Getting It Right - Pressure Point


"What we need to sell here is sex."

Cue PTSD flashbacks of groin thrusts and questionable body rolls, a ripple of awkward grinding like everyone thought they were in a Magic Mike audition. Blaine suppressed a shudder. He didn't think his mind's eye would ever recover. His recently abused muscles panged in agreement and he rolled his shoulders again, letting out a tired groan. Maybe he overdid it a bit. He hadn't boxed properly in some time after all, as his body was pointedly reminding him.

But Sam's sexy dancing idea was just so very cringeworthy, and he knew he wasn't the only one to think so.

Blaine clearly recalled the long-suffering yet scornful expression of their own consultant as he stood behind Mr. Schue; even as their teacher seemed to consider boarding the crazy train himself. Finn had promptly jumped in with his two cents worth, not missing a chance to put down the former Warbler while he was at it, and Blaine had felt his mood sour even more. He was getting really fed up of being shut down by Finn at every turn, as if he was a child who needed constantly put back in his place. When he'd turned around to storm out, he'd caught Jesse's eye for a split second and could have sworn there was a flicker of empathy in his gaze.

Brushing off the strange memory, Blaine once again mentally railed against Finn and Sam and their lack of appreciation for his experience. Honestly, there was a time and a place for sexy dancing, and it wasn't Sectionals. He might not be too sure on the details but such an occasion probably called for low lighting, silk sheets and velour cushions... an open metallic lace shirt maybe and those sharply tailored chinos he loved so much...

He quickly shook his head and cleared his throat, keenly aware of the crowded quad he was hurrying across. He'd spent most of lunch in the gym so he was currently running late to meet said Fashionista, and not to mention more than a little hungry.

Speaking of which...

Blaine abruptly detoured on his way up the steps and dropped down next to the oblivious brunette, who was too preoccupied frowning into her lunch to notice his approach. She jolted in alarm, flinching as if she half expected a slushie in the face, before swiftly composing herself. When she saw who it was, she managed to relax and smile in welcome, though the crease didn't quite lift from her brow.

"Spare some crumbs for a poor but dashing chimney sweep, m'lady?"

She pursed her lips at his terrible accent, before dutifully reaching into the backpack by her feet and tossing him over a bag of chips.

"You'll have a hard time making it in the West End if you insist on using Dick Van Dyke as a vocal coach."

Blaine hardly heard the (frankly slanderous) comment on his future career prospects; too busy crunching his way through the scrounged Fritos like he had a bad case of the munchies. He didn't want his stomach making unholy noises all through Social Studies after all, that would be undignified as well as embarrassing and he couldn't have that. He saw her watching his display of gluttony with an expression of prim disgust, which made him grin. Mouth otherwise engaged, he raised his free hand and patted his ever-obliging friend clumsily on the head in gratitude for the snack food.

Rachel squirmed away, muttering about greasy fingers and crumbs in her hair. Blaine would have laughed, but he was slightly worried about choking. They sat in companionable quiet for a few moments, until:

"Did you get in a fight?"

She couldn't disguise the curiosity in her voice and he glanced over to notice her gaze lingering on his hands. It was Blaine's turn to frown. He tipped the last of the sugar and starch into his mouth before swiftly balling up the packet in a fist.

"Only with a punching bag."

One look at her expression told him he had failed to convey the required levity to allay her concern.

"Looks sore," she murmured, making to take his hand to examine his cracked and bruised knuckles for herself.

He snatched it away curtly. "Leave it. It's fine."

If she was offended by his uncharacteristic retort, she didn't show it, instead simply returning her attention to the tupperware that was balanced delicately on her knees.

"Sorry," he muttered, a little sheepishly.

She arched a smiling brow at him. "I've dealt with Kurt's hissy fits for three years. You're going to have to do a lot better than that if you want to rattle me."

Blaine gave a rueful grin, and leaned in to press a quick kiss to her forehead. "You know I love you," he assured before sitting back with a frustrated grunt. "But your boyfriend can be a real tool."

