Getting It Right - Lost In Translation
"It's just so insulting!"
Santana was near growling as she stormed through the corridors after class, leaving Brittany jogging to keep abreast with her girlfriend despite her longer legs.
"I mean, La Cucaracha! For real? Does Schuester think he's teaching in a 90s Mexican diner?!"
The Latina smacked over a locker door as they passed, causing the poor junior it belonged to to yelp and drop her books in the rush to save her fingers from getting crushed. Brittany threw an apologetic glance over her shoulder before skipping back to Santana's side as she barrelled into the next hallway, stride and fury unbroken.
"Someone needs to call out this bullshit. 'Authentic Spanish experience', my ass. You can't pass off fancy dress and embarrassing stereotypes as some kind of education."
"I thought it was kinda fun…" Brittany mumbled before flinching at the heated glare Santana shot her. She quickly switched to a new route of appeasement. "I just mean – I don't think it was meant to be taken seriously."
"That's the problem," the brunette spat as she spun around to face her slightly bemused fellow Cheerio, determined to explain just exactly why she was so pissed off with their teacher. Seeing the trepidation in the other girl's expression, Santana's gaze instantly softened, though her tone lost none of its fiery hiss.
"Mr. Schue doesn't take any of it seriously. This is just a paycheck to him but it's my heritage, my culture, and it deserves to be treated with respect. I know he's always phoned it in, but come on. He's not even trying to pretend he gives a shit any more."
Brittany's brow furrowed in sympathy, her heart growing heavy at the sight of Santana's distress. Anxious to comfort the girl she loved more than even Lord Tubbington, Brittany half reached for her waist before pulling up short, remembering how uneasy Santana still was with drawing attention to their relationship in these halls. Instead, she bit her lip and tugged on her bag straps, voice hesitant with concern.
"What you gonna do?"
Santana flipped her ponytail, a sharp gleam hardening her eyes with determination. "I'm gonna take it to the top. Even this crappy school has to follow formal complaint procedures."
"But the Glee Club —"
"This is nothing to do with that —"
The rest of Santana's retort was cut off by an insistent buzzing from the front of her rucksack. With a huff she swung the bag around and yanked the cell from the zipped pocket, impatient to deal with the unwelcome interruption. One look at the caller ID confirmed her suspicions.
They were really not giving up, knowing as they did that the only way to get through her walls was to wear them down with sheer persistence. Well, she was in a crap enough mood already, thanks very much.
Brittany watched her girlfriend scowl and swifty deny the call. She frowned at the familiar pattern of behaviour, fresh sadness filling her eyes. She couldn't stand anything that hurt Santana, and so when it was the Latina herself who was intent on inflicting her own pain, Brittany was at a bit of a loss for how to deal.
"That's the fourth time this week already," she commented softly, eyeing the cell clenched in the Cheerio's fist.
"Yeah, well, they can harass all they want." Santana stiffened, curt and dismissive. "Doesn't change anything."
"How do you know if you never pick up?"
"Because I know them," she snapped irritably. "They just want me to come back and stop making things awkward for them. They want us to go back to pretending everything's fine, to play happy families in denial, and – and —"
Her breath was coming harder, the rush of words cutting raw and hot across her lips, threatening to betray the true depth of her turmoil. Santana quickly tensed as Brittany responded to her anger by tugging her into a soothing embrace, holding her together with more than just her deceptively athletic arms. Panic fluttered instinctively at the public intimacy, but that didn't stop the Cheerio from squeezing back fiercely as she let the blonde's calming touch quell the storm inside her chest. Just… for a moment.
It never ceased to amaze her how her girlfriend could support her so unconditionally even when she fundamentally disagreed with her choices.
"I – I won't do that. I can't."
The Latina's teammate smiled forlornly at the muttered words against her shoulder, at the tone of steel coated vulnerability that she knew so well. Frustration was a rare emotion for Brittany to experience but there was no other way to describe this feeling. It was obvious just how much the rift with her family was grieving her, and yet when her parents actually tried, she refused to even hear them out.
Brittany loved everything about Santana, including her glorious stubbornness, but it did cause her an upsetting amount of confusion sometimes.
The hug ended abruptly as Santana broke away, glass walls hidden once more behind briars of pride. The brunette folded her arms across her chest and turned her head, a familiar set to her mouth that confirmed this particular thorny topic was closed. Brittany hovered in uncertainty, torn as to how to make things better, when the decision was brusquely taken out of her hands.
"I don't wanna fight about this, Britt, so just drop it, okay? It's not your problem." Santana spoke bluntly but didn't meet her face, as if she feared her resolve would crumble under the empathy of those big cornflower eyes. "Anyway, I've got bigger fish to fry right now."
With that, the cheerleader quickly turned on her heel and resumed her route to Figgins' office alone.
One battle at a time, she told herself firmly. And this week, Santana had Mr. Schue squarely in her crosshairs.
/o/
Kurt had been ranting on the same subject for the better part of twenty minutes. Rachel was rather glad they weren't on video chat as she had found herself rolling her eyes substantially more often than would be appreciated by her best friend.
"I know, I get it, but don't you think you're overreacting just a little?"
