Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Such is the trouble in Admetus' house.
If he'd died, he'd be gone. But he lives, and the pain he has he will never forget.

Euripidies’ Alcestis, from The Greek Plays by Mary Lefkowitz and James Romm

Rachel Berry, the high school diva, the Glee-club star and vier of all solos, duets and features, the stuck-up snob reaching for what others perceived as above her and the girl determined - no, convinced, and proud of it, too - that she would not be a ‘Lima Loser’, that she was destined for bigger things; was perfect! Absolutely and totally perfect, in every way.

Nothing was wrong.

Not with Rachel. Things were wonderful. At school; no one slushies her so regularly - since freshman year - that she has a ‘Slushy Kit’ in her locker, she hasn’t kept track of all the different creative names her own glee-club teammates have come up with over the time they’ve spent together, and she isn’t ostracized for her larger than life personality - subsequently self-indulged because if no one is going to pay attention to her, well then, she’ll make it so they have to, even if they don’t like what they see - and the singularity of her clothing style.

No problems there, Daddy’s!

School is perfect, Daddy, Dad. She has the perfect boyfriend - who has admitted to being freaked out by her big personality before, and not understanding her entirely, and has cheated on her, and usually doesn’t stand up for her when the others pick on her, and really, she isn’t sure that he didn’t pick her because she was persistent and he felt bad; She has great friends - friends who have slushied her for suspecting treason, or for no real reason at all, and call her names all the time and don’t even want her around, except for her to sing, and even then they barely tolerate her.

No, Dad, Daddy, no one gives me grief for my style choices. No, Dad, Daddy, no one says anything about you guys anymore, I know, aren’t the times changing?

She never brought up how her ex-boyfriend brought his entire show choir to throw eggs at her, knowing she was a vegan, and then smashed one on her head, because it didn’t bother her at all. Not one bit!

No, Dad, Daddy, we just didn’t work out, is all. He’s going to college next year, and we both need to focus on our careers.

At school, no one knows exactly how things at home are. Not that anyone would care to ask, either, but she makes sure that they have the entirely wrong picture when home is brought up.

Oh, yeah, I have to get home to dinner that night anyway - she always has a perfect excuse for why it doesn’t matter that she isn’t invited to any of the Glee Club hangouts, whether its citing a dance class or singing lesson or a home-life thats actually non-existent - Dad and Daddy are waiting for me; which isn’t true, they’re both on business trips, and it’s just Rachel and that big empty house again; I couldn’t get the permission slip signed, Daddy’s been working late and leaving early and Dad is at his sisters - Dad doesn’t have a sister, he and Daddy are on another vacation.

She told them she didn’t mind, that she was too focused on her education and her future for it to bother her. She was fine on her own.

No, sorry, my parents aren’t coming to back to school night, or the parent-teacher conferences, and they can’t chaperone the school dance. They thought it might cause an upset; That isn’t remotely true. If there’s one thing her Daddy’s loved to do, it was make a scene.

‘Aren’t your parents coming to the show, Rachel?’ Oh, they wanted to, but there was an accident, and my grandma got hurt; Rachel has never met her grandparents, and her shows were never more important than their business trips when she got older.

But it was fine, everything was perfectly fine.

Nothing hurt Rachel. Nothing got her down. She kept her chin up and eyes on the prize, always.

When Jesse coaxed her into meeting her mother, she was skeptical. She kept her feelings close to her chest, her cards up her sleeve. She waited to sniff out if her mother was going to bail or not, if she could trust her.

And sure, Rachel had been emotional. How could she not? Shelby had looked at her with this… this expression of awe and wonder and love, and it did something to her. Like she thought Rachel was worth something without her having to do anything to earn it.

There was fear, and disappointment mixed in, too, and that tore at Rachel as they had just stared at each other, taking in all there was to see.

But when they spoke, she could tell. Even before Shelby got up on wobbly legs to tell her that she “couldn’t do this” — whatever ‘this’ was, because they hadn’t even spoken about anything of substance, hadn’t figured anything out — she could tell that Shelby couldn’t be trusted as someone to just fall into her arms.

So she spewed her usual stories, spun and wove them so tightly around herself that even Rachel couldn’t tell truth from lie anymore; she convinced Shelby as well as herself that her Dad’s loved her and were there.

That if Shelby were to walk away right and then, she’d have someone to catch her.

And when Shelby, inevitably, turned and walked away from her, Rachel’s face was stone and her eyes ice. The tears weren’t allowed to fall until she was safely locked in her bedroom.

She had cynically predicted it from the start, suspected it once she met Shelby, and was prepared for it, but that didn’t make the blow any less stunning when it hit. And hit, it did. It knocked Rachel clean off her feet.

When her teammates accused her of jumping ship to be with her mother after she ran for help with her outfit during Gaga Week — which she regrets, in hindsight, because getting that little piece of time and attention from her mother, even for a moment, wasn’t worth the longing she felt for more of it, wishing she could have it always — she calmly told them, “She is not my mother; we have no affiliation, not anymore.” And left it at that.

They seemed to get to leave her alone about it.

When her Dads offered to move her therapist into their spare room, she told them she was fine with the appointments she had… and slowly stopped going.

Not that they noticed.

She refused to speak about Shelby anymore. It was a closed topic. Now, the hole she didn’t realize she wanted filled so badly sat, gaping and cavernous, in her chest.

She had asked about her birth mother sporadically all these years, but never really ever expected an answer or any closure. Imagining her favorite celebrities as her Mom allowed her to feel safe, protected and loved in a world she was rejected by - in the world where no one came to her birthday parties starting in elementary school, so she just stopped having them, and her Dad’s were rarely there for more than a couple hours on the day of. They rarely even stayed for Yom Kippur, or Hannakuh, or any of the High Holy Days.

But once the wound was rent open, that was it. No amount of field dressing could keep it closed again. It wept all the time, seeping out of her heart and through her skin. She left bloody footprints only she could see everywhere she walked; she felt soaked in that abandonment.

But everything was fine! There was nothing wrong, and she didn’t need her Mom— because she didn’t have a Mom, she had a ‘mother who birthed her’, and then adopted a do-over baby; who coincidentally was the baby of the girl who had made it her personal mission to make every day of her high school life miserable.

She didn’t - really, she didn’t! - think about how her hope had soared high above the clouds when they sung together and thought that she could see how much she was loved sparkling in Shelby’s eyes, that she had to call on every acting lesson she’d ever had to keep the tears at bay when Shelby later told her they need to appreciate each other from afar - not at all, not ever.

Because everything in the life of Rachel Berry was perfect.

Except all of the things that were, of course, less than perfect — but who wanted to hear about those?

Chapter Text

Despair is the truth. This is what mother and father know. All hope is lost. 
We must return to where it was lost
if we want to find it again.

A Children’s Story, Louise Gluck

Rachel, figuratively speaking, kept her head down these days. It was unlike her, but she was tired. The world knew, and it knew how to do it well, how to beat down those who gave their all with nothing to show for it.

Of course, her chin stayed firmly up, her shoulders back. She’d never let anyone see her slumped.

But her eyes had lost that distinct Rachel Berry shine. She didn’t fight over solos, she didn’t offer help plan set lists or staging or choreography. She stopped posting on her MySpace.

It was easier to just lay low.

Even the idea of NYADA next year felt silly now. What was the point of broadway? No one paid attention to her here - how on Earth was she meant to get anyone to take her seriously in New York?

Today, she was just waiting for Glee to end so she could go home and exercise on her elliptical until she couldn’t think straight, do her homework, and go to bed.

As soon as Mr. Schuester dismissed them, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief and was the first one headed to the door.

“Rachel, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Rachel considered just pretending she didn’t hear him, but figured that this action would be more trouble than it was worth - he would probably just call her back tomorrow if it was serious, Mr. Schuester was like a dog with a bone sometimes - and turned back into the room and approached the piano where the Spanish teacher and Glee coach was leaning.

Everyone else had cleared out, most not even noticing he had called her back. Some did, and though they threw each other speculative looks, they didn’t appear to care enough to question it.

Rachel was partly relieved for that, but also disappointed - if someone had prolonged the moment just a bit more, maybe she could have slipped out of whatever this was going to be and she could get home to end yet another tiring day.

Polite as ever, she adjusts her bag and folds her hands behind her back. “Yes, Mr. Schuester?”

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been contributing as much since school started. Or, well… at all. It isn’t like you to be a background character, Rachel. What’s up?”