Rachel let out a sigh but was otherwise quiet as she resumed her lunch, twirling her fork around the salad half-heartedly.

"Okay, this is usually the part where you leap heroically to his defence."

She shrugged, still staring into her forgotten noodles. "Nobody's perfect," she finally offered. "He doesn't mean to have a go. And he's still kinda cut up over his rift with Santana."

Blaine knew he looked as confused as he felt.

"Well, that was a less than enthused response." He bumped her shoulder affectionately, trying to raise a smile from the gloom that seemed to have settled over his friend. "What's eating you? What could possibly bring down our shooting star with Sectionals on the horizon? Fresh foes to conquer and all that."

To his surprise, Rachel didn't return the banter. She abruptly sat back with a huff, abandoning her fork but not looking over at him.

"Did you know about them?"

"Who?"

Blaine felt like he had skipped a couple of scenes somewhere. Rachel hesitated before muttering so quietly he almost didn't catch the name that was pried reluctantly from her lips.

"Quinn."

Confounded ignorance continued to reign supreme for a minute, before the cogs of realisation slowly creaked to life. The confusion didn't abate, but at least he thought they were on the same page now.

"... and Jesse," he finished after a moment. She nodded, quickly hiding the flinch that stiffened her shoulders. Blaine frowned in thought, mind suddenly racing down the new track it had been switched onto. "I mean, there were rumours but I didn't think anything of it. Why? Are they serious?"

"As serious as casual sex can be," she said coldly. Blaine blinked, unused to hearing such sharpness from Rachel. He noticed her fingers tightening around the edge of the step on either side of her and she still refused to meet his face. He spoke carefully.

"That's what's bothering you? Their little fling?"

She made a small contorted gesture that was part head shake and part shrug.

"I just want to know what he's up to."

Blaine examined the girl beside him, her downcast eyes and crestfallen expression. "And that's all?"

"Yes." Her answer was immediate and firm, brooking no debate. She stood up then, having packed her stuff away without him even noticing. "We better get going. Kurt'll wonder where we are."

Caught off guard, Blaine could only hurry to keep up as Rachel turned with a flick of immaculate hair and flounced up the concrete steps without a look back.

/o/

They were short on girls.

Despite previously dismissing Quinn's concerns about the exodus of members, he couldn't deny the lack of females was a distinct disadvantage when it came to choreography as well as vocals. The club was becoming too much of a ball pit for his liking. With the addition of the blonde guppy who had reappeared this week from some hick underage strip club (and Jesse was determined to not even touch that screaming red flag, lest he be contaminated with stupidity by mere thought), the team was badly unbalanced.

The former leading man of VA knew better than to expect his mentor's little project to falter. Shelby never permitted disobedience from those under her thumb, and with the Troubletones having pulled a different grouping at this years Sectionals, it was unlikely they were going to get the other girls back any time soon. He twirled his pen thoughtfully for a second. Might be time for him to dabble in a little bribery and/or blackmail. Of course no one but Rachel was needed for solos, but they could still do with sufficiently varied backing vocals to give her the best chorus possible. Shouldn't be too difficult. All the conscripts had to really do was hold a note and look pretty and turn up to a few rehearsals. Of course, if they had basic co-ordination that would be bonus... but to be honest, Jesse wasn't sure if another flat footed goon would even be noticed around here.

Forcing his attention back to the stage again, he grimaced at the sight that met him. Finn was missing every other beat, clomping from one side of the stage to the other with all the grace of a reversing dump truck. Good to see McKinley's own oversized Quasimodo had clearly benefited a whole zero percent from the boot-camps. The tempo changed and he almost winced as he saw Finn proceed to drag Rachel around the floor like a burlap sack of turnips. Though Jesse had to admit she wasn't doing too much better herself currently, which he found as perplexing as it was maddening.

