death on two legs
You're tearing me apart
Death on two legs
You've never had a heart of your own
The backup singers joined her during the next bridge, but her voice still stood out amongst the many voices. She felt the burning rage bubbling within her stomach, overflowing into her voice, giving her the power which had built as the music progressed. She was seething with rage, the emotion and fire dripping off her tongue as she pushed her voice past the records she had set.
Kill joy bad guy big talking small fry
You're just an old barrow boy
Have you found a new toy to replace me?
Can you face me?
But now you can kiss my ass goodbye
In all honesty she had suspected Finn of being interested in someone more submissive than her on numerous occasions, and she longed to walk away, but something always drew her back. She assumed it to be love, as if it justified all the pain she dealt with on a daily basis. The lonely nights, the lack of affection and sexual stimulation all intensified her frustration with his lack of support. She hardly felt like a woman anymore, but that came with the territory of a long term relationship. Right?
Feel good, are you satisfied?
Do you feel like, suicide?
(I think you should)
Is your conscience all right
Does it plague you at night?
Do you feel good? feel good?
Looking back, Rachel would realize that she should not be thinking about this intense rage in regards to Finn. Jesse probably deserved the rage more than her current boyfriend, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not have any form of rage towards him. It was unexplainable why during her audition, the only face in her mind, fueling every bit of hatred and anger that she conveyed was that of Finn Hudson.
You talk like a big business tycoon
You're just a hot air balloon
So no one gives you a damn
You're just an overgrown schoolboy
Let me tan your hide
The Post turned Finn into this big shot, someone who strived for greatness, someone much like her but with a total disregard for anything other than himself. Rachel, no matter how ambitious she had been in high school, never once forgot Finn's emotions. She always put their needs about her own, why was she not allotted that. Her mind plagued her with these questions as she sang, her voice almost growling and snarling with a power that she was sure could be felt from the back row. She was born for this.
A dog with disease
You're the king of the 'sleaze'
Put your money where your mouth is
Mister know-all
Was the fin on your back
Part of the deal? (shark)
She sang the final chorus, letting her voice blend with the music, and sending a feared chill through the audience. The lyrics echoing off the walls, even the curtains could not stop the tremendous voice from being suppressed. If she had a microphone there would have been enough feedback of her voice alone to rival a full band metal concert, but the power behind her words would not be hindered.
Death on two legs
You're tearing me apart
Death on two legs
You've never had a heart (you never did) of your own
(right from the start)
Insane you should be put inside
You're a sewer rat decaying in a cesspool of pride
Should be made unemployed
Then make yourself null and void
Make me feel good I feel good
There was a brief moment of silence before Arthur spoke, calmly causing her nerves to seep through.
"That was wonderful Rachel, but before we cast you, we have to check something."
As the song closed he felt the flips in his stomach intensify. There was no use in denying it now, he was nervous. Rachel Berry was the only one to invoke that feeling in him, and he was sure that anxiety was taking over. This was his moment, the time he would emerge from the darkness, like phantom seducing Christine, this was it.
"That was wonderful Rachel, but before we cast you we have to check something." Rachel's pleased smile faltered briefly as Arthur spoke calmly. "I need to see the natural chemistry between the leads."
"Of course," Rachel nodded her posture a little tight with insecurity while her smile was still firm in place. "I'd be happy to perform with Christian." The joy in her voice was genuine, or so Jesse assumed, as he watched Arthur nod to Rylie. I'm up, he thought rising from his seat.
"St James!" Rylie's voice boomed off the walls and he watched Rachel visibly stiffen. It was as if she went catatonic from shock, and he his chance blown slightly.
"Calm yourself Graham, I am right here, no need to yell." He pulled the infamous smug tone out, hoping not to drive Rachel off the stage, but he could not let his vulnerability shine through just yet. It was sure to just infuriate her further. "Seeing as you're in the mood for Queen Berry, Seaside an octave lower?"
She almost fainted when she heard his name, but then she heard his voice. Had he been there watching the whole time? Did Rylie have some sort of hand in this? But how could she have known about this when Rachel had never told her best friend his name before. Those questions raced through her mind as she watched him walk up the steps to the stage with such ease and confidence. It was as if he owned the stage, and after realizing his position in the play, she figured he sort of did.
