Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters. I do, however, own the wonderful Maria Arioso :)
A/N: Hey everyone, once again, I'm sorry that I haven't had the chance to update lately. Real life has been hectic. Last update, I had trouble with the system. I'd like to thank the wonderful DAgron01for alerting me about the problem.
So a friend of mine, the person upon whom 'Maria Arioso' is based, would like to start a Tumblr AS Maria. She'd update it as Maria with random messages pertaining to the story, answer questions, etc. We're not sure how many people would be interested in this, but if you are please vote on my profile.
Thanks to the wonderful aquarius127, DAgron01, SoFlaComet, Ilianalovee, redashford, Musicfutbolfan6, 98forever, theamarine, Princesakarlita411, ch3lsk0, Cassie Noir, faberrydragon, Jayke, iamirreplazable, Jellyblubber, Abnab, Nighlancer600, w1cekd, FeelinGrey, Athyna DaughterofPoseidon, Comegetit, , Shiori Kaiou, Alerted: Your suggestion is duly noted :), Pie56, Sorrow86, Ridderres, k11, ToshiroXyou, braodwaybound2016, PuhsPuhs, Tby, and GLEELOVER47 for reviewing.
Oh by the way if you could read and review, that'd be wonderful :) I always love to hear what you all think about the story. It's important to me! (I also have a Tumblr, you know… if you wanted to check it out. Link's on my profile).
Enjoy!
Chapter 14: Fragments
"Marc Jacobs poser, you need to get your ass to your mark quicker!"
"Mohawk, if you fucking drop Rach, you're dropping your trophy. Both hands on her back, not a single one on her fucking ass!"
"Jolly Green Giant, don't tip the goddamned chair or else you're headed Lima General."
Finn wobbled dangerously on the mahogany stained chair as Maria cut the band, arms crossed, cutting blue orbs focused on the Quarterback's tottering figure.
Rachel drew up from her crouching position beside the unstable jock's chair, wiping a trickle of sweat from her brow. Relief coursed strong in her belly as she distanced herself from the squashing hazard.
The rest of New Directions fell from their positions; the boys from their stable (sans Finn) footed positions atop the wooden chairs and the girls straightening about the dark-stained props.
"I-I," Finn's voice warbled, a pitiful shining starting in his eyes. "I-It's too small for me. B-both my f-feet don't stay even. I c-can't do it."
A shot of dread and pity started fresh in Rachel's stomach as she closed her eyes, sighing.
You never told Maria Arioso that you couldn't do something.
Sky blue hardened to cold steel as the choreographer sauntered to the stage, shoving her hands into the pockets of the loose fitting yoga pants she'd dawned after school.
"You can't do it?" Maria's voice lowered several octaves to a menacing, smoky edge. Finn trembled visibly under its threatening edge. "Or you just won't do it?"
Finn's jaw clattered. "I-I can't."
"No," Maria answered steadily. "You just won't." She climbed up the steps, the eyes of each Glee clubber fastened upon her. "All boys except Hudson, off the chairs."
The rest of the boys stumbled from their chairs, leaving Finn to suffer Maria's harsh treatment.
She advanced toward him, arms crossed behind her back, gaze sharp and cutting. "Alright Mr. Hudson, since you can't do it, would you like to offer us a solution?"
Finn frowned. "A solution…?"
"Yes," Maria answered, crossing her arms. "Because, you see, we can't get another goddamned chair large enough to fit your enormous feet on it because that would break the uniformity of the set. We do not have enough money to fashion an identical chair, nor do we have the time to do so. Or if we were to make you a chair, we would have to sacrifice our uniforms and we can't dance ass naked on the stage now, can we?
"So please, Mr. Hudson," Maria said, narrowing her eyes, "please offer us a solution."
Finn's jaw worked soundlessly, his eyes wide with fear. He stood stock still in place atop the chair, growing more statuesque with each growing second.