He frowned down at the object of his greatest frustration. To the untrained eye, she was performing the steps adequately enough, certainly with more skill than most of her cohorts, but Jesse was anything but a layman observer. He could see the stiffness in her form that disrupted the flow of her lines, the distraction that dulled her reflexes and threw off her usually impeccable timing. There was a distinct lack of the professional poise and energy that he knew she was capable of. He had pulled her up several times already for her lacklustre efforts, berating her in a way he usually reserved for the underlings of Vocal Adrenaline. Yet rather than pout and sulk like he had expected, Rachel had faced him down each time with a downright insolent glare, snapping back with such withering hostility even her teammates looked surprised, matching him note for note in his temper. The whole thing was incredibly infuriating, and was doing nothing for his already dark mood.

As he watched Blaine throw in an extra long twirl (he was expecting the jazz hands at any minute), and the Kentucky Chicken Stripper perform another hideous body roll, Jesse pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed Shelby again for poaching some of the few decent dancers in this mill pond of talent. It didn't leave him a lot to work with. He may be supremely multi-talented, but he wasn't quite a miracle worker. Even Jerome Robbins would struggle to get this lot up to scratch.

He glanced at the notes under his ink stained figures and cracked his knuckles, trying to ward off a cramp as well as his growing ire. Sectionals had apparently snuck up on New Directions, despite his best and most vocal efforts to keep their eye on this rather important calendar entry. This oversight alone would normally have him walking away in utter disgust and despair, but fortunately (for them) he'd been braced for their chronic lack of attention and had done all the ground work for them. Jesse shuddered to think what state they would be in if he hadn't been so thoroughly prepared. Luckily they also had the home turf advantage this time, and some rather rookie competition, so he wasn't too concerned about their chances. All they had to do was follow his direction exactly, and a Sectionals victory should be a cinch. How hard was that?

Apparently, for the cast of New Directions, very.

"No, no, NO!"

Jesse slammed his hand down, clenching the other in his dishevelled curls in tenuous grasp of what was left of his patience. Barely resisting the urge to knock his notes off the table, he settled instead for storming onto the stage, cutting the music and bringing the woeful rendition of Secrets to a stuttering halt.

Tina stumbled mid spin, quickly caught by Mike, and winced at the loud interruption. Sam threw his hands up in exasperation and Rory took the opportunity to brace his hands on his knees to try and regain his breath. The rest of New Directions stiffened warily, already fortifying themselves for yet another tirade of criticism from their taskmaster.

"If you guys are trying to look like a bunch of geriatric moshers, then bravo. If not, then we've got a problem."

Blaine made an indignant sound of protest. Quinn looked amused. Finn was practically blushing with impotent outrage.

Jesse dismissed the mutinous glares and grumbles from the team in front of him, firing off his corrections with unremitting bluntness. He had neither the time nor the inclination to mollycoddle fragile egos right now; they needed to know everything they were doing wrong so they could improve with the speed and accuracy that was required. They were on a deadline. Schuester may go out of his way to keep the glee in his little club, but Jesse had no such qualms.

"Who died and made this asshole the Tom Thibodeau of the show choir circuit?" Puck muttered. Finn snorted in agreement.

Rachel just scowled, still stewing in her bad temper. She was already sweaty and hungry and sore, and she really wasn't in the mood for yet another lecture.

"Remind me again why you're taking this rehearsal and not Mr. Schue?"

Jesse spared her a sharp glance, annoyed at the interruption but willing to make his point if she insisted. He folded his arms and set his shoulders in a familiar stance of authority.

"Because I'm the only one here who's won the crown you're all so desperate to get your hands on. Multiple times I might add. Because I'm your best chance at breaking out of this vicious cycle of mediocrity."

He saw her bridle at his words but ignored it. She knew he was right, they all did. Schuester was involved in some melodrama with the batty counselor anyway, so it hadn't taken much persuasion for him to leave the final rehearsals in Jesse's experienced hands.

"Take it from the top."

The outbreak of protests was instant.

"Not again!"