Rachel forced herself not to bristle at the question. “Nothing is ‘up’, Mr. Schuester. I’m not sure what you mean, honestly. I participate just like anyone else in the group does, any time you call on me I-“

Mr. Schuester interrupts her gently. “That’s just it, Rachel. Last year, your hand would have been up without me needing to ask, or you would have walked in buzzing with new ideas. Now you’re just…”

Rachel felt indignance begin stir in her. “‘Now I’m just’ what, Mr. Schuester?”

Mr Schuester looked sad and lost. It made Rachel angry, for some reason, to see it directed at her.

“You’re different, Rachel, is all, and I’m worried.”

“There’s no need to be worried when I am completely and totally fine. Is that all? Can I go?”

“If you’re sure you’re fine, Rachel… Just know my door is always open for you, and you know Ms. Pillsbury’s is, too. But that isn’t the only reason I called you back, no.”

Rachel gestured impatiently, for him to get on with it, the dramatic nature of it all but a shadow of what it used to be. It was lackluster; half hearted.

“I wanted you to know ahead of time so there wouldn’t be any surprises. There’s a new teacher coming to McKinley next week…”

“Spit it out,” Rachel interrupts, the dread in her stomach creating a rising tension within her because why, for a new teacher, would he feel the need to hold her specifically back? She forces herself not to jump to conclusions, so she won’t be sundered by the wave of uncertainty.

She remembers that she is, in fact, in another persons presence - the whole reason for her frantic line of thought - and chances a look at Mr. Schuester, who looks more confused than anything.

Unsure, rather, by her unusual behavior. Rebellious behavior he was used to. Anxious outbursts had him scrambling for a foothold in the conversation.

Uncharacteristically to Mr. Schuester, he watches the embarrassment creep up her throat and cheeks at her outburst. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“—Apology accepted, Rachel,” he seemed just as eager to move past it as she was. He clears his throat.

“So, Figgins thinks we need assistance to get Glee another trophy—“ Rachel opens her mouth on instinct to object, offended, but he holds up a wordless hand, and she halts the words without a fight. “He wanted the best of the best - a winner. He’s already tried Coach Sylvester… and we all know how that’s been going.” That was understatement of the past year, “And you and I both know who the next person who fits that bill is. So, Glee will have a Co-Coach for the foreseeable future…”

The dread in her stomach turned into a buzzing in her ears. Her eyes unfocused for a moment, and all of the hurt, rejection and anger rushed into every nerve ending at once, making her feel dizzy.

“… Rachel? Rachel? Are you okay?” Mr. Schuester’s worried voice helped ground herself to the present.

“-Yeah. Yes. What did you say?”

“I said that the teacher will be  Shelby.”

“That is what I thought you were going to say.” Rachel murmured. “You should tell Noah and Quinn, before they find out by walking into school and seeing her.”

She turns to walk out, and Mr. Schuester places a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Rachel, are you… okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? She’s not my mother. She never has been.”

And she never will be, her heart cries, wounded, as she gently pulls herself from his grasp and leaves the room.

Mr. Schuester watches the normally hot-headed diva leave, disconcerted by the way she softly closes the door — in direct juxtaposition to her loud, iconic Rachel Berry storm-outs.

He couldn’t exactly put his finger on it, but something was wrong with Rachel Berry.

Very, very wrong.

Rachel sighed as she finished her homework. Her English assignment reminded her of what awaited her the coming week.

It was just as unfortunate that the English teacher going on leave would be her own, and Shelby would be her substitute for the next indefinable period of time. After that, Figgins would review the Glee Club’s progress and see if Shelby’s continued assistance was warranted and if he needed to make her position permanent regardless of if there was a teaching spot open.

It all, of course, also depended on Shelby’s feelings on the matter.

But of course, none of it ever depended on Rachel’s feelings on the matter. Not that in this case she expected that — being that it was between Principal Figgins and Shelby and, really, when had Figgins listened to anyone but himself? — but it still sucked.

It seriously, seriously sucked. What was Shelby playing at? Thinking about it made her chest hurt, and she wanted it to stop.

This was all so wrong. Nothing about this was right to her. Rachel finally had some sort of… stability - and wasn’t that a funny thought, that the stability she craved was being isolated because nothing else was safe? - and Shelby had to come and overturn her world again.

Shelby had told her that she didn’t want to coach Glee anymore! That she wanted a house, and a dog, and a garden… a family, something Rachel clearly couldn’t give her.

She had been imagining the baby she gave up for sixteen years, never really reckoning with the idea that that baby grew up.

And then she utterly shattered that baby’s heart.

Because really, who thinks a sixteen year old is grown up? Doesn’t need their parents, doesn’t need guidance? Rachel has been charting her own way through the waters of life by herself for so long she doesn’t know how to do it any other way, but she used to long for a guide. A North Star to reach down from the sky and pull her along.

Rachel can’t understand Shelby, and had come to the conclusion that she simply wasn’t enough for her.

It made Rachel positively furious - seething, spitting, blinding, all-consuming rage; at Shelby, for deciding Rachel had some standard to meet; at herself, for not being enough to meet it, for Shelby or for anyone; at the world, for being so damn unfair that Rachel Berry just didn’t measure up to anyone’s expectations.

Everyone wanted something from her, but when she handed it to them they took one look and decided that they’d get it somewhere else, or that by virtue of her having done it, it was ruined. And then they wanted nothing from her or to do with her.

Rachel Berry just wasn’t enough. And she accepted that, but it wasn’t any less infuriating.

But she didn’t want to be angry all the time. So she’d rather feel nothing at all.

But then Shelby has to come along and rake up all of the feelings she’s done so well at burying beneath her show-face. Here she was, just coaching her Glee club like nothing had happened.

Rachel just couldn’t catch a break.

But she forced herself not to feel anything about it. And so she didn’t.

She didn’t feel much about anything anymore.

Rachel laid on the bed looking nothing in particular. She didn’t listen to music, she didn’t look at her phone, she didn’t do anything except wait to fall asleep.

She just wanted this year to be over already.

Chapter Text

There is a hurt growing, like a bruise, in her chest, but if she sits entirely still, it passes.

The Arsonist’s City, Hala Alyan, page 426

She woke up the following Monday, her stomach full of knots. She’d had the rest of the week to try and tell Noah or Quinn, and the fact was that she was too cowardly to approach either of them. She could barely stomach thinking about it, let alone sitting through a conversation about it.

When she’d snoozed her alarm for the fifth time she’d decided she’d put it off long enough - any longer and she’ll be late. It was only when she was at her locker double checking what she’d need for the day that she remembered her first period was English.

Fanfuckingtastic.

That was also a new development. Rachel swore a lot more now - mentally, as she had opted more often than not to speak less and less - than before, which had previously been not at all. She’d abandoned a lot of the things she used to covet.

Rachel used to be such a different person and, if she still had the capacity to, she probably would have mourned the loss of these parts of herself, mourned the girl she used to be; dramatically worn black and held a funeral for her.

But she didn’t.

Rachel stood outside the door as inconspicuously as possible, checking her watch until the bell was just about to ring and running out the clock until it was ringing just as she slid into the furthest seat in the back that she could manage considering she was last in the room, taking her things out and ducking her head.

At the desk, Shelby Corcoran stood up and cleared her throat. “Good morning, my name is Ms. Corcoran. I know that this might come as a surprise to some of you, and to some of you it may not, but Ms. Smith is now on maternity leave! So I’ll be your English substitute until she returns.”

There are half hearted greetings in response. This doesn’t deter Shelby, who continues, “I’ll start by taking attendance aloud so I can learn each of your names and faces, and I’ll probably continue to do that for a little while. Anyway… Robert, Adams…”

Rachel tuned her out while she took attendance, tapping her pencil on her notebook.

“… Rachel, Ber-ry…”

Shelby stuttered over her name but valiantly pulled it together at the last minute, clearing her throat.

She hadn’t even noticed the girl; but now, raising her hand from her position slumped in her seat and hunched over awkwardly, hidden behind another student, she doesn’t like what she sees.

The cover up she wore was applied with skill - masterfully, even - but Shelby was a show choir coach, and a former actress herself. She could see the makeup under her eyes - what they were trying to conceal.

Rachel still had a lot to learn about BB cream, foundation and the right concealer colors to blend in order to truly hide dark under eyes from someone who knew what to look for.

Shelby resolves herself to get a better look later, given that she’ll have a lot of time to do so, but there’s something in Rachel’s entire countenance that startles her.

Contrary to what she was sure everyone thought about her, Shelby wasn’t heartless. She loved Rachel deeply. That was her daughter, even if she wasn’t recognized as it by anyone else once she signed those papers and her parental rights away.

She really convinced herself that she thought she was doing the best thing for Rachel.

Maybe other surrogates didn’t have such a problem with the separation of themself from the baby they carried - she wouldn’t know, because that wasn’t her experience.