That was clearly the wrong thing to say, as indignant cries and tart accusations of hypocrisy rang in her ears, making her wince. Man, she loved him to death but his ire could shatter crystal when it was at full pitch. Rachel swivelled in her desk chair, dark waves falling over the back of it as she tilted her head up to stare at the ceiling, doing her best not to let her thoughts wander. That was far too dangerous a pastime these days.
She had noticed Kurt getting increasingly tetchy about Blaine's continued affiliation with the Warblers lately, but this seemed like an unnecessary strop even for him. He knew fine well how much Blaine adored him and she didn't want this endless paranoia of his to end up driving them apart. Kurt didn't exactly keep his thoughts to himself and even Blaine had limited patience. It was probably selfish, but Rachel couldn't cope with any more relationship drama in her life right now.
"It's only a birthday party, Kurt. And he did invite you to go along, remember?"
"Oh right, like I'm supposed to just sit there nicely and endure that greasy weasel making googly eyes at my boyfriend all night? That Craigslist stalker will be all over him whether I'm there or not! It's outrageous."
And he was off again. Quietly switching the phone onto speaker, Rachel placed it down next to her laptop and returned to her research until such time as he calmed down enough to become receptive to her comments. Kurt didn't have to know she was multitasking him, it just made the most sense. She was at her best when kept busy after all, and the demanding intricacies of their new assignment required almost all of her energy currently. Not that she minded the workload or pressure. In fact, this week more than ever, she was immensely grateful for the distraction.
Rachel had felt downright sick with nerves at the prospect of Glee practice. Just the thought of stepping back into that room, of seeing his face again… God, she already had the frayed thread and missing buttons to remind her of exactly how close she'd come to letting him take everything from her.
She'd been in such a state when she left the school the other night; socks around her ankles, blouse untucked, cardigan half off her shoulders, still trembling and looking precisely like she had just been thoroughly kissed. Luckily, she'd managed to fix most of her attire on the way home, enough to make it safely to her room without too many questions anyway. It was only a mistake, she'd insisted over and over as she quickly took a very thorough shower. A lapse of judgement, she told herself as she feigned a headache and went straight to bed; as if she could somehow dream the whole encounter away. That's all. That's all.
But sleep hadn't come to her salvation.
Instead, she'd found the marks of his fingertips had faded all too quickly from her thighs, even as his taste had lingered unbearably on her tongue. The ghost of his touch clung to her body, keeping her tight and feverish, unable to settle. She'd tossed and turned all night with the memories, until finally forced to relieve the ache herself out of pure desperation. Sweat and tears laced her skin as she chased the forbidden heat that slicked her fingers, muffling the soft gasps deep in her pillows, refusing to let his name pass her lips.
It still made her flush with guilt and shame.
And yet all the dread had proved to be an exhausting waste of energy when the subject of her anguish hadn't even bothered to turn up to practice after all. The conspicuous absence had caught her off guard when she'd first walked in; indeed she felt almost rankled. How come he always got to opt out of consequences? How very typical. However, before Rachel could ruminate too long on the unspoken implications, she had been interrupted by the arrival of their former teammates.
Apparently, the Troubletones had decided to temporarily forsake their feud in order to crash Mr. Schue's so-called 'Spanish Week'. Santana insisted it was to ensure New Directions didn't further dishonour her familial language and heritage, but Rachel was pretty sure it was more to do with a rumoured new teacher whom Mr. Schue had declared he was bringing along to encourage them. She hadn't heard of a Señor Martinez herself, but clearly his reputation preceded him in gossip circles that she wasn't privilege to.
When the man in question had arrived a few minutes later – the very epitome of the archetype tall, dark and handsome and utterly endearing to boot – Rachel realised that she couldn't even fault the girls for their ulterior motive. After all, Kurt had practically melted the plastic of his chair when the guy performed his own cover of 'Sexy And I Know It'. A garbage song by a garbage group, that he had somehow managed to make charming.
In fact, Señor David Martinez's visit had proved to be the perfect distraction all round. For an hour or so, even Rachel had managed to put aside the horror show of her private life and embrace the absurd joy of Glee that had been somewhat lacking these days. It was amazing having the whole team back together, even temporarily, and David's enthusiasm had proved infectious, leaving the girls flustered and giggling every time he flashed them that dimpled smile with those perfect teeth. Everyone had been keen to try and match the vigour of their new instructor as he took turns dancing with each of them, and she'd even caught Quinn fanning herself and cracking a grin at it all. It had been a light-hearted release of energy that Rachel had sorely needed. Mr. Schue had looked a bit disgruntled by the end of the session, but the rest of New Directions had felt more energised and upbeat than they had in a long time.
It had been so refreshing to see everyone is such high spirits. To briefly forget that they were in the throws of a tumultuous adolescence, on the brink of a fast approaching adulthood, and just feel like silly kids again, with no bigger worries in their heads than tardy slips and slushies. It was a nostalgic snapshot of a past they couldn't get back, but that didn't mean they hadn't tried to hold on as long as they could in the fragile bubble of innocence.
The reprieve had lasted until Blaine had left them at the school gates to head over to Dalton, and Kurt's face had fallen faster than a New York minute.
She had been trying her hardest to keep her own demons at bay ever since, but real life was champing at the bit for her attention and a familiar knot was fast reforming in the pit of her stomach, growing heavier with every passing hour.
Realising with a start that she could no longer read the words on her screen, Rachel slammed her laptop shut and swiped at her eyes. Reaching for a lifeline, she picked up the phone again and refocused on her friend's diatribe. A choice she soon regretted.