"– I'm getting a stitch!"

" Fucking ball buster –"

" My body wasn't built to bend like this –"

"– I'm exhausted!"

Jesse raised his eyebrows unsympathetically, casting his gaze over the red faces and trembling limbs before him. He was barely cracking the whip yet they were practically wailing on the floor. He scoffed under his breath. This lot should count their blessings he wasn't Shelby. Jesse knew they were used to rehearsals starting with a therapy circle and ending with juice and cookies, but this was just ridiculous.

"This is exactly why you need to build stamina," he retorted impatiently. "You need to be able to sing strongly and execute routines at the same time, beyond the odd arm wave, bounce and twirl." Kurt shot him an offended look and Bieber-lite looked like he wanted to start with the obscene Chippendale argument again. Jesse swiftly cut them both off. "It's about the whole performance wowing. It's not just your reputation on the line here, so we won't be pulling any punches. So suck it up, try harder, and run it again."

Still complaining amongst themselves in sullen whispers and casting a flurry of glowers his way, to which he blithely ignored, New Directions grudgingly took their places. They began the last phrase again, only to be halted barely two movements in.

"Stop. Wrong."

Jesse ran both hands through his hair with a deep sigh. Exasperated beyond words, he strode over to Quinn and deftly plucked her from Sam's arms, determined to demonstrate properly.

Quinn hid a small smirk as he pulled her back flush against his chest, smoothly following his lead. She dutifully extended her arm and her leg, as he braced his grip around her waist and wrapped his hand under her thigh.

"It's lift – plié – three step turn – take her leg up and over – dip – and exit."

Rachel fought hard to keep her face impassive, her clenched jaw aching and body as rigid as stone. She didn't need reminding just how strong a dancer Jesse was, their brief ballet lessons together were forever imprinted on her memory.

"Yeah, well, we're not all former cheerleaders or Carmel automatons," she snapped, making little effort to damper the bitterness in her tone.

"Oh please." Jesse tossed his hand arrogantly. "This is baby steps compared to what VA put together. Go again."

Rehearsal staggered on for another twenty minutes in a similar vain, until their self proclaimed Show Choir Whisperer deemed they had made just enough progress to justify calling it a night.

There was a collective groan of relief as he finally discharged them. The McKinley teenagers began gratefully shuffling off the stage, rather breathless and nursing aches in muscles they didn't even know they had.

"Not you, Rachel."

She turned on her heel, affronted at the summons, and crossed her arms haughtily. "I'm busy."

"Too bad."

Rachel glared as Jesse strode over. She could feel the simmering resentment rolling to a boil, building until it was almost a physical pressure in her chest, feeding the reckless itch for a fight. Jesse met her gaze unflinchingly, his expression equally belligerent. Out the corner of her eye she glimpsed Finn double back, hurrying to her side protectively, and felt a twinge of unease.

"Hey, back off dude," he growled, clearly relishing the excuse to threaten his old rival.

"This has nothing to do with you."

Jesse dismissed Finn's intervention with barely concealed disdain, only just managing to stop himself from adding: 'you're beyond help'.

"It has everything to do with me –"

Rachel interrupted before the confrontation could escalate. "I can speak for myself, Finn." She laid an appeasing hand on his arm, drawing his attention. "It's fine. I'll meet you outside, okay?"

Her boyfriend frowned at her for a moment, mouth open like he wanted to continue the argument. She squeezed his arm and managed to give him a small smile of reassurance. He finally gave a reluctant nod, threw one last surly look at the older boy, before following Puck and Mike up the auditorium steps.

Rachel turned back to Jesse, but before she could demand an explanation, he grabbed her arm and began to roughly escort her off stage. "We need to talk."

"Let go of me," she hissed, attempting to yank her arm free, but Jesse wouldn't be thwarted as he ushered them both unceremoniously into the wings and towards to the stage door. Their tense exchange was witnessed by the remaining team members with reactions that ranged from bemused and entertained to mildly concerned.

