This is a little more Rachel-centric, since I haven't really given much backstory to her yet. So there is a glimpse into it here. Again, I just want to thnk everybody who follows, reviews, and favorites. I am having worlds of fun writing and coming up with plotlines for this story, and being able to share it with other Faberry shippers is the cherry on top. Hope you enjoy :)
It's eleven pm, and Rachel's found herself curled up in front of the TV with a glass of red and another book that she knows she's never going to read. She flicks through a number of channels, her tongue loose as she criticizes several reality TV stars, a couple of which she was unfortunate enough to recently meet.
"Oh be quiet," she grumbles at Gay Ray, the star of Upper East Side Twinks. "Bisexuality is not just another word for whore."
She gladly turns the channel, opting out of the affluent gay life of Ray Oakerson, and into the fictional life of Missy Alfonse, her current on-screen role.
Rachel's face warms with a smile as she recalls what fun it was to shoot the scene that she's watching - the scene where Jase confronts Missy about her recent emotional distance, once and for all. She watches Missy lie to the man that she no longer loves but doesn't want to hurt, and Rachel's smile slips away, because two months ago her life began to imitate her art.
Only, it wasn't Joshua who'd been in danger of getting hurt. It was her.
She tries to tell herself that that's all over now though - that her ex, Joshua, isn't stupid enough to do anything to physically harm her. And it's almost easy to believe it as she glances around the vast lounge that isn't hers, situated in a city that isn't home. But it's a cheap illusion, and once stripped away it's only a matter of time before she'll have to deal with the reality.
He frees the packet of birth control pills from his pocket, disdainfully tossing them at the windshield, before they clatter to the car's interior floor. "There must be a freaking year's worth there, and the prescription date's recent. I thought we agreed that we were going to try for a baby soon."
It's a statement. Not a question. And it causes Rachel to shift uncomfortably as she carefully rotates the steering wheel. "You agreed. I said that I'd - that I'd think about kids."
"You aren't getting any younger, Rachel," Joshua sneers.
When Rachel refuses to react, rather waving out of her window at an industry friend, Joshua very calmly says, "find a spot to pull over."
"I'm not pulling over."
"Pull over now."
"No," Rachel refuses, smiling bright as she waves at yet another passing industry acquaintance.
"I really don't want to grab the wheel. But you're giving me no other choice here."
"Just like I gave you no choice but to poke holes in those condoms?" Rachel lashes back. "And why did you do that? Because I wouldn't agree to try for a baby there and then," she answers for him. "So yes, I'm taking birth control because you abused my trust!"
"We haven't been sleeping together all that much, so whose jizz are you trying to keep from knocking you up?"
"Yours! We had sex a week and a half ago!" Rachel argues, cringing at just how much she'd enjoyed it, because she no longer loves him. She loves parts of Joshua. One part specifically. But that's it, and she feels like she should be demanding more of herself than that. "I discovered that you'd been poking holes in our condoms, so I took the necessary precautions to ensure that I don't end up tied to you for the rest of my life!"
"I'll always be in your life, you stuck up whore. If only to make it a misery."
And that's Rachel's real fear. Even more so than staying in this toxic relationship, she's afraid that things will only escalate if she leaves.
"Pull over," Joshua reiterates.
"No."
Broad hands snatch the steering wheel, hurling the car's previously steady cruise into a chaotic zig-zag that almost ends in a collision with a blue Nissan, which swerves and paps its horn indignantly.
"What are you doing?" Rachel shrieks, heart doubling up on beats. She wrestles with hands much stronger than hers for control of the wheel, losing every little exchange, until she finally submits, "alright! I'll pull over!"
Joshua's hands retreat. He harshly swats the struggle-induced creases out of his shirt. "Life would be much easier for you if you just did what I tell you to the first time."
Rachel notices a suitable spot, pulls into it, and settles the engine. "Now you can stop behaving like a lunatic!" she yells, fingers still trembling.
"If you think that that was me behaving like a lunatic, you haven't seen anything yet."