"I asked you to offer us a solution, Mr. Hudson," Maria's voice chilled Rachel's veins.
She stepped forward. "Maria…"
"Not right now, Rachel," the Italian said, holding a palm out to silence her friend. "I want to hear what Hudson has to say. What adult decision he'd like to make on behalf of the whole team."
She placed her fingers against one of Finn's legs, tapping it slowly. "So, made up your mind yet, Hudson? What'll it be?"
"I-…" His voice trembled. "I…"
"You what?" Maria asked icily.
"I-I'm… I'm okay," he said, eyes growing round in fear as the Irish Italian pressed the slightest amount of pressure to his leg. "I-I can do it."
The frown on Maria's lips dissipated just as quickly as it had come, leaving a sunny smile in its place. She gave Finn a friendly pat. "Great! Now how about we get back to the fucking grind, yeah?"
She turned to the circle of bewildered teenagers, clapping her hands together merrily. "Alright! Let's take it from the top. Girls, get into position, boys, take your places side stage and get ready to make some music!"
Rachel tightened her scarf securely about her neck, straightening her jacket across her shoulders and fastening her messenger bag securely over her torso. "You didn't have to be so hard on him, Maria."
Her friend scoffed in response, running a hand through choppy, curling red locks as she pulled a tank over her head. "If he can't take a little bit criticism, then what kind of man is he?"
"You know what I mean, M…"
"Being the golden boy of the club," she pulled a black eyeliner pencil from her bag, carefully applying it, "does not mean that he is exempt from being treated like everyone else."
She twirled the pencil between her fingers before switching eyes. "If anything, you should be harder on him. He's got a standard to keep up, and if he's honestly the best you've got, then there's a problem here."
Rachel chuckled. "I think you and I both know he's not the best we've got."
"Oh, I know," Maria muttered, fixing her smoky eye shadow. "Your fucking choir director is head over heels for that Extra."
Rachel lifted an amused eyebrow. "Extra?"
The girl threw her hands up in exasperation, numerous bangles clinking heartily. "He's just… there. A prop, a fucking item to move around the stage. One of those extras that just walks around in the background looking pretty. Or in Finny Boy's case, fucking stupid."
The guitarist stifled the laugh that rose in her throat. "That's a little cold, isn't it, M?"
"You and I both know it's the goddamned truth, smurf," she wagged her hand in Rachel's face, "you can't deny the god to honest truth!"
"You're heartless."
"And you're a pussy," Maria scowled, picking up her duffle bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "Now let's get out there and meet Fabray, yeah? I'd really like to blow this popsicle stand."
Rachel chuckled, tossing the door of the bathroom open. "Speaking of Fabray… Why in the world did you invite her to coffee?"
"It seemed like a good idea," Maria replied, smirking. "I thought I should take an active interest in your friends."
"If that were the case," Rachel started, glancing suspiciously at Maria, "then you would invite Artie and Tina for a coffee as well. You don't just invite anyone to coffee, especially when the bill's on you."
Maria laughed brightly at the accusations, throwing an arm over Rachel's shoulder. "Smurf, I think you're thinking too goddamn much about this.
"We're just going for a coffee with one of your close friends. Nothing more, nothing less," she ruffled Rachel's hair. She smirked. "And who said I was paying for the coffee?"
"You were the one who suggested it!"
"Yes," Maria conceded. "Yes I was. But let's just say that I, oh… conveniently misplaced my wallet along with my money somewhere in your room."
Rachel's eyes widened. "Oh no you didn't."
She grinned. "Oh yes I did… so I guess that you might have to pay for that coffee after all."
"Maria."
A peal of bright laughed burst forth from Maria's lips as she clumsily evaded a slap aimed at her shoulder. She sprinted forward, turning for a split second with a familiar, shit eating grin splayed across her features.
"Oh, Rachel, don't be mad. This is a good time for you to compensate for our bet now anyway."
"Maria Arioso!"