"— I mean, you should see the looks Sebastian gives him. It's like he's constantly mentally undressing him. Ugh. Okay, maybe not quite as steamy as the eye-sex you and Jesse share in rehearsals, but you get the idea. You guys should really ease up on that by the way."
Kurt knew it was a bit of a bitchy tease, but he was feeling rather miffed at the lack of unquestioning solidarity being offered in this call. However, the shaky intake of breath in his ear caught his attention.
"Rachel? Helloooo? Still there?"
The other end of the line stayed uncharacteristically quiet, broken only by some wet snuffles that sounded suspiciously like she was suppressing a sob into her palm.
"Hey, what's wrong? Rach?"
The sullen rancour abruptly left his tone, leaving just concern with the usual snip of impatience. He had to strain to catch the soft mutter of her reply.
"I – I really messed up, Kurt."
The teen waited on tenterhooks for what would follow, but only got more sniffs and tremulous sighs for his trouble.
"Okay, there's no way in hell you're leaving me hanging like that, baby girl. Fix your pyjama hair, throw on some classic Bernadette and ready the Swiss Miss, I'm on my way."
/o/
Whatever it is you're sulking about this time, get over it and get your ass back here asap. You're missing all of Mr. Schue's squirming. It's so cringe but so funny. Shelby has even given permission for the Troubletones to sit in this week, though whether that's for the experience or to add to the humiliation, I'm not convinced.
Oh, it was definitely for the benefit of Schuester's discomfort. Shelby would never miss an opportunity to undermine the competition.
And he hadn't been sulking, exactly.
Still the enigmatic message had been intriguing enough for him to bite at the bait. He had actually been planning to avoid McKinley and Glee for a few more days at least, if only to regroup his thoughts, but the situation Quinn had gone on to describe had proved just too tempting to pass up.
The prospect of Schuester getting taken to task over his dubious teaching 'credentials' had the potential to be both problematic and highly enjoyable. Whilst it was unlikely he would be forced out completely (this was public school after all) and have to resign the glee club, the man was certainly well overdue for a reality check in his day job. Frankly, Jesse didn't know how he'd gotten away with his discount Duolingo lessons for this long, when it was obvious to even the most casual observer that the man was barely staying two steps ahead of his own students. Will Schuester attempting to save his career by hosting a Glee Latin Awareness Week was simply entertainment value that money couldn't buy.
And so it was that Jesse came to take up his customary seat at the customary time the following day, morbid curiosity having gotten the better of him. God knows, he could do with a good laugh.
Schuester was already flitting about the choir room nervously, even more highly strung than usual, as the students began to filter in after the bell. Jesse ignored their noisy arrival for the most part, acknowledging only Quinn's grinning wink and Rachel's apprehensive glance as she clocked his presence a few steps into the room.
For a second she looked like a deer caught in the headlights, face pale and eyes wide with panic. Her stride faltered to a standstill as their gazes locked for a long moment; his unreadable, hers struggling to contain the same fraught emotion that was freezing up her body. The brief spell of immobility was soon broken as Kurt appeared over her shoulder and quickly drew close, a loyal shield summoned to her side. Casting a suspicious glare in his direction, her friend swiftly looped his arm through hers and proceeded to march them both to seats at the opposite end of the row, settling down amongst the safety of their team once more.
Jesse almost rolled his eyes at the overly defensive behaviour. Was she afraid to even be in the same room as him now? For the lack of any better distraction, he returned to scrolling through his newsfeed with a terse flick of his thumb, ruthlessly suppressing the memories that crashed through his mind like a ferocious waterfall at the sight of her face.
He was just beginning to regret his decision to return to the fray so soon, with wounds that were still too raw, when an unfamiliar but stylish man entered the choir room and Will started squeaking and flapping like a performing seal.
"David! David, welcome! Thank you so much for joining us again."
The man, who Jesse quickly surmised was the 'Señor Martinez' as described in Quinn's (somewhat explicitly detailed) messages, shook Will's hand before waving cordially to the assembled teenagers in greeting.
"El gusto es mío. I've been enjoying working with you all. I can't wait to see what you're gonna come up with."
Modelling a dazzling grin that was almost brighter than the non-regulation spotlights in Carmel, David was immediately swamped by the excited club members who jumped up and pulled him over to sit with them. He handled the bombardment of attention and questions graciously, some of the group even attempting to engage him in Spanish which he was clearly delighted about, and he began effortlessly switching back and forth between languages as he advised on pronunciation and sentence structure.
For a few minutes, the classroom was chaotic with conversation and laughter, until Mr. Schue finally managed to regain a somewhat tenuous command of authority.
"Yes, well, we're all clearly pleased that you could come to today's performance. I know Sam and the boys have been working really hard —"
Taking their cue, the guys of Glee all leapt up and started getting ready for their number. In the bustle and noise, David managed to slip free of his female admirers and plonked himself down in the vacant chair next to Jesse.
"Don't think we've met yet, David Martinez."
The guy stuck his hand out, with another smile so shiny that it made Jesse think of those obnoxious ads that promoted at-home teeth bleaching kits. Of course, he'd been in the networking game long enough to know better than to betray any of his first impressions.
"Jesse St. James," he returned amiably, accepting the proffered handshake.