And he'd been right.
When Rachel finally left Joshua, things escalated. They're still escalating, and as she watches Missy assuage Jase's fears with one lie after another, Rachel knows it'll end well for her character.
But she can't guarantee the same for herself.
Everybody's smiling in suburbia.
Esther Kessler smiles at that one supermarket employee who huffs whenever he's asked to point customers in the direction of their favorite foods.
Jordan Duran smiles at fellow country club members as they dwarf his accomplishments in favor of building up their own.
Fraser Heights smiles across the street at Sugar Motta, even though he dislikes her.
Yes. Everybody's smiling in suburbia... Except for when they're behind closed doors.
"Smile," Sam taunts as he spreads butter on his toast. "You smiled for the UPS man."
"That's because I want to have sex with him. Just like me smiling whilst baking a pie somehow means that I want to sleep with Rachel," Quinn barbs, sipping her coffee.
"I don't believe you want more sex for a second. There's no way you could manage it - not after what we did yesterday."
"Not after what you did," Quinn corrects him with a severe glare.
Sam raises his coffee mug up, grinning. "How about a smile?"
"How about you choke to death on your toast," Quinn retorts, finally giving her husband a smile, however spiteful it may be.
"This is decidedly the most interesting table talk I think I've ever heard this early in the morning," Blake announces, gliding into the room with a bowl in hand.
Quinn sighs.
"Hey bud, you wanna catch that game of golf down at the country club later? Invite Darius and them?" Sam asks.
Blake shovels a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "I have to study," he says, muffled.
"In this household we swallow before we talk," Quinn admonishes with a disgusted click of the tongue.
Wriggling his brows something vulgar, the teenager glances between his parents as his says, "I'll bet."
Quinn rolls her eyes and leaves the table to put her dishes in the sink. "I don't know why I stick around," she grumbles haughtily.
"Come on now. Don't say stuff like that," Sam scolds his son, to which Blake shrugs and pulls out his cell phone.
As his mother bustles out of the house to further innovate the fashion industry, and his father finishes his breakfast, Blake spoons more cereal into his mouth. He opens up his favorite new smartphone app. The one that allows users to feed live footage from recording cameras directly to their phone's screen.
He actually hadn't expected that Rachel would take Shelby's master bedroom, assuming that she'd rather take the guest room.
But as he watches live footage feeding in from the remaining camera in Shelby's house, and sees Rachel puttering around half naked, he formulates the perfect plan to hurt not only his mother's reputation, but her freedom too...
"Are you listening to me?"
Blake blinks, frowning up at his dad. "What?"
"Don't make me take your phone!"
Despite the threat Blake smiles, simply because once he's done executing his plan, his mother will never smile a real smile again. Behind closed doors or otherwise.
There always comes that one day of the year when people acknowledge how many years they've lived. There are those that celebrate the day, eager in their surge towards legal drinking, driver license eligibility, and college graduation.
Then there are those who have already experienced all of those things, plus more. Those, who when that day rolls around, are reminded of their mortality, and would rather treat it like it's just another day.
Over the last seven years, Rachel's found herself leaning towards the latter...
"Daddy stop," she laughingly whines at her laptop screen. "I'm pretty sure Skype has a mute feature. Don't make me use it."
The awful rendition of Happy Birthday draws to a sudden stop, and in its place a hearty chuckle emanates from the fine speaker holes that line the laptop's keyboard. "This is tradition, sweetheart," Hiram insists, something deeply sentimental in his eye. "We always sing Happy Birthday to you."
Rachel nods. "And I always tell you guys you need emergency vocal lessons."
"You're simply awful," Hiram chortles, moments before he's joined on-screen by his husband, who perches himself on Hiram's lap and wraps an affectionate arm around his shoulders.
"Did you get the flowers and the chocolates, honey?" Leroy asks, brows raised in that hopeful yet slightly concerned parental way.