When Maria suggested going somewhere other than Starbucks, Rachel had been sure it was the end of the world.
Maria loved her Starbucks Coffee. Without a good Vanilla Soy Latte in her hand after a hard dance practice, the Irish Italian drooped under the weight of her fatigue.
It'd been a tradition that after each dance class, the two of them would walk down the street to the nearby Starbucks for their coffee fix.
It was a cramped, small little thing crushed between two buildings in the older half of San Diego. The patrons were weather beaten artists going about their Bohemian existences with smiles on their worn faces.
It wasn't the most upscale Starbucks branch, but it was theirs and Maria worshiped their Sumatra.
So when Maria pulled into the parking lot in front of an old, less-than-safe looking building with the words 'The Lima Bean' written in faded, sea green writing, Rachel wondered if her friend had gotten lost.
"M, are you…" she trailed off uncertainly, studying the stone chipped front of the coffee shop. "Did you get lost?"
"No, I'm pretty sure I'm in the right place," Maria replied, pulling the key from the ignition and straightening her jacket. She squinted at the faded green text above the entrance. "This is The Lima Bean, isn't it? …My eyesight isn't going, is it, Fabray?"
Quinn smirked amusedly, clicking off her seatbelt, leaning forward and furrowing her brow studiously. She made a show of scratching her chin before nodding. "Why yes, I'm very sure this is The Lima Bean."
"Alright!" Maria clapped her hands together. "Then let's get our asses out of the goddamned vehicle and over into the coffee shop. I need my caffeine fix."
"Maria, you need mo-."
Without further preamble, Maria threw open the door, slammed it promptly in her friend's face, and sauntered through the door of the establishment.
Rachel sighed, dropping her shoulders. "…You need money."
Her shoulders straightened as a low chuckle sounded behind her. She threw an exasperated glance over her shoulder as Quinn chuckled behind her palm, emerald green orbs bright with mirth.
"Oh, so you find this funny, Quinn Fabray?" Rachel stated grouchily, digging through the breast pocket of her jacket with a scowl on her face.
"A bit," Quinn admitted, dropping her hand. She smiled faintly. "You've always come across as a bit of a stiff when you aren't insulting jocks three times your size, Rachel. You have to concede that it might be entertaining-."
"Of course she finds my suffering entertaining," Rachel mumbled under her breath, fumbling with her wallet.
"To see you out of your element," Quinn continued, raising her voice over the singer's complaints.
"It's not a place I like to be," Rachel said softly, dropping her hands into her lap, closing her eyes. "I… I don't like being this way." She coughed before reaching for the door handle, shaking her head. This was stupid, Quinn wouldn't care to hear her insecure ramblings.
A soft hand rested gently on her shoulder, making Rachel freeze in her progress. Her shoulders stiffened and her fingers became locked about the smooth metal of the lock.
"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, Rachel," Quinn's voice was warm. "It's just… it's nice to see you not be so serious for once."
"I'm not always serious," Rachel argued.
"That came out the wrong way," Quinn sighed, furrowing her brow. She remained silent for a few moments, contemplating her next words. "I meant to say that it's nice to see you at ease."
She bit her lip, casting her gaze downward. "You've seemed a bit lost here. Out of place. Uncomfortable. Maria seems to have taken away a little bit of the pain and I'm…"
Hazel orbs flickered upward. "I'm happy for you, Rachel."
Rachel smiled faintly, resting a hand upon Quinn's. "Lima's different from San Diego, Quinn. San Diego is a million times bigger with so many different people and places within it.
"When I came here, I left behind my friends and my father," she continued on, "and yes, it's been a big adjustment.
"Seeing Maria is nice and she's definitely helped me cope with the move… but you know," her lips curved upward the slightest bit, "Tina, Artie… and you… You've all helped make the transition easier."
Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand. "I'm not the best person with my emotions. I never have been. I'm sorry if I come off as a little… stiff."