Because once she realized Rachel was… Rachel, her Rachel, the little foot that kicked her hand when she sang, the heart beat that she had a CD of from her sonogram; she had realized with a sudden fierceness that this was a part of her, a little part of her that she would always carry in her heart and occupy a part of her mind.

She realized that she had bit off more than she could chew when she agreed to that g-d forsaken contract.

When she met Rachel, Shelby wanted to be a big girl and do the right thing for her and by her, and so she walked away. She didn’t want to cause more confusion and upset in the girl’s life simply by being there. She saw the hope in her face, saw the want and the earnestness. And it scared Shelby; the idea of messing it up.

So instead of opening herself up to that possibility, to give herself the opportunity to screw it up, she ran. She convinced herself it was the right decision for both of them.

She often drives herself crazy going over the ifs and whats of the situation, but she knows that you can’t always put something back in a box once you’ve opened the lid and let it out and take shape. She made the choice that felt like the right one, but she still isn’t sure.

But she did make that choice, and now she, and by extension, Rachel, have to live with it.

Rachel focused on her work and when the bell rang, she bolted for the door as soon as she collected her things. She was ready to get through her classes, get to Glee and be over this day.

“Ms. Berry? Would you stay back a moment?”

There goes that plan.

The classroom, empty now, held more than silence. It now held Shelby’s regret, it held Rachel’s resentment; it held all the things unsaid between them. The uncertainty, the fear, the love that tethered them together and was fraying on one end and hopelessly held onto on the other.

“Yes, Ms. Corcoran?”

Shelby floundered for something to say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I… just wanted to check in. See how you were taking… handling… this.” She finished lamely.

Rachel just stared back at her blankly. Shelby studied her in the ensuing silence. Tired eyes looked back at her, shoulders held back - not out of confidence, but because if they didn’t hold the weight up, the tower above would come crumbling down.

Rachel clutched her books to her chest like a shield.

“Ms. Corcoran, I’m unsure what you’re referring to. If that’s all, I need to get to my next class—“

“I’ll write you a pass,” Shelby rushes to say. “Rachel, I know things between us didn’t…”

Rachel huffed impatiently. She still wouldn’t meet Shelby’s eyes, looking somewhere behind her shoulder. “Ms. Corcoran, there was nothing ‘between’ us, and there is nothing between us. May I go now?”

“I, um. Rachel, I know I haven’t been the best—the best… I haven’t—I know things didn’t go… right, between us… but I just want you to know that while I’m here—“

“That while you’re here we should stay out of each others way? I agree. Thank you for this talk, Ms. Corcoran. May I have that pass now? I’m late for history.”

Shelby was floored by the dispassionate way that Rachel spoke, the flat tone of voice and lack of spark to her every mannerism. She wrote Rachel the pass and sent her on her way, but even after she was gone, her thoughts were with Rachel all day long.

Similarly, Rachel found every spare moment that she wasn’t aiming her focus intently on school work consumed by thoughts of Shelby and once again cursed her sudden appearance.

“How could you?”

Quinn’s voice wasn’t a surprise, but she was hoping to avoid it until it couldn’t be anymore. A glance to her left showed Noah was right next to her, and that she was hoping to avoid until Glee.

“How could I what, Quinn? You’re going to have to be more specific,” Rachel continued getting things from her locker, ignoring their presence.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t look cute on you,” Quinn sneered. “I know Mr. Schuester gave you a warning about Shelby last week, Puck told me he called you back on Friday. Why didn’t you tell either of us?”

“Maybe I’m just that big of a bitch,” Rachel replies blandly, shutting her locker.

Quinn blinks, surprised. Noah hasn’t spoken yet, his arms crossed.

“That’s bullshit, Berry.”

“You can believe what you want. I didn’t tell you because you just didn’t cross my mind. I have to get to my next class.”

Rachel walked away and ignored the way the two behind her stared quizzically at her back.

“Rachel is… different,” Quinn said slowly, leaning up against the lockers. “Do you believe her?”

“No shit,” Noah scoffed. “And not for a fuckin’ second.” Quinn was quiet. Then,

“What are we going to do, Puck?”

“I’m going to try and see Beth. You need to clean up your act,” he advised.

Quinn gritted her teeth. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“I’m serious, Quinn. If Shelby is ever going to let you see her, I doubt it would be like this.”

Quinn sneered mockingly. “Oh, so you’re going to lecture me about life decisions now?”

Noah sighed. He was tired of these fights with Quinn. “When it comes to Beth? Yeah, I am. I want whats best for her and this, whatever it is, Quinn? Not only is it not you, its not cool, and it wont fly.”

Quinn hit the locker with her open palm. “What-fucking-ever, Puckerman. You don’t know shit.”

When the end of the day came, it was with great shock to herself, because she felt like she was walking through it on spectator mode. She did the motions, she said the words, but she wasn’t there.

Who was in her body, controlling things? Surely it couldn’t be her. When she sat in Glee, things were fuzzy, but she reconnected with herself enough to try and shake off the static feeling left over.

“—Rachel?”

Obviously, not well enough. She makes a noise of acknowledgement to… whoever is talking. Even though she’s aware of her surroundings again, she’s still trying to get her bearings. She isn’t even really sure who spoke.

“Rachel, we started five minutes ago. I’ve been calling your name.” Oh, it’s Mr. Schuester.

“Are you alright? Do you need to go home?”

“I think I need to take a break from Glee,” is what comes out of her mouth. Even her tongue feels like its been dipped in that thick water stuff that sick people need when they can’t swallow.

A chorus of “What?”s immediately pop up from around the classroom. Rachel barely hears any of it over the buzzing in her ears. She gained awareness only to fade back out again, she’s in some half-state; floating in and out of her own body, hovering above herself and watching it all go by.

She wishes she could say she was shouting at herself to do something, to move, to speak, but really, that would be a lie. Even in this scary new experience of half-living, she just couldn’t summon the energy to try and touch her feet to the ground, and so instead she swayed back and forth over the line as her consciousness willed.

“Rachel, can we talk about this?” Mr. Schuester asked her, and if she had been able to register anything besides the most base of sensations and movement, she would have noticed the raw worry on his face, the way Tina was biting her nails, how Noah was pacing behind her, how Finn had his hands in his hair. “Maybe in my office?”

“No, Mr. Schuester, I don’t think so,” Rachel declined, moving to stand on numb and shaking legs. “I’m going to go home. Thanks for everything. Good luck.”

Deaf to her ears were the protests behind her and completely immune to the touches, pulls and tugs on her person when someone tried to get her to stay. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she knew she wanted to get home… and so home she walked.

Dissociation. Common with depression, anxiety, post traumatic stress and complex trauma, personality disorders, among a variety of other disorders.

Well, Rachel thought rather indifferently, that’s interesting.

Once she had made it home - and that memory is fuzzy, practically robotic as she traipsed the sidewalk back to her house - and fallen asleep, she had woken up feeling like someone had dropped an anvil on her head and there were little cookoo-clock birds circling around it.

After that disorienting experience, she had obviously  immediately went to google, and her search proved informative to putting a word to her experience, now that she no longer saw her therapist. For a moment she considered returning to therapy, but decided against the hassle.

She had also woken up with a bunch of texts, which was new.

From FinnIsABoss: Rachel, u rnt rlly quitting rite? R u ok? Worried 4 u. Xo.

From You’llHearMe: Diva, we need to talk ASAP! I didn’t hear from you all summer, and now this? Call me!

From Puckasaurus: wutz goin on wit my JAP? call me rach

From Can’tComeToThePhone: Listen, Rachel, this isn’t like you. Can we talk? Call me or just text me back. There’s been something up since the beginning of the school year, Finn says you weren’t acting right all summer… We just wanna know you’re ok.

From ArtieSmartie: Rachel, I know we don’t talk much, but today really scared the crap out of all of us. Hope you’re feeling better, and wishing you a quick return to Glee. :)

From TinaBean_a: Rachel, I miss you already! Please feel better soon…

From DancingKing: Things wont be the same without you, Rachel. Hope you’re doing alright.

From SantanaHopez: hobbit, this is a new level of drama even for you. … can you please answer? what happened today?

From BrittiPretti: Hi Rach!! I think itz totally sad u r quitting Glee, or taking a break or whatevur. I think u r really sad and dont want anyone 2 no. Well I no! My parents say Im really gud at feelings. I just want u 2 know I am here 4 u!

Rachel takes a deep breath before sending a mass reply text.

Sent by TheStarsHaveNothingOnMe: Thank you all for your concern. I will be taking a break - emphasis on break - from Glee for the time being. I did not reply because I went home and fell asleep. I wish you all the best.