Singing or no singing, Rachel smiles unfathomable warmth at the two men who've loved, cared for, and raised her, and suddenly Shelby's spacious house feels less like an upscale art exhibition and more like a home. "Yes, dad, I received them in excellent condition - and thanks for sending along my first ever Tony Award. I hadn't realized how strange I would feel not having it around. I couldn't ask for better parents."
"But we could ask for a better daughter. One who allows us to spoil her on her birthday," Hiram retorts, to which he receives a gentle nudge from Leroy.
"We're not allowed to joke like that; it's her birthday," he scolds.
"I think I'll take those jokes over the singing," Rachel settles it, with a little sardonic jest of her own.
Leroy rolls his eyes. "What have you done to celebrate?"
"Well, I've gotten endless texts from friends. So that was nice. Cindy even texted me racy pictures from the calendar project she's putting together for another client." Rachel pauses, peering up at the ceiling as if it will yield the things that she's forgetting. "Oh! - and I took myself for a pedicure." She watches her fathers look to each other cynically. "What?" she asks. "I prefer not to make a fuss."
"Getting older's scary, honey; we know that. You probably think it's all denture cream, menopause, and osteoporosis-friendly sex -"
"And a large part of it probably is," Hiram jots in.
Rachel giggles. The insanity of these two men.
"But you're only thirty-seven, honey. Celebrate your life, because you're in good health, you live a starred lifestyle, and the world is truly grateful to have you."
"It's true. I checked your Twitter mentions. Did you know that some of your fans have taken the day off to celebrate your birthday?" Hiram points out, awed.
"Yes, I'm aware. Unfortunately they're the same types who think it's okay to corner me as I'm leaving restaurants with male friends, citing that I'm 'cheating' on the female co-stars they feel I should truly be with."
Hiram's awed look dwindles to nothing. "Well aren't you just determined not to be upbeat today."
Leroy frowns. "Did..." He falters, thinking better of it, before deciding to ask anyway: "Did you hear from Shelby?"
Anybody else might miss the way that Rachel's eyes dim. The way that she glances down before glancing back up; righting the pain in her expression with a dull smile.
"Aww, honey," Hiram sympathizes.
She shrugs. "I should imagine that she has other things to worry about. Wishing me happy birthday would be asking too much. And it's not like she's ever wished me a happy birthday before." She shrugs once more. "It's nothing; I'm used to it."
"No it's not nothing! This is why I didn't want you going out there, Rachel. Shelby is always going to disappoint you, and it both infuriates me and breaks my heart!" Leroy rants, all sharp hand gestures and stern frowns. "I mean, when she had nobody else you were the one to step up and agree to house sit, as well as nurse her through her first month after the operation."
"She's my mom," Rachel states, like that negates everything.
And it does, which only makes the situation direr.
Both Hiram and Leroy sigh.
"I'm fine!" Rachel assures them, giving her laptop webcam the best smile she can muster. "I didn't expect her to acknowledge my birthday. It's quite alright. And I have you two. The best parents in the world."
After the Skype session with her parents concludes, Rachel doesn't expect to have to hear, 'happy birthday!' accompanied by its taxing cheer, for the remainder of the day.
But the residents of Magenta Lane have other ideas.
"Britt spent all day perfecting the icing. So I'm tellin' you now, clutzmania; if you drop that cake, I'ma drop you," Santana warns.
"Oh, go to hell!" Joslin Duke snaps.
"Oh really? 'Cause I thought it was you who dropped the Cream Cheese Salmon Latkes on our first run over here. Was that you or was that me? 'Cause I'm confused."
Brittany soon catches up to the group of women, balancing a tray of treats on one hand and savory snacks on the other. Her skin is flushed coral from her day spent in the kitchen, but it makes her smile seem all the more radiant. "Look at what we all accomplished, guys. You think Rachel will be pleased that we did this?" she asks, her rich blue eyes sparkling with childlike delight.
"She better be," Santana says. "She's lucky I allowed ya'll to even do all this after she wiped me out in that poker game the other night."
At the sound of the latina's voice, Joslin huffs, keeping her head straight.