With one final press of her hand, Rachel opened the door into the cold Lima air, swinging her legs out of the car. She ignored the tingling at the back of her neck from Quinn Fabray's intense stare, ignored the fact that her hand felt chilled and lonely without another in it.
Instead, she merely glanced back at Quinn, offering her a small grin. "Come on, let's go get that coffee. It's on me this time."
The cheerleader opened her mouth slightly, as if to argue. "I-."
"You treated me last time, Quinn," Rachel held a finger up in opposition. "You're not allowed to argue with me on this one. Coffee's on me today, whether you'd like it or not."
Quinn's jaw shut as jade green eyes studied Rachel's mockingly stern features. She chuckled, shaking her head slightly. "Alright, Berry. You win this time."
Rachel brightened, victorious. "Now that that's settled, let's get in there."
Warmth swarmed to Rachel's cheeks as she stepped through the door of The Lima Bean, a gust of cold wind chasing her heels.
She gave a final shiver as the last of the icy weather fled from her bones, unwrapping the scarf about her neck, her eyes darting about the small café.
A charming cacophony of mismatched chairs huddled about mahogany stained tables placed on warm, wooden floors. A fire crackled merrily on one side of the room, paved with red bricks and hearth plagued with all manner of knickknacks.
Patrons, in padded winter attire, chatted softly amongst themselves in low, rich tones. Cups of multi-colored china steamed and sent smoky wisps about their faces.
A mixture of freshly brewed Sumatra and melted chocolate flooded Rachel's grateful nostrils. Beside her, Quinn seemed in a similar state of appreciation, cheeks rosy with cold, a gentle smile soft on her lips.
"Rach, Fabray, get your asses over here, I need my coffee!" Maria's harsh voice broke the serenity of the small shop.
Several customers scowled in distaste, looking up from their tables to glare daggers at the impatient teenager standing by the counter with a slightly terrified looking barista ready to serve.
Rachel scowled and she strode over to the register, no longer lost in the moment. "Jesus Christ, M. Watch your language, we're in public."
Blue eyes narrowed as Maria lifted a heavily ringed finger and jabbed it into Rachel's chest. "Don't take the name of the Lord in vain."
"Then don't cuss," Rachel mumbled, looking up at the menu. She attempted to ease the poor barista, a good-looking, teenage boy with fearful brown eyes, with a lazy smile.
"Hi," she leaned against the chipped pine of the counter. "I'd like a regular sized Vanilla Soy Latte, if you please." She glanced over at Quinn as she pulled out her wallet.
"The House Roast, regular," Quinn ordered softly.
"Your turn, nudge," Rachel sent a glare over at Maria.
"Regular Mocha, I'll make it simple for him," Maria shrugged.
"Th-that'll b-be," the poor boy swallowed heavily. "B-be 13.98."
"Are you kidding me, that's ste-."
"Maria," Rachel hissed, throwing a steely glance her way, shutting the Italian up instantly. She turned back to the boy, that lazy, reassuring smile on her lips, laying out 18 dollars. "Thanks so much. Keep the change."
She turned from the counter, features schooled into a frown as she took a seat at the table closest to the pick-up window. Rachel scowled at Maria as she took a seat across from her friend. "Maria, you're not allowed to intimidate the cashiers."
"He's a barista, not a cashier," Maria said, smirking. "He should be able to take a little of the goddamned heat. He's probably got idiots screaming 'EASY ON THE ICE' at him all fucking day. All I did was use a little language."
Maria leaned toward Quinn with an indulgent grin on her lips. "Now let's stop listening to Rachel's anal retentiveness and get a little bit more background on you, Fabray. I'm a bit curious why you aren't more of a bitch."
"Maria."
"It's alright Rachel," Quinn assured. She bit her lip. "I… I was a bitch. I probably still am a bitch."
"Then why are you different?" Maria questioned, the curve to her lips fading. "Or are you different?"