Her phone promptly blew up again approximately thirty seconds after sending the message, despite it having been at least eleven at night. She ignored them all and put her phone on silent. The only thing she needed to hear was her bedside alarm.

Besides… she knows they don’t really care, anyway.

Santana started shaping up at the end of last year and suddenly this year she just leaves her alone - demeaning nicknames aside - but never, ever took accountability for the awful things she said and did. She doesn’t care, she just wants to pretend it never happened. Brittany likes everyone.

Kurt has been an outcast and needed an outcast to cling to, too. But even he joined in making fun of her argyle, or never stood up for her. Finn feels a responsibility towards her, obviously.

Noah and her used to be friends; the Jewish community is small in Lima - in Ohio, really. So they went to Temple and saw each other at other events. That didn’t ensure they’d be friends, obviously, but Noah stood up for her as kids. She used to call him her ‘knight’.

And then, something changed. Noah started going by Puck. It was like she didn’t know him anymore.

So this concern he’s showing doesn’t seem like him, either. She can’t puzzle it because she doesn’t see what he could possibly be getting out of it, and just like everyone else in recent years, Noah has only bothered with her presence when there was something to gain.

Tina and Mike have always been kind, but it isn’t within the realm of possibilities - to her - for them to really care. Same with Artie. He has a big heart, but she just doesn’t see him really caring except out of pity sympathy.

Mercedes has been rude and jealous the entire time they’ve been in Glee, and now she’s worried? She tried to be friends. She tried to, really tried, when Glee Club first started, despite how nervous she was. She was practically throwing up in her mouth.

And then Mercedes rejected her too.

There can’t be any burying the hatchet if no one ever buried it. Kicking some dirt over it means that the wind can blow it away just as easily.

No one really wants to acknowledge how they treated her, they just want to move over it. Maybe they really do feel bad, pity her, but they don’t care.

She turns over on her side and watches the rain spatter on her window.

Tomorrow will bring another day.

Chapter Text

When Mimi was a child, his father was a god, and he'd never forgiven him for it.

The Arsonist’s City, Hala Alyan

“I just don’t understand what I did wrong!” A familiar voice echoes through the hallway.

Is that… Hudson? Shelby partially sticks her head out of her borrowed classroom. Rachel is leaning against the wall, looking blandly at Hudson - for the life of her she can’t remember his first name - who has his hands in his hair and is pacing while students walk around them, not giving them a second glance. Shelby shakes her head. Drama really is a dime a dozen in this school.

“You didn’t do anything, Finn,” Rachel replies calmly, almost dispassionately. “I just need a break.”

“First from Glee, now from me? Rachel, what’s going on?” Hudson tries to take her hand, but she pulls away indifferently, her bored expression never changing.

Finn, that’s his name.

Then Finn’s words sink in. Rachel is taking a break from Glee?

“Nothing is going on, Finn. I just need time to myself. I really still want us to be friends, but I understand if you don’t.”

“No—I, of course I still want to be friends, Rachel, seriously, can’t we talk about this—“

“I have to get to class,” she says like he wasn’t speaking at all, not even looking at him in the eye. “I really am sorry, Finn.”

Finn stares at her retreating form; her head held high in the air and shoulders straight. He turns on his heel dejectedly; head hung and shoulders slumped.

I have to get to the bottom of this, Shelby decides with finality.

And I know just who to go to.

“Shelby, what can I do for you today? I thought we agreed that you’d start sitting in tomorrow.” Will asks her—with a hint of wariness.

Understandable, she supposes.

“I want you to tell me whats going on with Rachel. She’s quit Glee in the same week as breaking up with her boyfriend— there’s something… off.”

Shelby internally winces at her authoritative tone, wishing she could do that over. She immediately realized it was going to put him on the defensive, but she couldn’t put toothpaste back in the tube. Looks like she’s got a lot of learning to do in that department.

Will straightened against his desk where he was rearranging papers idly. “I don’t know if she’d like me talking to you about that.”

Shelby’s eyes hardened into steel, forgetting her previous thoughts of regret. “She’s my daughter!”

“You made it clear thats not what she is to you, Shelby,” he says in a gentle tone, though the words were anything but—they were extremely pointed. “I sat you down that first time because I wanted you to think about what you wanted. I didn’t want you to get her hopes up - and you did, and left her to fall. I had to watch her pick herself back up, Shelby. And I’m still not really sure she has.”

She swallows, hard. “I know I messed up, Will, okay? I know I did. But I’m ready now, and—“

“And why do you get to decide you’re ready at a moments notice?” He places his hands on the desk, leaning forward. “How do you think Rachel feels, if you walk in and out of her life like this? Deciding you feel ready and leaving when it gets too hard? What about when — or if — Rachel feels ready?”

“I get it, Will—“

“Do you?” Will demands. “Do you really understand just what that girl is going through, or do you just want what you want when you want it? I told you once that you and Rachel are similar - persistent; not used to being denied. Rachel hasn’t had anyone stick up for her - hell, I’m the last person who could testify that I’d done my best at that,” he grimaced, shaking his head at his own thoughts. “But not anymore. I’m sticking up for Rachel’s best interests again, Shelby, and right now? You aren’t it.”

“You don’t know that. You have no idea if I am or not! So much talk about Rachel’s choice, while you’re here making it for her!”

“You already tried to talk to her, right? And how did that go?”

Shelby doesn’t have a reply. “That’s what I thought,” Will nods, and then he sighs.

“Listen, Shelby. If you really want to do right by her this time… you need to just stay away. You had a chance last time, and you blew it, big time.”

“I’m sorry Will, but I can’t do that.” Shelby clenches and unclenches her fist.

“Fine, but I’m not going to make it easy for you. Anything you figure out will be on your own. And if you hurt that girl again, Shelby… on your head be it.” Will warns.

Shelby laughs self deprecatingly, and though he tries not to, Will still feels a pang of sympathy for the pain in it.

“Trust me, Will,” she stops in the doorway to his class, “It’s already on my head.”

Rachel rolled out of bed, surprised to hear noise downstairs. Her parents were usually at work at this time, or away on a business trip, or literally anything that kept them from being in the house, it felt like. She was used to getting ready in a silent house.

She walked into the kitchen to her Dad sipping coffee and reading the paper. “Good morning, my star,” he greeted warmly.

Rachel didn’t feel like a star, and didn’t feel the usual glow that came with being greeted like that. She just felt numb.

“Morning.” Rachel went about her morning routine, grabbing a protein bar and getting ready to leave.

“Everything okay, sweetheart? You’re usually full of energy in the morning,” her Dad presses, putting his paper down.

“How would you know?” Rachel mutters, placing her glass of water in the dishwasher.

Her dad blinked at her. “Rachel, darling, are you feeling alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Rachel turned around and gave him her best stage smile, beaming at him. “Have a good day, Dad.”

She left without another word, rushing past him without a hug, or a kiss, or anything, goodbye.

LeRoy Berry was confused. Rachel always, always gave him a hug and a kiss before leaving for school when he was there in the morning - always. What changed? When did his little girl become so closed off?

He steepled his fingers over his nose, his coffee and paper forgotten, and sighed deeply. He wasn’t prepared to be too worried yet - one off morning did not a crisis make.

But it just wasn’t like the Rachel he knew, even if he could admit that he only caught glimpses of her life now as her teenage years flew past all three of them.

For now, he’d keep his observations to himself.

Chapter Text

I’ll be broken when you’re gone
I don’t care what people say
You know I won’t
Force you to stay
Don’t want you to go, but I’ll be okay
And I’ll love you always

And I don’t know if you’ll ever come back
But I won’t ever ask, is that selfish?
Yeah, and I’ve come to terms
I might never feel whole again

Always, by Ashe

Rachel sighed for the third - or thousandth - time during her English class. Shelby was fine at teaching, that wasn’t the issue. She actually wasn’t a bad English teacher, she had to admit.

The issue was that it was Shelby teaching, that it was Shelby she occasionally made eye contact with when she lifted her head and looked around to alleviate her boredom.

It made her incredibly frustrated that she knew Shelby was watching her whenever she could, studying her. She didn’t have a right to do that, she didn’t have a right to act like she was important to her. She didn’t want to be the subject of her attention anymore; or anyones.

She just needed her next period to come, because she had a free block. Then she could go to the auditorium and work on that song she’s been writing. She hasn’t had much drive for singing or really any arts lately, but she was trying to rectify that by channeling her feelings into song writing.

So far, it was… going. She couldn’t yet say if it was helping her or hurting her. Too soon to tell.