"You ready Rachel?" Arthur's voice blasted through her shock, sending her into a tailspin of fury. He was Christian, the best male lead Rylie has ever seen. Oh god, She thought as the realization hit her. She had to sing with Jesse, dance with Jesse. She had to kiss Jesse for Christ sake. How on earth would she do that professionally when his kiss still burned her flesh? "Don't worry I will give you a moment to arrange the piece." Arthur said, hoping for some response and Rachel weakly nodded.
"Y-Yes Mr. Hammel, I am ready. I was just thinking of choreography that's all." She forced her features into a blank cool canvas. A move that she learned from the very man before her.
"Flawless showface Rach," His voice was still like butter. Smooth and fattening even. The words dripped off his tongue, basting her mind. She had nearly forgotten how deliciously addictive his voice was until she had heard it again. "So, I figure we could do a basic tap, have fun with it. A mid C is still in your range I assume, and I feel like we could harmonize perfectly on that key. Is that alright with you?" He asked, and she finally allowed herself to look at him, really look at him.
His features matured, his face more defined and body obviously toned. His curls however, were still fastidiously groomed into place while his ice blue eyes were still as piercing as ever. They melted all the pain within her body as she locked her gaze with his. She was falling again, and she could not let that happen. "If you don't want to do Seaside that's fine, we could do a different song. How about 'Push' by Matchbox Twenty. Rob Thomas has a good range we could work with, but I figured Mercury treats us both so well, and since 'Death on Two Legs' is so angry, why not lighten the mood. Y'know show off your diversity in emotions."
He was rambling, and Rachel almost giggled at how adorable he was. Such a handsome and arrogant man talking at a rapid speed, stumbling over his words slightly, was oddly adorable, and it was as if she dropped further into his charms. A shy smile graced her lips and she saw him relax a little at the action before the one thing she thought she had under control happened. Her stupid brain filter just stopped working.
"Did you know?" she blurted out, and he mouthed a silent what, "That I was coming, did you know?" she pressed, her former independence blazing to the forefront, and he could not lie to her, not at all. The answer shone in his eyes as he sighed and nodded. The stage light reflected off his face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes, along with the guilt that spread through him. She saw the physical effects of his remorse on his face, and a sudden shame filled her. "Why?"
They both knew what she was asking but he did not have the time. They did not have the time, not now. In a few moments they would have to sing, Jesse needed at least ten minutes to explain, and Rachel could not bear to hear the story so soon. She was still trying to adjust to the sound of his voice, and resist it. Taking a breath, she shut her eyes briefly, her time in the rain flashing behind closed lids. The feel of forgiveness washing over her, but unforgotten pain still lingered.
"Maybe we should sing first then I'll explain. It's not me who is auditioning." Jesse finally spoke but before she could even nod her head, he spoke again. "I want to, explain that is, but I can't now. I promise I will."
"Your promises mean nothing to me." She snapped and he physically flinched, a pang of the same pain he felt mirrored in her. When did I become this? She thought to herself. "Sorry," she offered and he waved it off, regarding it as deserved punishment for the pain he caused. "How about we just sing Seaside for now? Basic tap and we will have to 'wing' the vocals and choreography. I just want to get this over with so I need to clear my head."
"Rach," Jesse started, placing a hand gingerly upon her arm.
"You lost the right to console me a long time ago Jesse." God this is hard she thought as she attempted to keep the cool wall between them. She did not want to fall for him, not again, and just being near him was proving that task to be extremely difficult. "Work is work, and this is work, so let's just do it already." He gave her a sheepish smile and cued the pianist, the music for Seaside Rendezvous by Queen started up instantly.
Their steps were immediately synched, a basic tap routine none of them faltering in the slightest. They flowed together in perfect harmony, and then his voice began. It was even more exquisite than before, like velvet and cream, heading straight to her heart, and blocking an artery. It was as if her heart was going to explode from cholesterol, and when her own voice joined his, the blissful perfect that was the song dawned upon her.
It was so easy with Jesse, it was always was. What happened so long ago did not have to hinder her potential role in this production. She turned into him, feeling the heat wrap around her, his chest rising and falling against her back in time with her breaths. She felt at home, the unique feeling of his embrace washing her precious fears. I shouldn't be feeling like this she thought as she took the next line, finishing the song on a high that she never expected.
A standing ovation from everything sent her qualms into silence. The applause reviving her soul, bringing the former Rachel Berry back from the dead. I really do live on applause.
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