"I'm different because of my daughter," Quinn replied softly. "And… because I remembered something someone important told me once."
"That's awful ambiguous," Maria mused.
"I know, right?" Quinn chuckled. "…Before my daughter was born, I was a bitch. I tore people down to get where I needed to go. I bit, I kicked, and scratched my teammates in order to climb to the top of the ladder. Popularity was the only thing that mattered.
"It took getting drunk off my ass, getting pregnant, thrown out of my house," Quinn swallowed before continuing, "…losing everything before I knew I wasn't happy. I wasn't happy at all.
Brown eyes dimmed as Rachel frowned. "Quinn, you don't have to-."
Quinn shook her head. "It's alright, Rachel… I can tell it."
Hazel eyes disappeared behind pale lids. "I gave my daughter up and then I really had nothing. I gave her up so that she could have her own life. I wasn't ready for her…
"One day, lying in my bed at Mercedes' house, it clicked," Quinn smiled faintly. "I was thinking about something someone very important told me. Something so incredibly true.
"I had to love myself, let me be myself. Not let other people dictate who I was," Quinn laughed softly. "I'd lived by those words for so long… or thought I had. I thought that being able to love myself meant others needed to love me.
"But that's not true," Quinn whispered. "I don't need people to love me to feel right. I need to love myself. To hell with what others think or see or hear about me. I'm the only one I need to impress and make happy. That's what she meant."
The cheerleader's eyes were the softest shade of amber, small chips of malachite starbursts glinting with emotion.
Rachel stared upon her with wonder. She'd never seen Quinn so animated before, so passionate. The words echoed in her mind and resonated in her heart.
'Love yourself.' Hazel eyes, bright with tears set behind thick glasses.
'Love yourself.' Heaving sobs, sadness.
'Love yourself, alright?' Warm lips, salt against your tongue, warm and wet.
'…First…kiss…' Gentle smiles.
'…Beautiful… girl…'
The piercing chime of the shop's bell drew Rachel from her haze. Brown eyes, clouded over in remembrance, cleared and sharpened, meeting the questioning, hopeful eyes of Quinn Fabray seated near her.
Rachel parted her lips to reassure her friends, blocking out the fragmented bits of memory (or… perhaps a dream?) muddled about in her head.
"House Roast, Mocha, and Vanilla Soy Latte for Rachel?"
She shut her jaw just as quickly, looking down at the table before excusing herself softly, drawing up and shuffling from her seat toward the window to grab the drinks.
Rachel's hands shook as she clenched them at her side, staring down at the oaken floors, rattled.
Those… memories. They were unfamiliar.
She had never seen them before. Not in her nightmares, nor her daydreams, nor in the shards that came flying back to her as she sang a song.
It had been surreal. Pathetic clips of things seemingly forgotten poorly edited into a lame, partially finished movie made by a film show amateur.
What was that? Whenwas it….?
She swallowed thickly.
Who was it?
Rachel, lost in her thoughts, stumbled blindly into the newly entered patron standing patiently at the counter.
She righted herself, grabbing onto a strong, slight arm. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment as looked up. "I'm so sorry. I'll be sure to watch where I'm going next ti…"
Rachel trailed off, brown eyes widening as she took in the features of the woman taking gentle hold of her arm.
Dark brown hair, curling slightly at the ends. Tanned skin set over strong, familiar features.
A nose as prominent and unique as her own.
It was like looking in a mirror.
Light brown orbs, a shade or so lighter than her own, lit with surprise.
Rachel, snapping from her maelstrom of thoughts, glanced down apologetically at the floor. "I'm sorry. I should've watched where I was going."
"It's alright," the woman said softly. Her voice was a soft, melodic mezzo soprano, rich against Rachel's ears. A well-manicured hand grasped her arm gently as the woman studied the guitarist closely. "…Have I seen you around here before?"
Rachel chuckled nervously. "I don't really think that's possible. I'm not from around here."