Kurt watched the two divas exit stage right, bickering in vehement whispers, and caught Blaine's eye. "Someone's going home with a note," he said dryly, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder. His boyfriend said nothing, but his gaze lingered after the retreating figures with a slight frown.

/o/

Rachel objected and fought his hold the entire way as Jesse all but dragged her through the halls of McKinley, before hauling them both into an empty classroom. Flicking the lights on and slamming the door shut behind them, he finally released her and Rachel nearly lost her footing as she wrenched herself free and pulled away from him.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, the force of his frustration making the words crack like static electricity through the air.

She rounded on him instantly. "I should ask you the same thing! You've been on my case all rehearsal!"

"Well you've been off your game all rehearsal!" he shot back. "You're making stupid mistakes, missing cues, fumbling positions. This isn't like you, you're better than that."

Rachel planted her hands on her hips, her words a scornful jeer. "This isn't VA, Jesse. You don't shout jump and we say how high."

"This has nothing to do with VA. This is about you letting yourself and the rest of the team down."

"You have no right to talk to me like this!"

"Rachel!" Jesse fumed in exasperation, his voice rising to match hers. "You can't expect to win with this attitude. It's like you don't care anymore!"

"Of course I care!"

"Then prove it! Sort yourself out!"

She was glaring daggers at him with such ferocity, they nearly pierced his skin.

"Who the hell do you think you are, Jesse?" she bit out, her tone cold and mocking. "You're just some college dropout, the hired help, you're not one of us! You'll never care like we do. You said it yourself, you only care about your reputation. That's all you've ever cared about!"

The words were meant to sting, to lash, to draw blood. Jesse didn't think he'd ever seen Rachel this angry. Her chest was flushed under the low neck of her hoodie, her petite body coiled as if bracing for attack, the flyaway locks of her ponytail dancing about her face as if caught in the forcefield of her emotion. Such cutting cruelty didn't suit her, but he would be lying if he said the overall effect wasn't a turn on.

Yet Jesse never took a slur on his professionalism lying down. He narrowed his eyes scathingly. "You think I put up with all this crap, spend all my free time working behind the scenes to make you guys look half way competent, just for kicks? For the good of my health?"

Rachel's eyes flared bright with reproach. "I think you enjoy making people suffer!"

He didn't miss the slight crack in her voice at the word. He swallowed and glanced away, hardening his heart. This was no time for weakness.

Something was off. They certainly had no easy history, but his ex seemed to resent his presence with increasing hostility recently. Jesse frowned, considering. He was positive it wasn't about the hardline stance he took, knowing well how she thrived on discipline just like he did. They both knew she needed to be trained properly, before Schuester's PG-friendly ethos cost her the perfectionist standards she would need for her NYADA audition. He had always pushed her to be better; called her out on slips that no-one else here would pick up on – with the possible exception of Shelby.

His thoughtful silence seemed to unnerve her and she started fidgeting.

"What's going on here?" he asked at last, catching her with a shrewd gaze and daring her to give an honest answer.

She dodged the challenge and doubled down instead, muttering sullenly: "You're being far too hard on the team. We're not machines needing to be broken down and rebuilt. People won't put up with it."

He shook his head, waving away her concerns, as he decided to take another route to the truth.

"That's not it and you know it." He stalked forward, seeking to invade her space, determined to break through the wilful stubbornness he could see at war inside her. She needed to get over whatever this was before it cost her the best shot she had at actually winning Nationals. He examined her with a superior condescension he knew drove her crazy, as he continued to needle with surgical precision. "You've had a shitty attitude the last few days. You're gonna blow Sectionals at this rate, which would be downright humiliating." He lifted his shoulders derisively. "Though maybe that's just the comfort zone for you guys. After all, if you never really commit, you can never really fail. Maybe you're just a bunch of dilettantes. Maybe you really don't have what it takes."