The bell rang, startling her out of her very important staring contest with the wall, and she gathered her things. Shelby called out something about the reading that was due in a couple days - she couldn’t bring herself to care. She wrote it down from the board; she’d read the SparkNotes the day before it was due and get it done then.

Previously a straight-A student, Rachel’s grades this year have begun to slowly sink. And it just didn’t matter all that much to her anymore.

Nothing really did.

She makes her way to the auditorium, sinking onto the piano bench and taking a deep breath. She places her notebook in front of her.

First she’s going to warm up. She’s been listening to a lot of Avril Lavigne lately.

She lets her fingers drift over the keys and mentally goes over the notes before beginning.

Well, I couldn’t tell you

Why she felt that way

She felt it every day

And I couldn’t help her

I just watched her make

The same mistakes again

Rachel swallowed, hesitating over the keys. She felt like everything she did was wrong. Sometimes she felt like she just watched herself and couldn’t stop the words coming out, when she had so wanted to prove herself or desperately wanted attention she’d do anything to even possibly get them to look at her positively.

She didn’t even know why she felt like this sometimes. Was it justified to feel so hated? So outcasted?

Man-hands; Yentl; No one wants to hear it, Berry.

She grimaced. That was definitely justified. She felt like she was breathing in glass every day,; walking on nails. Every day felt like she was being pushed further and further into the ground, and she wasn’t sure she could get up anymore.

What’s wrong now, what’s wrong now?

Too many, too many problems

Don’t know where she belongs

Where she belongs

She doesn’t know where she belongs. She doesn’t think she belongs anywhere, anymore. She used to think she belonged among the stars of Broadway, but maybe she was thinking too big. She’s too small and insignificant; she belongs among the Stars. Just one of many, of thousands, of hundreds of millions, in the sky, all burning bright, appearing every night to disappear in the morning and already having exploded into a thousand ashes of stardust millions of light years ago. With another in its place, but just as unique.

She thought that this was more fitting for herself, than being a star on Broadway.

She wants to go home, but nobody’s home

That’s where she lies, broken inside

With no place to go, no place to go

To dry her eyes, broken inside

The chorus made her chest hurt. When she closed her eyes, she saw her empty house. The echoing of her own voice whenever she called out to check if one of her parents were home yet.

Shelby didn’t want her. Her mom didn’t want her. Her dads were never home. Her ‘friends’ hated her presence, tolerating her at best. Their loyalty was fickle, even if it was strong when it was there.

She had no one to really go to, no one to cry to but her bed. She felt alone and broken.

Open your eyes

And look outside

Find the reasons why

You’ve been rejected

Rachel knows why she’s been rejected. She’s annoying, previously overambitious, a know it all. She’s not pretty enough, not conventionally attractive. She’s too much.

She’s just too much Rachel.

And now, you can’t find

What you’ve left behind

Be strong, be strong now

Too many, too many problems

Don’t know where she belongs

Where she belongs

She wants to be strong, but she doesn’t know how. She wishes she did. She just knows how to be like this, the Rachel Berry she was before and the one she’s turned into.

And she doesn’t really like either of them.

But she doesn’t know how to be anyone else. No one’s taught her any differently. She doesn’t know how to teach herself differently.

Her feeling she hides, her dreams she can’t find

She’s losin’ her mind, she’s fallen behind

She can’t find her place, she’s losin’ her faith

She’s fallen from grace, she’s all over the place

She feels like she’s made of ice. She sees all the dreams she used to have, but they’re out of reach. She doesn’t know if they were ever in her reach in the first place.

She feels crazy, feeling the way she does. She doesn’t know what’s up or down anymore.

She’s lost inside, lost inside, oh, oh

She’s lost inside, lost inside, oh, oh

Oh…

Rachel sniffles, steeling herself. That song has been on repeat lately on her iPod. It felt so close to her chest. It was the closest she could get to feeling something real lately.

“Let’s take an original for a spin,” she tries to pep-talk herself, but the words come out weak.

She opens the notebook sitting there mockingly and takes a deep breath.

What have I done?

Wish I could run

Away from this ship going under

Rachel dipped her head, closing her eyes as she tried to find the right pitch, and took a deep breath for the next verse.

She felt like she was on a ship that was being capsized, with no hope of rescue. That all the life rafts had holes cut into them, and no one was trying to throw them anyway.

Just trying to help

Hurt everyone else

Now I feel the weight of the world is on my shoulders

Whenever she tried to do good things, it felt like it crumbled before her eyes. Her helping touches left burn wounds behind.

Rachel felt like everything was on her. In Glee Club, everyone hated her until it was time to plan, and then it was ‘Rachel, we need you’. In life, it was all Rachel. Rachel making it on her own.

What can you do when your good isn't good enough

And all that you touch tumbles down?

Nothing she did was good enough, for anyone. It felt like she ruined everything she touched; like King Midas and his gold touch. Everything she touched turned to ashes.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she tried to stop the sob that rose in her chest; it came out sounding more like a hiccup. She shook her head and pressed on.

Cause my best intentions

Keep making a mess of things

I just wanna fix it somehow

But how many times will it take?

Oh, how many times will it take for me to get it right, to get it right?

She wiped her face and turned the page. That’s all she can do, really. Keep turning the pages, keep moving forward. Even if she’s leaving behind pieces of herself on the pages before.

Can I start again, with my faith shaken?

Cause I can't go back and undo this

I just have to stay and face my mistakes

That’s really all she could do. She couldn’t turn back the clock. She couldn’t make Shelby want her. She couldn’t make others like her. She just has to keep trying.

What can you do when your good isn't good enough?

And all that you touch tumbles down?

Cause my best intentions keep making a mess of things

I just wanna fix it somehow

But how many times will it take?

Oh, how many times will it take for me to get it right?

The tears fell and she made no attempt to stop them now, her hands shook as she moved them across the keys and she put everything she had into the song.

So I throw up my fist, throw a punch in the air

And accept the truth that sometimes life isn't fair

Yeah, I'll send out a wish, yeah, I'll send up a prayer

And finally someone will see how much I care

She did care, that was the problem. Rachel Berry was someone who cared too much - she cared to the point of her detriment. That was what she couldn’t learn; that she had to stop her heart from overflowing if she didn’t want to get hurt.

And yet, she kept giving and giving and giving.

What can you do when your good isn't good enough?

And all that you touch tumbles down?

Cause my best intentions keep making a mess of things

I just wanna fix it somehow

But how many times will it take?

Oh, how many times will it take, to get it right?

To get it right?

Her voice cracked on the last note and finally, she hung her head and cried.

Shelby stood in the shadow of the curtain, a hand over her mouth. She had followed Rachel - aware this was her planning period, but too determined to care - with every intention to try and talk to her, she really did, but when she sat at the piano and took out her notebook, she honestly just wanted to hear her little girl sing.

And then, Shelby had her heart broken.

First it was the Avril Lavigne song - her daughter had her eyes closed as she put herself into the music, surrendering to it. And it seemed like she surrendered to the words, too.

Shelby couldn’t even take the time to wonder how and why she felt that way because she was in turmoil over the fact that she did at all, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t go to her and ask what was wrong. She couldn’t brush her hair from her face.

And that was Shelby’s fault.

And just when she had gotten her wits about her and was going to reveal herself, she had that broken heart stomped on when she opened the notebook that had been sitting on the piano innocently.

Torn to shreds by the raw pain in her daughter’s voice, the agony on her face and the way her jaw twitched as she fought the sobs.

What have I done? Shelby was in a state of dismay. Where is that optimistic girl, who would let nothing and no one stand in her way?

You never really knew that girl, a voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like her mother, says pointedly. All the information you had was from Jesse, or the three times you saw her. How would you know what that girl is feeling?

Shelby pulled herself together as best as possible. Well, I do now, she retorted to the voice. She made herself presentable and quietly exited, deciding to enter from the front of the auditorium.

“Rachel?”

Rachel’s head didn’t snap up at the intrusion; rather, she looked away, quickly wiping her tears. A small sniffle was heard before Rachel turned to face Shelby, a careful mask in place.

“Ms. Corcoran, a surprise to see you here. Don’t you have a class?”

“It’s my planning period,” Shelby explained, wringing her hands together. Shelby couldn’t explain it; she had never been nervous like this in her adult life, but when it came to Rachel, all she wanted to do was… everything.

She wanted to make things right, wanted to hug her, kiss her head, swing her around - she wanted to comfort her daughter and be the woman she looks up to in her life. She wanted those things so badly she ached in her chest. And she was so afraid of messing up.