"Drinks for Rachel," the barista called once more.
The woman's eyes snapped to Rachel's face once more, focusing in on her eyes. "Rachel? …Rachel Berry?" A hopeful, almost melancholy edge situated itself in the musical sound.
Rachel, wide-eyed and confused, nodded slowly. "Yes… yes, that's my name."
The woman inhaled shakily, eyes sparkling as the grip of that well-boned hand increased, unwilling to release her.
Rachel's brow furrowed. "Uhm… ma'am, do I know you somehow…?"
"Your Father," the woman said quickly. To Rachel's puzzled gaze, she quickly replied, "Leroy. I'm a friend of your Father, Leroy." She looked fondly into the girl's eyes, a chill running the course of Rachel's back at its intensity.
"My God," the woman breathed, "the last time I saw you, you were so small… Now look at you. My goodness, you're so big and beautiful."
"Oh… thank you," Rachel cleared her throat, averting her gaze. "I'll… be sure to tell him that you said hello, Ms…?"
"Miss Corcoran," the woman provided, quickly pulling her hand away and offering it to the guitarist shakily. "Shelby Corcoran."
"Alright," Rachel murmured, shaking this woman… Miss Corcoran's hand assuredly, just the way Papa had taught her.
The woman seized it, clinging to the proffered limb as though it were a life preserver. Her touch felt warm and smooth against the scarred, callused surface of Rachel's palm.
"Drinks for Rachel," the annoyed voice of the barista broke the moment.
Rachel jerked back from Shelby's touch, sending an apologetic smile toward the thoroughly harassed barista. She inclined her head respectfully toward Miss Corcoran. "I have to get going. It really was nice to meet you."
"You too, Rachel," Shelby intoned softly, the sparkle lost from gentle browns. "You too."
The guitarist turned hurriedly toward the counter, snatching the carrier of drinks and spiriting them off toward the table.
Blue and hazel looked to her concernedly as she slammed the ordered coffees down, slumping into her chair with a feverish grimace fresh on her features.
"Smurf," Maria's voice sounded off somewhere in the distance, a gentle prod gracing her arm. "Smurf, are you alright."
Rachel inhaled shakily, closing her eyes and draping a hand over the closed lids.
"I…I'm not sure."
"Dad, we're home," Rachel called, dropping the keys to the car on the counter. She shrugged off her Chucks, throwing them nearby the door as Maria did likewise with her boots.
The heavenly scent of fresh tomato sauce, melted cheeses, and pan-fried bacon wafted to Rachel, making her shoulders hang limp in relief.
"Hi sweetheart, I'm in the kitchen," Leroy's voice echoed through the hall. "You're just in time for dinner. Why don't you both come and sit down and we can eat?"
"You can go ahead, smurf," Maria said lowly. "I'm not all that hungry and I'd like to take a crack and working around Gigantor's dancing impediment. I'll get something a little later."
"You sure?" Rachel asked, loosening her scarf. "It's lasagna, one of your favorite dishes of all time."
"I'm sure, Rach," Maria smiled. She gave a mischievous grin, smacking Rachel firmly on the behind, making the guitarist yelp. "Now get your ass in the kitchen. I'll fulfill my lasagna fix vicariously through you."
Rachel turned, striding down the hallway (though not without sending one final scowl at a chortling Maria) toward the kitchen.
She took a seat at the island, nearly snorting in laughter at the ridiculous sight her Father presented wearing a 'Kiss The Cook' apron over a sharp, hand-stitched Armani suit.
Leroy Johnson, a six foot five African American, all lean, muscled shoulders, sternness, and piercing gray eyes laboring over a hot stove to cook a full course meal.
The irony was so delicious.
"Where's Maria, sweetheart?" Leroy questioned, silvery eyes flickering over his daughter, nibbling at a slice of French bread.
"She's feeling a little tired, Dad," Rachel provided. "She said she'd come down later for some leftovers."