"Encantado, Jesse. So, are you staff or student?"
Jesse nearly shuddered at the idea of describing himself as an official staff member of McKinley. He still had some standards.
"Neither, thankfully. New Directions just employ my services as a consultant. I fronted Vocal Adrenaline back when they were reigning National Champions and Schuester wanted the advantage of some winning expertise."
Señor Martinez nodded in understanding. "Ah, yes, I know the feeling. I teach Spanish at the night school here and Will thought his students could benefit from my insight also."
"Yeah, so I heard." Jesse glanced over at the teacher in question, who was busy helping Finn with his bolo tie. A smirk crept up his lips as he looked back at David. "One might almost come to the conclusion that he's just not very good at his job, huh?"
The Latino's eyes danced with humour. "One might, I suppose. Not us though."
"Perish the thought."
David stretched his hands behind his head with a deep chuckle. "I don't mind it though, I love to teach and they're good kids."
Jesse made a non-committal sound, feeling somewhat less charitable.
His gaze swept the room again. It was busier and louder than usual with the addition of Shelby's girls, but he soon located her where she stood off to the side talking with Kurt, and looking none too pleased with what he was saying either. As Jesse watched, she made to cross her arms in a familiar huff which her companion expertly countered by pulling her into a quick hug, defusing whatever disagreement had been brewing. She seemed to take a moment to unclench before leaning into his embrace, a deep sigh settling in her shoulders.
He frowned but was thwarted from further spying by the band members setting up. With nothing better to do in the meantime, he returned to his previous conversation.
"I hope you aren't setting your expectations too high," he advised dryly, inclining his head towards the gaggle of boys in the centre of the room who were going over some last minute dance moves. "Or at least, try not to take the incompetence too personally."
David was unbothered by the less than glowing assessment of New Directions, merely clapping a friendly hand on their consultant's shoulder with a wide grin.
"Jeez, such cynicism in one so young! That's the joy of teaching, Jesse, getting to see your charges learn and grow. There's more to life than perfection. My job is to pass on knowledge and skills they can use and to encourage them to find their own passions. Didn't you have someone in school who helped to inspire you? Whose support and guidance you'll carry on for the rest of your life?"
He managed a tight smile, his eyes growing dark. "Not exactly."
"Ah, that's a real shame. A teacher can be such a formative influence on shaping a young person's life."
Jesse said nothing, knowing better than most how true such a sentiment was, but certainly not in the way David intended. Still, despite their vastly different outlooks, it was really hard not to instinctively like the guy. He laughed easily and had an unaffected manner, chatting away with a natural warmth that just invited reciprocation. It was a stark contrast to the forced cheer and camaraderie Schuester tried so hard to demand from his students.
"Right, I think everyone's ready!"
The boys had assumed their positions on the floor, Sam taking centre stage with the others lined up behind him in all their costumed finery. Jesse wondered if they'd put as much effort into their song as they had their outfits. The rest of the assembled teenagers quickly claimed their spots in the audience, with Rachel retreating to the furthest corner of the room from him.
The guitars struck up the opening notes of Bamboleo as the performance finally began.
Jesse immediately noted that the Spanish verses was actually not half bad, though the mash up with Hero was unnecessary and diluted the flavour of the piece. Overall though, it was surprisingly decent. The rest of room clearly agreed, judging by the chair-dancing and improvised jamming that was going on, and even Santana seemed to give the boys a pass for their trouble.
The lovestruck, puppy-dog stare that the blond pinned on Mercedes was slightly harder to stomach. Still, at least the object of Sam's unrequited affections could manage to meet his eye and smile, unlike Jesse's own impossible ingénue who seemed determined to try and ignore his very existence.
"Guys, that was some muy serious footwork!" Will gushed when they had finished, jumping in before David could comment first. The teacher then turned to the rest of the group to earnestly explain that, "Muy means very."
God, Jesse actually felt pained for him.
"I was in it mostly for the boots," Kurt admitted, swivelling on his heel in appreciation.
"Yeah, what's the deal with those boots? Because wow."
"They're Mexican hipster boots," Finn piped up eagerly. "It's kind of like a fad for groups of guys that are into dance music, and we're kind of like a dance crew. Señor Martinez told us about it."
"Yeah, they're pretty boss, I might keep mine," Puck mused, sounding a little in awe. "I actually had no idea how cool Latin culture was."
Oh boy, Quinn had been dead on about the cringe comedy. The expression on Schuester's face was beyond priceless, the awkwardness damn near excruciating.
"Wow. I mean the teeth, the duende , the bizarre Mexican fads, Señor Martinez is, like, the best Spanish teacher ever." The goading that dripped from every pointed word was matched only by the look of utter contempt Santana turned on their teacher. "I can't wait to see your performance, Mr. Schue."
He visibly swallowed. "My performance?"
The Cheerio flashed a shit-eating grin. "Yeah, to defend your Spanish teacher honour. I'm sure you have something muy amazing planned."
Jesse was honestly surprised there wasn't flop sweat running down the teacher's forehead, the panic and insecurity he was exuding were so deafening. Luckily, before Will could dig himself a deeper hole, David broke the tension by clapping his hands together with a smile and standing up.
"Well, I certainly can't take the credit, but I do agree that performance was truly bacán. Well done, guys, you deserve it."