“I had seen you come in here and… I really wanted to talk,” Shelby continued, hesitantly approaching the piano. “I know you don’t want to talk about this—“

“There is no ‘this’. There’s absolutely nothing to talk about, Ms. Corcoran, unless it relates to school,” Rachel interrupts.

“I disagree,” Shelby replies, finally getting a little frustrated at the girl’s evasiveness. “I… I know nothing will be fixed overnight. But please, Rachel, at least give me a chance to apologize.”

Rachel stared at her for several long moments. It felt like the silence stretched on for eternity. In reality, it was maybe half a minute.

“Fine. You have until my next class, which is in…” Rachel checks her watch. “Half an hour.”

Shelby smooths her hands nervously against her skirt, not having expected that. She expected more of a fight, really. She expected to have to keep pushing.

She wasn’t used to not being in control at all—to being dictated to. Shelby expected to be able to direct the flow of this conversation in the event of whether it was a yes or no, to persist in the event of a ‘no’, to turn a ‘yes’ into an outing for coffee or something; not for it to become an on the spot ‘convince me you’re worthy of a chance at forgiveness’ session.

And now, Shelby’s been thrown in the deep end. And she isn’t sure she knows how to swim in this water.

“May I?” Shelby gestures to the piano bench.

“Be my guest,” Rachel shrugs, scooting over. Shelby perches on it, taking a deep, steadying breath. It doesn’t feel like enough.

“Rachel, I wanted to pick up the phone and tell you so many times—“

“But you didn’t. Strike one.”

“Str—what?”

“You can’t just pawn off the responsibility you’re supposed to be taking onto things you should have done, but didn’t. You’re getting strikes when you make excuses. On your third, I’m walking out, Shelby.” Rachel looks directly at her for the first time during this conversation, and her eyes are serious; cold.

“I… well, okay, I—um. Obviously, you know I didn’t call. I know I should have. I am taking responsibility for that - I’m admitting I was wrong,” Shelby restarts cautiously, and when Rachel just looks bored but doesn’t stop her, she continues, more confident.

“I was wrong in so many ways, Rachel. So, so many. I was thinking of your best interests when I made the decision to walk away—“ Rachel’s mouth opens, probably to give her a ‘strike’, so she hurries to finish, “—but that doesn’t mean it was the right one. I made that decision without consulting you or asking what your opinion was, and that was unbelievably wrong of me.”

Rachel is studying her with no particular look on her face, and Shelby wishes she could tell what she was thinking.

Shelby huffed despondently and looked up at the ceiling. “I wish I had been the adult you deserved, Rachel. I should have asked what you wanted. I was being selfish. I thought it would hurt me — and you — less if I walked away quickly instead of building a relationship with you, only to be forced to acknowledge that you didn’t need me as much as I wanted you to. Instead of seeing how our relationship developed, I hurt us both, and Rachel, it’ll be one of my biggest regrets for the rest of my life, because I’m not even sure I can fix this.”

Rachel continued to stare at her impassively. Her hands shook in her lap.

“Rachel, please honey, say something,” Shelby begged, reaching a similarly shaking hand out to try and cup Rachel’s cheek, but Rachel turns her head away, the mask cracking for just a moment.

And in the moment between Rachel gathering her strength to glue it back together, Shelby saw through it, she saw what Rachel didn’t want her to: she desperately wanted to lean into the comfort Shelby was offering.

Shelby saw what she had refused to a year ago: she was still a child. A child that wanted, needed assurance. Who needed someone to care.

Who needed her parent. Her mother.

Who needed her.

It broke Shelby’s heart, that she had a part in this.

The biggest part.

All she could do was move forward, but she so wished she could go back and never sabotage herself that way.

Because Rachel had paid the ultimate price.

“I… need time,” Rachel finally says, barely above a whisper. “I just… I need time. A lot of time. You hurt me so much, Shelby, and I… I’m glad you realize exactly what you did, but I just don’t know if I can trust you.”

Shelby’s throat felt like it was made of sand. “I understand,” she replied hoarsely. “I want to try, Rachel. I want to have a real relationship with you. I’ll take whatever time you’re willing to give; even an hour a day. I just want to know you.”

Shelby’s pleading by the end of it, she knows it, but she can’t help it. Rachel bites her lip, checks her watch, and then collects her things as she prepares to go to her class.

“We’ll talk later, Shelby. I promise,” Rachel can’t look right at Shelby right now, or she’ll fall apart and she just can’t afford that. “And my promises… they mean something.”

“Okay,” Shelby whispers at her back, her heart aching mightily from the last knife Rachel had thrown at her.

And my promises… they mean something.

Shelby had never explicitly promised Rachel anything, but she had gotten her hopes up. She had done that, and now she had to live with the consequences.

She could only hope that her best was enough to rectify this.

Chapter Text

Take me back to the days where I could not wait to wake up
Weird hair, didn’t care what to wear
Cause no matter what, I still felt loved
…
I can’t stand growing up, I’m going too fast
Well just a second, I miss my past
…
Take me back to the days when school wasn’t a chore
Now I have to play hookie to hide from the things that I used to not want to ignore
Take me back to, the world that I knew before the love was taken
Another smile drop, listen while the time stops now…
…
Take me back to the life, when I can know myself again
I wish I could, I wish I could

But I can’t.

But I Can’t - Plug In Stereo

Rachel collapsed on her bed when she got home. For a change, both her parents were home, sitting on the couch downstairs. It was strangely silent, though, as opposed to the house being filled with some CD playing classical music like it usually is when they’re both home.

It was eerie.

Things between her parents hadn’t been perfect for a long time, she wasn’t as naive as she pretended to be. She just didn’t want to deal with it.

So, like the silence that spread across her house, she said nothing. She withdrew further into herself, and no one pulled her out.

No one even tried.

Sitting at her desk, she tried to focus on her homework so she wouldn’t think. She tried not to think about her conversation with Shelby, but it was practically all her brain would let her focus on. One side of her wanted to let her in, one side of her wanted to shut her out.

The side of her that wanted to shut her out was angry, hurt, spiteful - and scared. That part of her didn’t want to let her in only to get her heart broken again. That part wanted Shelby to be wanting the way she was left wanting, the way she still knows the other part of her wants. The way she knows the other part of her needs. 

That part of her wanted Shelby to hurt, to try and try and try only to realize it was futile.

The vulnerable part of her that she had locked away in a high tower inside of herself and thrown away the key wanted Shelby in her life so desperately it ached. She wanted to build that relationship that Shelby was offering with an open heart and palm. That part of her wanted to let Shelby penetrate the walls she had built up, not make her throw herself at them until she was out of steam and giving up.

The two sides of her often warred and kept her up long into the night, staring at the ceiling as she fought not to think about it and only thought about it more.

She was so many things at once. Angry. Hurt. Scared. Numb.

Was it possible to feel everything and nothing at once? Rachel thought it might be, and if it wasn’t before, she had just made it possible.

Rachel released a long suffering sigh, before lifting her head.

“Rachel, honey, we want to talk. Can you come down here a moment?” Her Daddy called up the stairs.

“Coming!” She called back, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders like a cape. It trailed on the floor behind her.

“What is it, Dads?” She stood in the doorway warily.

They sat near but not next to each other. They used to be so affectionate; always so in each others space that you had to wonder if they were breathing the same air. But now they were always at least a foot or two apart. Rachel often wondered when and how long that had been happening for. It just slowly became normal.

“We wanted to ask if you’re feeling alright,” her Daddy started.

Well, no one tried until now, she supposes. At least they do care.

“Yeah, Daddy. Why wouldn’t I be?” Rachel’s put on the best show face ever seen now. “I have the best life anyone could ask for. I have two loving Dad’s, an amazing Glee club, of which I am the star, and so many friends. Why would anything be wrong?” She asked innocently, daring him to contradict her.

LeRoy fumbled when Hiram looked at him to continue. “Well… I—You’ve just been quiet, sweetie. Withdrawn. It isn’t like you.”

“I’ve just been studying really hard, Dad,” she pouts. “I’m very tired. I’m sorry you got so worried.”

“I told you, LeRoy,” Hiram sighs, a weight seeming to be lifted off his shoulders. “Just our little overachiever over-doing it, again. Remember you have to take breaks every now and then, star.”

Rachel forced herself not to grimace. “Yeah, Daddy, I know. I love you guys, thank you for being the best. I appreciate the concern, but I am totally and completely fine.”

LeRoy didn’t seem totally convinced, but Hiram seemed relieved. Rachel would take it - anything else and she might overdo it and tip them into full suspicion. She wanted to be alone, the way she’s supposed to be, if the signals the world is giving her are any clue.

“I’m going to go study now, okay?” Rachel comes and gives each father a kiss on the cheek. “Love you!” She says again.