Rachel felt her teeth grinding with the effort but still said nothing, refusing to let him see how much his taunting hurt. She stared him down, unrepentant and unapologetic. Her lack of reaction seemed to aggravate him just as much. His dark eyes burned like coals, mutual frustration flinting the tension between them into a spark that threatened to burn everything to ruins.

"I didn't put in this much effort to see you guys drop out at the first hurdle!"

He watched her glance away over her shoulder, the words a caustic mutter under her breath that he barely heard. "Go cry to your girlfriend."

She instantly bit her tongue, mentally kicking herself for even hinting at the true cause of her resentment. Rachel had refused to entertain those thoughts consciously, let alone voice them, knowing instinctively they were the key to her undoing. And yet she could feel the last of her emotional control beginning to splinter as she stood there, acidic tears pricking the back of her vision, and he was already too close for comfort. She saw his expression darken, his mouth opening to respond, but she was already moving, barging past him in her desperation to escape.

"I'm leaving."

Jesse seized her arm before she could get out of reach, his fingers closing around her wrist almost hard enough to hurt.

"Rachel –"

"Let go!"

"No."

"I'll scream!"

He nearly rolled his eyes at her utter dramatics.

"Not until you tell me what this is really about!"

"You slept with Quinn!"

The blistering truth burst from her lips without permission, the words thrown in his face like the same shards of glass that had been tearing up her insides since last week. At that moment Rachel found she couldn't even bring herself to regret it; was willing to forsake all pride and reason to be rid of this cursed feeling. She didn't care any more – she just wanted him to bleed like she was.

So that was it.

Jesse didn't even spare more than a beat to digest the fact that she knew. McKinley was a small school. It was bound to get out eventually.

"So what?" he fired back, his voice rough with embittered accusation. "You slept with Finn!"

"I didn't!"

Rachel immediately cut herself off, clamping her mouth shut as she clumsily tried to backtrack. She refused to witness the flinch of shock and pain that crossed his face as he processed her heated reaction, barely felt his grip go lax on her wrist before dropping away as if forgotten. She quickly looked anywhere else, closing her arms over her heart and backing up a step.

"I didn't... know you knew that," she finished weakly.

The beckoning silence threatened to swallow them both.

"Rachel..."

The word was almost imploring; heavy with unsaid truths that she just couldn't bear to hear.

"How could you do that?" she hastily diverted, jumping back on the offensive to distract from her slip.

Jesse struggled to get a handle on his reeling thoughts. Shaking his head, he forced his mind away from the yawning pit of turmoil she had just opened up. That was a demon to confront later, when he wasn't under attack.

"Are you just trying to hurt me?"

"That's not fair –"

"Nothing with you has ever been fair!"

"Rachel –"

"Why her of all people?"

"Why do you even care?" he countered abruptly, hating the defensiveness in his voice. "We're not together, if you recall – haven't been for a long time. You made your feelings perfectly clear on that matter in New York."

He was being petty but he couldn't help it; the memory of her very public reunion with Hudson still stung. He wasn't sure if he imagined the wince of guilt that pinched her features, but she was quick to recover herself.

"If you really believe that, why did you insist on coming back?" she challenged. "Couldn't resist the chance to cause more drama? To make my last year as awkward as possible?"

She was getting petulant and Jesse felt his temper getting the better of him. "Enough, Rachel," he snapped. He ignored the outraged look on her face, his own grievances more than a match for her sense of injustice. "Enough with commandeering the role of victim every time, it's getting old. You've done more than your own share of damage over the years." A cynical gleam entered his eyes. "You've always been more than happy to play the boys in your life against each other, after all."

"I never – That's not –" He raised an eyebrow at her protestations, watched her shift her weight and flutter her hands in an effort to deflect her own mistakes. "That video was just... a stupid oversight, I got carried away with the assignment. I didn't try to deliberately hurt you!"

Jesse felt a wry grimace touch his lips, the shadow of his previous life rebuking him for his own foolishness. "Turns out you weren't the only naive one," he muttered.