The boys beamed back at him, looking like children just praised by their favourite parent. Jesse couldn't really blame them. Will Schuester was a bit of a charmless joy vortex after all, with the sort of overbearing intensity that drained energy rather than feeding it. He also seemed to rely too heavily on the Glee kids in his own life, burdening them with personal issues and blurring the boundaries with emotional bargaining. Jesse knew from experience just how toxic such a relationship could get. David's laid back and genuinely positive approach felt like a breath of fresh air in comparison.
"I've gotta go get ready for class tonight, but keep up the great work everyone!" With a last pop-star smile and a double thumbs up, he quickly left them to it.
With Señor Martinez's departure, the practice seemed to naturally wind down. Mr. Schue retreated into his office with a twitchy expression and people began to pack up. As her teammates started to leave, Jesse took the opportunity to surreptitiously cross to her side before she could make her own escape.
"We should talk."
Rachel just shook her head without looking up, continuing to hastily stuff the last of her pens into their allocated slots and zipping up her bag.
"I can't. Not now," she muttered, the words almost lost under the clatter of chairs and footsteps and passing conversation. Standing up with a deep breath, she met his gaze with a surprisingly firm look. "Just leave it alone. Please."
She took care not to make contact as she passed him on her way to the door. He thought briefly about following but was deterred by a pale set of arms that abruptly hooked themselves about his neck. Jesse smiled without even having to glance at the step behind him, the scent of her skin filling his lungs.
"Trouble in paradise?"
"Behave," he chided softly, squeezing her wrist in warning.
Quinn pulled back her arms to rest on his shoulders and smirked. "Why start now?"
She took a playful bite at his earlobe before he managed to shrug off her loose hold. He knew her too well by now to think she'd be offended at the rebuff, but she would expect payment for her restraint. Gossip was currency for a girl like Quinn.
He glanced at her face, finding those bright cat-eyes alight with eager curiosity as they studied his expression, trying to read what was too well hidden. Jesse debated how little he could reveal and still get away with. She would wheedle the full story from him eventually, they both knew that, but this was neither the time nor the place.
Finally, he admitted:
"Because things have changed."
/o/
Everyone wanted her to talk about it.
She just wanted to forget.
What was there to say anyway? Oops, my bad? I know you nearly took my first time the other night when we were all over each other like bees on honey, but bygones, eh? So, what do you think about Regionals set lists?
Even Kurt, whom she had vigorously sworn to secrecy and spared the most blushing details, kept trying to nudge her towards such a humiliating debriefing. He said she needed to set the record straight, make it clear that what happened was just a misstep never to be repeated, and to do it quickly before the whole thing blew up to almost destroy the club all over again.
'Sounds like a classic case of hate make-out if you ask me, Rach. You'd be amazed how many fights end that way, all that adrenaline and spitfire can be a hell of a turn on. You just need to call it out for what it is.'
If only it was that simple.
She couldn't exactly argue him on the sentiment, he was only taking his cue from her after all, but things were so much messier than she could ever confess to her best friend.
It had become painfully obvious that whatever had sparked between her and Jesse all that time ago had never truly been extinguished, despite their mutual best efforts. It was so wrong, wrong, wrong, but the near physical need that she'd experienced in their twisted encounter had just been too acute, too destructive, to be anything other than genuine desire. Regardless of what other resentful emotions had been in the mix, the want had been real. Overwhelmingly so.
And it was a big problem.
So Rachel did what she always did when she couldn't find the words to deal with her feelings: she buried them in song.
She had never studied so hard for a Glee assignment as she had for this one, determined as she was to not let a little thing like language barriers get in the way of her outstanding track record. Yes, she could have picked an English cover or something bilingual as Mr. Schue had suggested, but Rachel had quickly resolved on doing an authentic Spanish song. And doing it well.
It was a challenge she had embraced to an almost obsessive degree, ever keen to take the chance to push her talents into new and exciting territory. Hours of immersive audio and instructional YouTube videos had been analysed, poured over in meticulous detail as she sought to master the proper diction and articulation, steadily building a natural flow in her delivery. The whole process had frustrated her perfectionist personality to the point of tears at times, but sheer work-ethic had managed to see her through the exhaustive training and practice that had been required.
Thus it was safe to say Rachel was quietly confident when her turn finally came to take to the floor.
With a nod to the band boys, she set her breathing and allowed the clarity of concentration to consume her mind, feeling truly calm for the first time in days. Nothing else mattered any more, nothing was more important than the performance. Rachel had always navigated her life by songs. They were the only way she could make sense of the world sometimes, providing solace and sense when nothing else could.
Bésame
A destiempo
Sin quedar
Y en silencio
Bésame
Frena el tiempo
Haz crecer
Lo que siento
The music quickened with layers of strings, drum and piano as the chorus began to swell dramatically. Despite the change of pace, she managed to hold the tempo of the song well, working her voice deftly around the foreign lyrics with their unfamiliar intonation and rhythm, settling into her confidence on the powerhouse notes.
Bésame
Como si el mundo se acabara después
Bésame
Y beso a beso por el cielo al revés
Bésame
Sin razón porque quiere el corazón
As the song continued, Rachel found herself hoping that her teammates' grasp of colloquial Spanish was as patchy as hers had been. Okay, yes it was clearly a love song, but they should expect that from her by now. Señor Martinez had requested duende after all; told them to tap into that fabled dark source of passion that fuelled all creativity. She was just playing to her strengths.