“We love you too,” they say in unison.

When she’s gone back upstairs, they frown at each other. “We have to tell her soon.”

“LeRoy, we agreed after she graduates and is situated in college…”

“It isn’t fair to her or us to suffer through this with the risk of making things worse. I want us to part as friends, Hiram, not bitter exes.”

Hiram sighed. “We need to wait.”

LeRoy rolled his eyes and stood up. “I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Oh, of course you can’t. Nothing hard can ever be talked through—“

Rachel stopped standing at the middle of the stairs when their voices got slightly raised. She didn’t need to hear more, anyway. They were only staying together for her.

She knew that, but hearing it confirmed from the source felt awful.

Hot tears streamed down her face, curled up against the door of her bedroom and wrapped in her blanket like a cocoon.

Tomorrow will bring another day.

She can do this.

Cold. Burning. Humiliation.

Those are the three things that immediately come to mind when she thinks ‘slushy’ .

And the first thing that greeted her was a slushy the next day.

“Oops, I guess I didn’t see you there, fagspawn!” Azimio sneered. “Next time you should go the other way.”

Rachel stood there, dripping with slushy, until her senses kicked in. First she stopped at her locker and then quietly made her way to the bathroom. She passed Shelby’s room, speeding up as she went.

She absolutely did not want to talk to her right now.

Shelby saw a blur go past her room, and was about to call out for whoever it was to slow down when she realized the blur was Rachel.

A soaking wet Rachel. What?

Shelby stood and made her way to follow the direction she went - following the food-dye colored trail - assuming the destination was the gym bathrooms, and her suspicions proved correct.

She cleared her throat and knocked. “Is there anyone in there? This is Ms. Corcoran. I saw someone run past my room soaking wet. Do you need any help?”

Rachel couldn’t believe her luck. Guess she couldn’t just pretend she didn’t see me as I went by, Rachel thought sarcastically. Spectacular.

“I don’t need any help, Ms. Corcoran,” she replies, and her voice barely wobbles.

“… If you’re sure. Rachel,” she addresses her by first name tentatively, throwing out all pretenses for both of them that Shelby didn’t know who was in there, “are you okay?”

“Just fine,” She called back. “I ran into someone and they spilled their drink on me. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” The lie sounds so smooth and convincing to her own ears even she’s surprised she came up with it on the spot.

Rachel takes her time changing and getting the slushy out of her hair. By the time she’s done, her first period is almost over. Shit.

When she exits the bathroom, Shelby is still there, leaning up against the wall next to the door with her arms crossed.

Rachel sighed heavily. “Don’t you ever have other things to do?” She starts making her way to her locker to put the soiled clothes away.

“Today my planning period was first. Sacrificing it was worth being here. I wanted to make sure you were alright,” Shelby raises an eyebrow at the bag she puts in her locker. “You just have a change of clothes with you?”

“I always keep a set on me. Can’t ever be too prepared,” Rachel replies breezily, arriving at her locker with barely a glance towards the teacher who has yet again followed her, clearly trying to suss her out for lies.

“I told you, Sh—Ms. Corcoran,” she sighed heavily, correcting herself given their setting. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was clumsy and it was my fault. Now I have to get to class and explain this.”

“I’ll write you a pass. Say you were discussing an assignment with me,” Shelby says suddenly, leading them back to her class.

Rachel is stunned. Why is she doing this? Her mind is going a mile a minute, trying to puzzle Shelby’s motivations out. She gets nothing out of it, but she’s still helping her.

She says nothing the whole way there, and nothing when Shelby hands her the excuse besides a quiet, “thank you.”

Shelby tells her not to worry about it and to scurry off, because her first class is coming now that second period is about to start, and Rachel better bring that excuse to her first period so she can make it to her second on time.

Rachel, for the first time in a long time, is confused for reasons other than hurt.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Without Glee, she only had home to look forward to. Today was a dance class day, though, so she could at least distract herself with that.

She had to be better. She wanted to be better, wanted to be the best she could. Her dance teachers thought she was some prodigy, but she knew better.

Her pliés were sloppy, her lunges weren’t landing right. By the end of the class, she was sweating worse than the rest of her class because of how hard she had worked herself.

“Rachel, class is over,” Madame Juliette called out from the door to where Rachel was still stretching on the bar.

“I’m going to keep practicing. The studio doesn’t close until eight, right?” Juliette nodded, hesitantly.

She had seen the determination in Rachel’s face slowly morph over time into desperation to prove herself - to who, she didn’t know. She didn’t know Rachel that well. But she did know she’d seen this happen too many times, to too many girls. Work themselves so hard they burn out before they even have a real chance.

“Don’t work too hard, dear,” Juliette says softly.

“I’m barely working hard enough, Madame,” Rachel replies with hardly a glance over her shoulder. “But thank you.”

Juliette sighs. “Goodnight, Rachel. I’ll see you next class.”

Rachel replies affirmatively and then its just her in the studio. When she gets home that night, all she can think about is the mistakes she couldn’t correct.

In dance, you spend a lot of time in front of mirrors. And all Rachel saw were mistakes - her errors in dance, but also her body. She wasn’t thin enough, her nose was too big, she wasn’t graceful enough.

She sighed when she crawled into bed that night, sore all over, and still feeling like it wasn’t enough feeling to replace everything she was forcing herself not to.

Chapter Text

You chain me up, still speculating
Never enough
But soon you’ll see, I’m unrestrainable
I’m uncontainable

Psycho - AViVA

Shelby was officially sitting in Glee today. She didn’t think it would be easy, but she certainly didn’t think it would be this.

Unfortunately, a drama free Glee was not to be.

“You!” Finn pointed at Shelby, and she raised an eyebrow. Is that supposed to mean something?

“Yes, me,” Shelby wryly answered.

“Sit down, Jolly Green Giant, we all see her,” Santana sniped. She plopped into her usual seat with her arms crossed. Brittany sat down next to her and placed her head on her shoulder.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Finn demanded to Mr. Schuester, who looked like he just wanted to get this over with already. Shelby looked apologetically at him.

“Finn, can we just wait for everyone to get here before we start the dramatics?” Kurt said as he walked in, and then stopped short at seeing Shelby. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh!”

“What is she doing here, Mr. Schue?” Finn demanded again.

“Listen!” Everyone had filed in now. “I was getting to that, if we’d all take our seats,” Will said pointedly. Finn had the grace to look abashed, but he still glared at Shelby.

“So, as you all can see, Ms. Corcoran is here with us today, and you’re probably wondering why. Figgins brought me aside the first week of school, and—“

“Here we go,” Mercedes muttered.

“It’s always something,” Tina agreed.

“Guys! He decided we need assistance to bring another trophy to Glee. He suddenly wants to be a school that champions the arts—“

There was, literally, a chorus of protest over his pronouncement. Will looked lost in the sea of noise. Shelby stood on her chair, pinkies in her mouth, and whistled over the cacophony, the club startling when the piercing noise spread through the room. Will gave her a grateful glance.

“I get it. It’s annoying. But Ms. Corcoran is a winner. She’s a four time consecutive national champion. And she’s not so bad,” Will winked in a friendly manner at Shelby, who smiled. “Once you get to know her. You might have your issues with her, but they cannot, will not effect this club.” He looked at Shelby, indicating it was her turn to speak, and practically begging her to.

“Well, you all know me,” she chuckled, trying to dispel the tension.

“Yeah, we do. Do you remember when Vocal Adrenaline TP’ed our choir room? Same one we’re in right now, actually,” Artie commented blithely. “Can’t believe we aren’t all old friends.”

Shelby swallowed. She forced herself not to retort that in response Finn and Puck had slashed their tires, that they were still paying off. There’s a silence that falls over the room as Shelby grasps for something to say and right when she finds it, someone else speaks first.

“How long,” Santana asks, but poses it like a statement. A fact.

“How long—what?”

“You know. Until this bores her and she moves on to something else? I hear she’s good at that.”

The nonchalance and relaxed manner betrayed the hint of venom in her tone, sharp and biting. She didn’t stop inspecting her nails, but she briefly looked up at Shelby with a cold, hard stare.

You’d have to waterboard the information out of her, and she’d still never admit it, but she kind of liked Berry. And what Shelby pulled on her last year wasn’t cool in Santana Lopez’s books. Shelby Corcoran was officially on her shit list, principally.

Shelby knew from the second she spoke what Santana was referring to, but refused to falter. It surprised her, the loyalty this girl was showing, because according to Jesse this one in particular didn’t like Rachel at all.

At least they have group values down. They’ve defied all logical rules before, often hating each other but never standing for outside disrespect. Though, that is the denotative meaning of loyalty, so she supposes it isn’t strange.