Brittany's perky shoulders drop as she looks to her wife. "San, what did you say?" she whines, knowing the look of a person who's just been chewed out by Santana Lopez. And Joslin is the very picture of it.
"I just kindly reminded everyone that it'd be wise not to drop anymore of the food you spent all day cooking. That's all."
"What if Rachel's asleep?" Jenny suddenly suggests, looking around at the fancy assortment of trays, wine, and small gifts each woman is carrying. She adjusts her grip on her own tray. "Or what if she just... doesn't want a party?"
"Oh my God! You're right!" Sugar exclaims, wide-eyed and panicked. "Why didn't you point that out before we went to all of this trouble?"
Kitty side-eyes the worried woman. "I think somebody needs to start taking their Xanax again."
It's rare that Santana ever sees Kitty's side on anything, but she snickers at that remark.
Kitty clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. "For God's sake. Rachel's an actress and a singer, whose credo is something along the lines of, 'I need applause to live.' She's never going to pass up an opportunity to be the center of attention. Now whose going to ring the doorbell? I don't have all day."
Brittany happily steps up, nearing Shelby's front door. But her wife shakes her head. "It's okay, baby; your hands are full. I'll get it."
"Damn! Preacher's daughter or not, maybe I need to start dating women," Mercedes Jones gleans.
Rachel's pumping a set of small pink dumbbells when the bell rings.
Releasing a sharp breath, she pumps them one more time and places them on the coffee table, dragging the back of her hand across her damp forehead as she opens the door.
"Happy birthday!" the women stood on Shelby's doorstep chorus. All except for Santana, who gives the starlet a look that's almost remorseful - but definitely more indifferent - as it says, 'this wasn't my idea.'
Rachel glances from woman to woman, her gaze roaming over expectant smiles, skillfully wrapped gifts with frilly bows, and the copious amounts of alcohol and food. She clears her throat, words abandoning her as she rests a palm to her sternum, and smiles a smile that looks like she's trying to swallow a leathery piece of steak without choking on it.
"Say something then," Sugar implores, grinning with such cheer that Rachel feels slightly awful.
"H-How - excuse me." She clears her throat again. "Exactly how did you guys know it was my birthday?"
"Uh, Wikipedia," Brittany answers, sort of duhing the starlet with her tone, though it isn't malicious.
Beside the tall blonde dance teacher, Kitty smirks, looking Rachel straight in the eye. "You'd be surprised at how much info a quick Google search yields." She winks.
Rachel's sort of grateful for Kitty's thinly veiled bitchiness, because it means she no longer has to keep up her chore of a smile, which she drops immediately. "Google; of course. Really, ladies, this is a lovely gesture and I'm infinitely warmed by your thoughtfulness. But I don't ever really make a fuss of my birthday, and I certainly wasn't planning on throwing a party." She gestures to her sporty outfit - a black tank top, spandex calf-length shorts, and a pair of sneakers. "I'm not dressed appropriately or anything."
When Santana sees the look of growing disappointment that is seeping into her wife's eyes, she decides that this is going to end very differently to how Rachel wants it to. She turns to the starlet. "We'll give you an hour to slip into something more flattering, and then it's party time."
"Santana -"
The latina throws up a finger, halting the diatribe of excuses that Rachel was likely about to hurl at her. "Look, we have enough booze to take down Gabourey Sidibe. Drink enough of it, and you'll be able to pretend you're anywhere else but partying in a house full of strangers. Deal?"
Rachel chuckles in spite of herself, as do a few of the women.
She's supposed to be cutting back on alcohol, since she feels like all she's done since arriving in Premont Falls is drink. But it seems like these women are going to force her to celebrate her birthday, and if that doesn't call for an evening of fuzzy recollection, she doesn't know what does.
Though still a little reluctant, Rachel nods her agreement to Santana's deal, having no idea just how fuzzy the evening's about to get...
Little Quinn in this one, but she most definitely will be in the next one, sharing scenes with Rachel :) Tell me what you thought.