Chancing a glance into her audience, she was almost relieved to see Santana rolling her eyes. Tina, meanwhile, had a hand over her heart as she looked between her and Finn with a sad expression. Rachel felt herself relax a little, safe in the knowledge that they all just saw it as yet another serenade to her erstwhile boyfriend. And it was. It was. She missed him and he needed to know how much. Seeking out his face through the crowd, her heart dropped to see him lower his gaze in response, staring down between his knees with a furrowed brow and tight jaw, looking as conflicted as she felt.
Frustration built behind her voice, charging each note with resonance as she followed the rise and fall of the soaring lyrics, cresting each wave of melody under the force of her own emotion. Her eyes closed as she gave into the full melodramatic heights of the song. It wasn't fair. No matter how she felt about Jesse, Finn was the one she was meant to be with in the end. Everyone knew that, it was written in the stars from the very beginning, and mindless carnal attraction was nothing compared to true love.
'Jesse and I may not be true love… But what if we are?'
The deja vu washed over her like water from a broken dam. Memories of another time when she had stood on this floor, belting her heart out to another boy who couldn't bring himself to meet her eye, to accept her musical entreaty to reconciliation. She felt herself glancing involuntarily in the direction of her thoughts, pulled in by his steady gaze and the echo of her own mind.
Granted, maybe the song did have some overtones of her rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart, even if it was a complete and unfortunate co-incidence. Rachel hastily pushed aside the recollection. The flicker in his smiling eyes before she quickly looked away told her the similarities hadn't passed him by either.
Feeling warmth blooming in her cheeks and ignoring the frown on Kurt's face, Rachel resolutely fixed her stare on the back wall of the classroom for the remaining few verses.
Bésame
A sí sin compasión
Quédate en mí sin condición
Dame tan solo un motivo
Y me quedo yo
Y me quedo yo
/o/
"That was a fucking tease of a song choice."
He stood above her, propping an elbow against the locker door she had just opened, gaze twinkling with familiar mischief. Rachel felt a coy smile rising to her lips in response and sharply bit it down. Quickly standing up, she pulled out another ring binder along with her scientific calculator and set about squashing them into her already bulging rucksack. She only had a few minutes to swap out books before her next class.
"Since when do you know Spanish?" she deflected curtly.
His smirk grew with amusement as he watched her grunt and shove some surplus textbooks back into the small cubicle, unable to tell if she was more flustered by him or her school bag.
"Since a certain exchange student in 9th grade so kindly offered to tutor me in her mother tongue."
Rachel rolled her eyes, keeping her tone light despite the ridiculous knot of jealousy that twinged at his words. "Oh yeah, I'm sure you spent a lot of time studying."
"Actually, I can be very attentive," he reassured, leaning in just enough to catch her ear with a teasing whisper. "When something peaks my interest enough."
Struggling to repress the all-too-vivid memories that stirred at the promise in his voice, Rachel returned her attention to fastening her bag and pulling it back onto her shoulder. Straightening up with a toss of perfumed hair, her demeanour was all business when she faced him again.
"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but that song was just the best fit for my voice and style. Nothing more."
The metal door swung over with a decisive clank under her hand as she held his eye stubbornly.
Jesse gave a knowing smile. "The Queen of Ballads has to defend her crown."
"Exactly."
With her locker now shut, Rachel suddenly realised just how close they were standing. As he moved into what little distance remained, she felt that same paralysis start to creep up her muscles, pinning her to the spot. Why couldn't she look away? When had he touched a hand to her face? She felt him trap her bottom lip under his thumb, watched that taunting gaze lower to the skin that was still red and raw from her earlier restraint, and her stomach swooped in dizzying anticipation.
"And a Queen's command must always be obeyed…"
She had barely registered the decree – unaware that her eyes had already begun to close, that he had already begun to lean – when the shriek of the bell rang out through the school.
Rachel instantly jumped in panic, almost cracking her skull on the lockers he had somehow backed her against. Her eyes darted wildly, as if coming out of a trance, and she realised the corridors around them were all but empty. A relief when it came to potential witnesses but a bad omen for her tardy record.
"I – I'm late."
Stuttering the lame excuse a little more breathlessly than she would have liked, Rachel quickly ducked under his arm and rushed off in what she hoped was the right direction for her stats class, mentally berating herself the whole way.
That was way too close. And definitely too public. Damn it. She should have told him off, shoved him back, warned him away. Rachel groaned at how quickly and easily he could disarm her guard. She felt far too vulnerable around him now; like a mouse always just squeezing out of a feline's sharp maw.
He was getting bold, and she was getting careless.
This was bad.
/o/
Quinn swore quietly as she skimmed the screen of her vibrating cell phone. She had told them the times she was contactable. Of course, that could mean it was something urgent. Wonderful.
Luckily that morning's study hall was supervised by Mr. Grady, whose disciplinarian tendencies were waning considerably the closer it drew to his impending retirement date. True enough, the teacher didn't even raise his head from his crossword as the McKinley senior slipped out of the classroom and took quick strides down the deserted corridor, picking up the call as she went.
"Hello? Yes, it is. Uh huh. Yeah I got the email."