If only he'd known then what he knew now, he would have played things so differently.

He let out a breath and made a conscious effort to resume the control he relied on so much, to cool the heat of his words. "You manipulated our relationship just as much in your own way. From the moment we met." He saw her jaw drop almost comically at such claims. He shrugged, his manner deceptively calm. "You may have been the ingénue, but you were never innocent."

"I never acted in bad faith!"

"Didn't you?"

He fixed her with a glare of such astuteness that Rachel faltered in the face of it, something like apprehension skittering in her expression like a cornered animal. His mouth settled in a sardonic line, twisting like the thorns that pierced his sides every day. "There was never a part of you that thrilled at the provocation? At being a contested object of desire at long last? A part that was relieved when it ended and you had the perfect excuse to fall back into your schoolgirl crush?"

"That's rich coming from you!" Rachel cried, desperately pushing back against his knowing taunts with the best defence she had. She jabbed an accusing finger in his direction. "The master of puppets and disingenuous motives! You always knew you'd betray me – betray us – and you did it all anyway!"

For a moment the echo of jeers and cracks seemed to fill the room around them, the ghosts of a painful past rattling their chains once more.

"I've never pretended to be sinless in this sorry mess," Jesse conceded quietly. "But you should try also dropping the scales from your own eyes."

Rachel gave a short mocking laugh. "Oh, has Quinn got you into Bible studies too?"

He almost smiled. "Wouldn't be much point in trying to save my soul. I'm irredeemable, remember?"

She cast him a hesitant look, longing to damn him with a final condemnation, but the jibe caught painfully in her chest and refused to come. She settled for a compromise. "You've certainly sunk to new depths, even for you."

He sighed. "Frankly, Rachel, you have no right to interrogate me on anything in my personal life just because you're jealous –"

"I am not jealous!"

Jesse did smile then, but it was fleeting and hollow. Yet another empty victory; one achieved at too high a price.

"I'm – I'm just disappointed," she clarified emphatically, clambering back onto her high horse. "I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, I tried to give us a fresh start, for the sake of the team!" She regarded him defiantly, her lips thin and eyes glistening. "I should have known better than to believe you'd ever change."

He met her gaze silently for a long moment, a soft frown between his brows, his thoughts private once more. Rachel felt suddenly exhausted. She could feel her whole being aching with the need to slump down in a dark corner, her mind caught in a chaotic spin that churned her feelings like a storm at sea. She lowered her eyes to her feet, refusing to look at him as she gathered the last of her strength and pushed her way past.

"I'm going home."

He didn't move, didn't turn. He spoke at last when she was two steps from the door, his voice low and edged with something she might have once thought was regret.

"It didn't mean anything."

Rachel allowed a sad smile to momentarily draw the corners of her lips. Both were still as they stood back to back from each other at the wings of their stage.

"That's just it isn't it, Jesse?" She closed her eyes, grateful he couldn't see, and prayed her voice wouldn't break. "It never means anything with you."

She was at the threshold and almost free when she heard his quiet reply behind her, breathed out almost reluctantly.

"You're wrong."

Rachel hesitated for only a moment, a torn heartbeat holding her in place though she didn't turn around. With a deep breath, she finally lifted her head and walked out, pretending not to have heard and ignoring the damp mist that clung to her eyelashes.

/o/

Quinn marched into the busy locker room without any compunction, her kitten heels clicking sharply on the tile and chiffon skirt swishing about her knees with her brisk stride. The attention was nothing she wasn't used to anyway. She ignored the leers from his teammates and smirked at the freshmen who rushed to protect their modesty from her unauthorized presence, muttering amongst themselves in aghast whispers at her invasion of their inner sanctum of testosterone. Oh please. Like any of them had anything worth blushing over.