Leroy nodding understandingly, throwing the door of the oven open and pulling out the lasagna. "So how was your day, Sweetheart?"
"It was alright," Rachel replied, scratching the back of her neck. "Maria, Quinn, and I went to get coffee after practice."
"Oh?" He started to cut it into even slices. "Did you just go to Starbucks?"
"No, we went and tried this little place called The Lima Bean."
"Was it good?"
"Yeah, it was good."
Silence lapsed between them, the only sound filling the space the rhythmic drumming of Rachel's fingers against the marble countertop.
Rachel bit her lip tentatively, fiddling with her silverware before parting her lips. "Hey, Dad?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Someone at the coffee shop said you knew her."
"Really?" Leroy hummed, picking up the pan of the lasagna with a docile smile on his lips.
"Yes," she cleared her throat. "…I was wondering if that was really the case, because I don't really remember seeing them before."
"Well, what's her name, Rachel?"
"Shelby Corcoran."
The sound of shattering class sounded throughout the expanse of the room.
Rachel jumped in alarm, staring first down at the remains of the lasagna upon the floor, ruined. Her eyes rose to study her father, astonished.
Leroy stood, dark features ashen, the shattered remains of fine crystal lying at the toes of his expensive leather shoes. His silver eyes, usually warm and full of melancholy, were blunted by a haunted desperation.
"…Dad?" Rachel whispered softly.
Leroy looked up at his daughter, features still overtaken.
"Where…?" He croaked, flexing his fingers. "Where did you hear that name?"
"The woman at the coffee shop," Rachel said. She stepped toward her father, touching his shoulder gently. "Dad, are you alright?"
Rachel gasped as Leroy pressed his hands firmly onto her shoulders. His features were wild, panicked.
"Never go to that coffee shop again," Leroy shook her. "Do you understand me, Rachel?"
"Dad-."
"Never go there again," he said. "Don't mention that name again and never go back to that coffee shop. Promise me, Rachel."
"Da-."
His grip tightened. "Promise me."
Rachel had never seen her steady, even tempered father so flustered before.
Hiram had been the root of Rachel's drama-like tendencies when she was a child. He was theatrical, over the top, and loud in his ways.
Leroy had always been level headed.
Whenever Hiram lost his nerves and started spouting off in Hebrew, Leroy would bring the situation under control once more. When Rachel went into hysterics after a minute scrape on the knee, Leroy soothed her and brought her back down to earth.
To see her father so haunted, so upset disturbed Rachel.
Something was wrong. Something felt wrong.
And Shelby Corcoran lay at the heart of the problem.
She swallowed heavily before nodding slightly, tense. "Alright… I-…I promise."
Leroy's grip loosened significantly, his shoulders slumping and his grip loosening.
"Thank you," he murmured softly, drawing her to his shoulder in a fierce hold.
The scent of his cologne tickled her nostrils. She raised a tentative hand, closing her eyes and savoring the brief moment of closeness.
Eventually, the two separated, Leroy staring down at the ruined lasagna with a sigh.
"Well," Leroy murmured. "I guess it's take out day."
Miss Corcoran was not mentioned again.
'Please let me see her, Hiram.' A desperate, rich voice called through the screen.
'This wasn't in the contract.' Papa's voice, low, soft, and stern.
'Keep playing with your toys, sweetheart,' Daddy's hand, warm against your forehead, ushering your attention toward the little plastic microphone in your hand.
'Where's Papa?'
'Taking care of something very important.'
'Just one moment, Hiram,' begging, tears. 'It's her sixth birthday, please.'
'No.'
'Rachel, honey, let's go into the kitchen.' Large hand grasping your own… being led somewhere…
'Please, Hiram… Please.'
'We had a deal,' Papa's voice is stern now, even threatening.
'This wasn't part of it.'
A/N: So there's the update. Take the time to review if you wouldn't mind. I'd LOVE to hear your comments.