Quinn glanced about covertly as she spoke, keeping her voice as hushed but polite as possible. She had passed two rows of lockers and the girls' bathrooms before she finally slowed her pace and began to listen more carefully to what was being said.
"No, that shouldn't be necessary. I already sent over a copy of the birth certificate and the original paperwork. Hmm, yes, that's correct. And you have the information about parental consent, right?"
Hugging her free arm around her ribs, Quinn twisted the silk of her shirt anxiously as she kept her head bowed, phone pressed tight to her ear. It was a relief to hear there was finally movement on the process, but she'd be lying if she said she was undaunted by the scale of what she was taking on. But she had nothing else left. This was the only thing giving her life purpose any more.
"Yeah, I understand. Do… Do you need me there when the petition is lodged?"
She heard the uncertainty and hesitation in her voice, how young she sounded, and immediately felt defensive. This was why she hated being caught off guard. Not trusting herself to speak calmly, Quinn merely nodded and made sounds of agreement as the paralegal confirmed she wouldn't be required to appear at this stage.
"That's fine. If that's everything for now, I really should get back to work." Okay, it sounded a bit crisp, but that was better than childish. With a deep breath, she made an effort to sign off on a professional note. "Thanks again for all your assistance, I really appreciate it. Yes, same to you."
After ending the call, Quinn rolled back her tense shoulders and quickly composed herself to return to class.
However, when she turned around to retrace her steps, she found herself confronted with one of the very last people she wanted to deal with right now.
"Still following me?" she demanded, raising a disparaging eyebrow at her unwelcome company.
Rachel Berry looked strangely lost and out of place as she hovered awkwardly in the empty hallway. Finally she blinked, as if just realising where she was. "Um… No, I was just…" The girl gestured vaguely towards the bathrooms to her right, before again fixing Quinn with an inscrutable expression that just pissed her off even more.
"Well, don't let me keep you then," she snapped pointedly. When the brunette made no indication of moving, the former cheerleader made a disgusted sound and stalked past, dismissing the other girl with a flick of her bangs.
She had only gone a few steps when Rachel seemed to find her voice again, speaking up behind her with an almost tentative tone.
"What… What are you doing, Quinn?"
"Nothing."
"It didn't sound like nothing," she retorted, sounding firmer and more like her charming argumentative self.
Quinn stopped and turned around with a narrowed gaze, staring down the interloper to her privacy with icy disdain.
"Oh, so you were eavesdropping then? Just can't help yourself can you? Always sticking your big nose where it doesn't belong. I suppose once a snitch, always a snitch."
"I didn't mean to! But I overheard and…" Rachel started to object in her own defence, before deciding she was better off sticking to her initial line of inquisition. "What's going on? Are – Are you actually trying to get Beth back? Is that even possible?"
The accusations came in furtive whispers as her teammate quickly closed the space between them, eyes wide with indignation and disbelief. Quinn's jaw went rigid but she stood her ground, folding her arms defiantly.
"It is if the biological parent terminated their rightsby fraud or undue duress."
"Wait, you're claiming Shelby tricked you?" Rachel shook her head, unable to comprehend what wasn't hers to understand. "But Shelby didn't force you to give up Beth! You know that!"
She shrugged. "That's for the court to decide."
"That is so seriously messed up, even for you!"
"Actually, none of your fucking business is what it is," Quinn corrected waspishly.
Rachel's expression turned imploring, as if desperate to appeal to the last shred of compassion in her long standing rival.
"Quinn… you can't do this."
The blonde sneered, feeling especially spiteful in her vulnerability.
"Is that so? Well, it seems your ex disagrees."
"Finn would never —"
"Wrong ex."
Quinn couldn't help but feel gratified at the slow realisation and confusion that filled the other girl's face, cutting her off dead in the middle of her self-righteous reprimands. She was clearly disconcerted by the revelation; taken aback at the very idea that they actually talked and didn't just fool around all the time. Good. Let her stew on that for a while instead of getting all up in her face and private affairs.
Stepping closer in warning, Quinn had only one final thing to say to her interfering teammate before taking her leave, anxious to draw a line under the whole unpleasant conversation. Her tone dropped another few degrees, eyes hard and bright like polished jade.
"Stay out of my way, Rachel."
/o/
Groaning, Jesse flung an arm over his eyes to protect his retinas from the early afternoon sun that slanted through his blinds, finally rousing him from his hangover.
He hadn't planned on going out last night, it had just kinda happened. Word had apparently reached some of his cohorts that he was back in State, and the demands for an impromptu reunion had become more bothersome to ignore than to accept. They'd ended up at a dive bar they used to frequent at the edge of town which, while having lost a lot of its renegade appeal since high school, was still good for cheap beer and decent pool tables.
Honestly, it had been nice just to escape Lima for a few hours. And while he wouldn't call any of his former teammates 'friends' as such, there was a certain nostalgic camaraderie between them all that was not unenjoyable. It was surprising actually how quickly they'd fallen back into familiarity, the casual banter and laughs eased along by shared experiences, like a strange sort of wartime bond. That was the thing about old school Vocal Adrenaline: they'd gleefully stab you in the back for the chance at a solo, but when it came to carousing and loosening up, they were reliably good company.
Despite their tendency to talk a bit too much.
"McKinley, really? Man, how the mighty have fallen, eh?" Tyler knocked his shoulder with a grin, almost spilling his drink in the process. "Never thought you'd be slumming it with those rejects."