Utterly unconcerned at the lewd comments and scandalized glances, Quinn stood with her hands on her hips and cast her gaze about the room of rowdy boys with clinical efficiency. God, it stank in here. She wrinkled her nose but wouldn't be dissuaded from her mission. Practice had only just ended so he should still be here. Locating her target at last, she neatly side stepped a pile of dirty jerseys on the floor and set off towards the far row of lockers, hopping over benches as she went.

He had his back to her, towel slung over his shoulder and helmet hanging from his fingers as he laughed loudly with some no-neck cronies. The former Cheerio made a direct line for his little group, her eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. The other players noticed her first, wordlessly announcing her arrival with expressions that ran the gauntlet from confusion, lascivious appreciation, to general unease. As Puck turned to see what had drawn his teammates attention from his riveting account of his latest MILF conquest, she was upon him.

"Quinn, what are you –"

"I know you're going round there again," she started in without any preamble.

He seemed to catch onto her line of thought with surprising agility. Puck quickly grabbed her elbow and pulled them both away from the scrum, lowering his voice as they went.

"You need to leave, we can speak about this later –"

"Don't talk down to me," Quinn spat, wrenching her arm free and stepping up to his chest. She was sick of people treating her like some stupid kid who needed handling.

"I'm not –"

"It isn't fair," she seethed, the words burning with an acrimony that couldn't quite conceal her desperation. "I've only seen her once and ever since then, Shelby's been making excuses. I don't understand, she's the one who claimed to want me in Beth's life and now it seems like she's trying to keep us apart."

Puck's expression was tight with something suspiciously like sympathy. She grit her teeth, feeling the insult chafe on an already open wound. Quinn refused to be pitied, especially by him. Her lips drew back in a sneer.

"What makes you so special, huh? Shelby in the market for a toy boy or something?"

She saw him glower and then take a deep breath, as if working on his restraint. When he spoke, it was with an uncharacteristic patience that somehow incensed her even more.

"She just doesn't think you're ready."

"What right does she have to put me on probation like some criminal when it comes to my own daughter!"

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's Shelby's call."

"I'm her mother!"

"But you're not a parent –"

Quinn rolled her eyes incredulously. "Oh, and you're a shining beacon of responsibility? The perfect father figure?" She scoffed, frustration making her spiteful. "At least I haven't been in juvie!"

Puck scowled. "At least I wasn't a selfish, destructive bitch!"

She glared in response, her lips pressed together and breathing uneven. Her eyes gleamed under the harsh florescent lights as contempt fought to bury the pain that choked her. He looked like he wanted to reach for her and she backed up a step.

"Quinn, I –"

"Forget it," she snapped, quickly turning on her heel and stalking away.

Puck could only watch helplessly as she cut a path for herself back through the crowd, air of authority and dignity untouched, always in control of her environment despite everything. The subsequent smash of a helmet against metal barely raised an eyebrow in the ruckus of the changing room, but the new impressive dent in the locker door made him feel a little better.

~o~


AN So, it's been a while!

A few notes. (1) Since it's been 10+ years, I'm not keeping this era-appropriate, so there will be refs to songs/pop culture etc post 2011. (2) Updates will likely be slow, sorry. (3) I have caught myself up on the basics of Season 3, but I will be cherry picking the plot points I use. This is AU from the very start, with no canon coming after having any effect on the story or how these characters develop. (4) There will be fickle angst aplenty, so don't say you weren't warned. If characters being frustrating is not your cup of tea, feel free to move on without comment. (5) I believe fanfiction is a place to explore, express and escape, so I will not be letting any RL events and revelations (tragic and otherwise) affect how I write this story or the characters. If that bothers you, again feel free to skip. (6) Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Fandoms move on and leanings change and that is fine. This story is what it is, and if the basis of it doesn't appeal, again you are welcome to not read it.

I would like to say a big thank you to those kind people who left reviews over the last 10 years, I probably wouldn't have picked this back up again without your comments. I find writing a slog now unfortunately, and without feedback I have little idea how my attempt to restart is coming across. Hearing what people think is a big motivator and discussions open up new creative ideas. If you are reading and enjoying, please let me know.