Jesse said nothing, choosing to concentrate on lining up the far corner pocket and hoping the conversation would quickly move on from his current vocation.
"What is it about that school?" Charlie pulled a face as she dropped down on the nearby sofa, sliding her legs over Theo's lap to little objection. "They put methamphetamine in the water fountains or something? Heard Shelby ended up back there too. God knows why."
She glanced to him as he straightened up after his shot, curious for confirmation. He shrugged and reached for his beer, stepping back from the table to let Francis have his turn.
"Shelby hasn't changed. She always has her own reasons."
"You two playing the long con again, huh?"
They laughed, finding the idea highly amusing in their tipsy states, while Jesse just smiled through the roll of his stomach.
"Well, if you ever feel like coming home to Carmel, I'm sure I could get you a cushy gig. I'm the assistant gymnastics coach there now." Tyler slung an arm over his shoulder and clinked their bottles together, lauding his own success.
Jesse shoved him off with a smirk. "I see VA isn't the only area where their standards have slipped then."
Tyler put a hand over his chest, pretending to stagger like he'd been shot, almost falling into Kitty who swiftly elbowed him out the way.
"Damn right, they'll never top our winning streak again!" enthused Jonas, hopping onto a bar stool to raise his glass to the group. "Here's to the original and best, the true living legends of Vocal Adrenaline!"
His drunken toast was met by a chorus of cheers, and Jesse wasn't convinced he could ascribe the warm feeling in his chest entirely to the alcohol in his hand.
Tentatively drawing his palm away from his face, he tried squinting into the light.
This was the latest he had slept in for years, hardwired for routine and discipline as he was these days, and the disruption to his body clock was disorientating. He hadn't even drunk that much either, but Jesse suspected he had crashed out more from the cumulative stress and exhaustion of the last few months than from the effects of a few beers. Physical strain he could handle, been taught to ignore and forced to override, but emotional toil was a whole new beast he had yet to tame.
Now he was a bit more awake, he realised just how tired he had been. It felt like forever since he had gotten a decent night's rest, and apart from the dry throat and slightly groggy head, he felt better for it. Since he was in no immediate hurry to leave the comfort of his bed, he found himself casting his mind back to his last trip to McKinley and the denouement of the dubiously conceived Spanish Week.
It had started out promisingly enough, with Santana taking to the stage to perform the bilingual version of Havana, ably accompanied by Señor Martinez and a dance routine that any other teacher would be fired for engaging in with a student. To be fair to the guy though, he managed to nail the remixed Spanish rap verses with an impressive speed and flair, adding a wow factor that only a musically gifted native speaker could pull off. The supporting light show had been a bit of overkill to an already impressive performance in Jesse's opinion; a distraction they really didn't need. Also, since when did McKinley's budget auditorium have a state-of-the-art laser light system anyway? Had the school begun moonlighting as a rock opera venue? Honestly, nothing would surprise him at this point.
Of course, then it had been time for Schuester's last gasp efforts to justify his faculty position. And, predictably, it had been an absolute dumpster fire of a performance.
Jesse hadn't thought his opinion of the teacher could sink much lower, but apparently he could add shameless and culturally tone-deaf to the already long list of unprofessional and inappropriate behaviour. However, all the second-hand embarrassment had been totally worth it just to see Santana proceed to tear him apart for such an offensive spectacle. Watching Will attempt to defend his complete lack of self-awareness, while dressed like a pimped up Speedy Gonzales and trading blows with a girl half his age but with twice his authority, was almost too farcical for words. Maybe this job did have some perks after all.
He'd ditched not long after the fireworks, wanting to be well clear before Will attempted to salvage such a train wreck with one of those heart-warming messages that he so loved to deliver, but Quinn had been quick to fill him in the next day. Jesse had to admit, he'd rolled his eyes very hard at the news Schuester had escaped the guillotine by switching into History instead, as if that was somehow any better.
Apparently David had been offered his old placement, which was a no-brainer, but it was a shame he couldn't also be persuaded to take over Will's mantle with the glee club. Sure, New Directions would probably always struggle to make any headway competitively, but at least then they'd be spending the time enjoying themselves with a teacher who actually knew how to have fun, instead of having to suffer Schuester's gloomy vibes.
Alas, fate was not that kind.
Jesse's stomach growled abruptly, interrupting his thoughts and reminding him that he should probably get up and give his body some proper sustenance soon. Rolling over to sit up on the edge of the bed, he dug his fingers into his tangled hair and yawned. It was then that he noticed the furiously blinking light on the phone that lay on the floor by his feet.
Unable to think of anyone that desperate to get in touch with him, he reached down to return it to its charger, assuming it was just low battery. When he flipped it over in his palm however, the ache inside his head started to pound again in confusion.
Five missed calls and eight texts filled up his screen, all having arrived in the last few hours by the look of it. And while most of her messages were simply ordering him to pick up and stop ignoring her, the final one drew the most curiosity.
Just meet me after school. Behind the bleachers.
If there was one thing he knew about Rachel, it was that she wouldn't be seeking him out unless she absolutely had to.
Well, this was interesting.
~o~
AN Sorry for the hiatus, it's been a tough few months, but I'm gonna finally finish this fic if it kills me. And if anyone was wondering, Rachel's song was by Bésame (Kiss Me) by Camila.