“Well, it all depends on what happens this year, and when Ms. Smith comes back Figgins and Ms. Corcoran will review her placement. It all also depends on—“ It took Will much longer to notice the barbs in Santana’s words.

“Santana! That was extremely uncalled for!”

Finn stood up now. Shelby examined him. He held himself like the co-captain - well, Captain in Rachel’s absence - he was. “I think it’s extremely called for. Rachel’s gone, and it’s her fault, isn’t it? She’s the reason she was so… so… messed up, the other day!”

Shelby felt her heart stop. Messed up? Messed up how? She looked to Will, but he slowly shook his head.

“We don’t know if Shelby is the reason for Rachel’s leave of absence—“

“Spare us all the hand wringing,” Kurt scoffed. “She doesn’t do anything by halves. Rachel quit. Q-u-i-t. And frankly, it isn’t up to me to say if Ms. Corcoran’s return is the reason she left, but the mother who said ‘sayonara’ last year waltzing back into her life via Glee Club has to be a shock.”

There were murmurs of agreement. Shelby couldn’t repress the wince at his scathing assessment.

“We can’t focus on that right now—“

“We’re down a captain and Rachel’s all sorts of messed up and we can’t focus on it? Talk about priorities,” Mercedes muttered.

Will could not understand the sudden vehemence behind defending Rachel, even if he agreed. He just needed to get through this meeting and get Glee back on track.

“I don’t want to sing without Rachel,” Brittany pouted suddenly. Santana rubbed her arm consolingly.

“She is kind of like our glue, Mr. Schue. She keeps us focused. What are we going to do without her?” Artie asked rhetorically.

Puck stood up so fast his chair skittered back several inches. “That’s enough!” He shouted. “You’re all so self absorbed even when you care! It’s so—it’s bullshit!”

“Watch your language!”

“You’re so busy worrying about what’s going to happen to Glee or spec—speculum—“

“Speculating,” Will sighed.

“Right! Speculating about her that you’re doing nothing!”

The club was quiet. Everyone was shocked by the surprisingly compassionate sentiment from Noah Puckerman of all people, and the only one brave enough to question it was Santana.

She raised her hand sarcastically, turning her head to look at Puck. “Yeah, um, Puck? Why exactly do you care?”

Puck ducked his head. “We grew up together. The Jewish community in Lima is small, so we went to the same Temple, see each other at community events, that sort of thing. And I’m a royal dickweed—“

“Puck, I’m not telling you again—“

“—For not being there for her. But I’m not doing that again!”

Santana sighed heavily. A lot of sighing was happening this meeting, she realized. “Alright, don’t get your thong in a twist. So, we in or out for Operation Help Berry?”

Now it was her turn to receive considering and borderline suspicious looks, and she scoffed. “Don’t give me that. I don’t hate Berry. She’s not always annoying. And contrary to what people think, I do have a heart underneath all the badassery that is one Santana Lopez, even if it’s made of coal. But tell anyone any of this, and you’re all dones for.”

There was fearful nodding from her fellow club members. “So, in or out, New Directions?”

A loud cheer and cries of agreement went up, clapping and high fives were exchanged. Santana just sat back and rolled her eyes at their dramatics.

Brittany clapped her hands together in excitement. “I love when everyone is friends with each other!”

Shelby rubbed her temple. The drama was settled for now, but they still had much to go over this meeting.

Chapter Text

Fear was the climate she lived in; if she had ever known kindness it would have been different. The trees seemed to obstruct her with deliberate malice. All her life she had thought of herself as a foredoomed victim, and now the forest had become the malign force that would destroy her.

Ice, Anna Kavan

Rachel was home alone again. Her Dad’s left her a note saying they were out of town and detailing the money left in her bank account.

She wondered what it was about her that made her unlovable, unwanted. That repelled people away from her.

Shelby wants you, a traitorous voice whispered somewhere in her that felt suspiciously like her heart. Shelby wants to be in your life.

Shelby wants to assuage her own guilt, she fiercely argued back. Shelby never wanted me.

Shelby wasn’t prepared to reckon with a fifteen-nearly-sixteen year old that just wanted to be loved. She doesn’t really want her.

Rachel was trying to do homework in her room, but she couldn’t focus. Her eyes strayed to the crafting scissors on her desk, glinting in the afternoon sunlight that peeked in through her blinds.

When Ms. Pillsbury had done a presentation on the dangers of self-harm in her freshman year, Rachel had privately scoffed to herself. Her body was her instrument - she would never damage it.

Now… now, she was curious.

She doesn’t remember standing and crossing the room. She doesn’t remember opening the scissors or pointing them towards her arm. She doesn’t remember the first swipe.

It leaves a thin, white line that turns pink.

It burned, it made her hiss, but it felt…

It felt amazing.

She felt something other than agony and abandonment and pain. She felt something. Preparing to continue, she paused. The arm is a noticeable body part and hard to hide things on.

Relocating to her bed, she pulls her shorts down to her hips. And then she flips the scissors to the sharpest point, bringing it down on her hip and thigh in a flurry.

She feels dizzy when she’s done, not with blood loss, but with euphoria. They’re not deep, just surface scratches, but she had gotten frantic with wanting to feel more and more and the blood bubbles up at the top of the split lines, some crossed over each other and some long and jagged, blood beginning to roll down her thigh.

She realizes she’s in danger of getting it on her bed and walks to the bathroom - thankful her parents at least had the foresight to stock her personal bathroom with medical supplies in case of an emergency.

First, she washes them with a darkly colored wash cloth and water, pressing down hard to stem the bleeding. She’s fascinated by the way it keeps coming back.

When it stops, mostly, she rips open an alcohol wipe and sterilizes them - and the scissors she used. She should have sterilized them before, but she wasn’t thinking. She wasn’t trying to die, she huffed, just… trying to feel. Something. Anything.

She packed down gauze on the cuts and taped them up. She felt… not numb, but high. She felt like she was floating.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, the old Rachel was yelling, screaming at her about what she’s doing, who she’s becoming.

But she had just discovered a new way to feel alive in this fucked up normal she’s found herself in.

So she puts old Rachel on ‘Do Not Disturb’.

Shelby taps her fingers on the piano as she waits for Will to finish talking to the stragglers of Glee as they leave. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Finn had said about Rachel being ‘messed up the other day’.

Is she okay? Is she okay? Is she okay? It runs through her mind on repeat. Her heart beat races as the possibilities overtake her. Is Rachel taking drugs? Then she snorts, the ludicrous idea taking her down a few notches. Rachel would never.

She was still worried, but it brought her back to reality while she waited anxiously.

Will finally shut the door and turned back to Shelby. She sighed with relief.

“So?” Shelby prompts.

“First, tell me how your attempts are going,” Will evaded.

Shelby sighed again, but wearily. “They’re… going. She agreed to give me a chance, she just needs time, she said. She let me apologize.”

Will’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nodded his approval. “That’s good,” he appeared to be semi-lost in thought, and Shelby cleared her throat expectantly.

“Right. Rachel came for Glee - the day she said she was taking a break - and she was… not herself. She was somewhere else, mentally. Spaced out. I called her name for… it felt like five minutes, before she responded. She just didn’t seem…” Will struggled to find the words. “Here.”

Shelby’s heart fell through the floor. She buried her head in her hands, leaning on the piano heavily. “I don’t know what to do.”

“… Keep doing what you are doing.”

“I thought you said I need to stay away?”

Will sighed. “I was trying to protect Rachel. You know I’ve never seen her fathers at any of her performances? Not one back to school night, or parent teacher conference? Listen, Shelby, you seem serious about this. I want what’s best for all of my kids… and Rachel needs people who’re going to put her first.”

Shelby’s brow furrowed as she looked up at Will quizzically. He hadn’t seen the Berry’s in all Rachel’s three years? Not once?

“And you think I will?” Shelby asked quietly.

“I know you will,” Will countered.

Shelby fought a small smile. It was refreshing, hearing someone believe in her, when she was so hard on herself. Especially someone who fought so hard against her involvement in the first place.

“From now on, I think we should be a team. Work together,” Will continued. “Rachel needs as many people as possible in her corner. And I’m prepared to be there to back her, and you, up.”

Shelby teared up. “Thank you, Will.”

He smiled gently. “Just trying to do the right thing this time.”

Chapter Text

Anger is a type of geography. The ways out of it expand the more you love a person. The more forgiveness you might be willing to afford each other opens up new and unexpected roads. And so, for some, staying angry at someone you love is a reasonable option. To stay angry at someone you know will forgive your anger is a type of love, or at least it is a type of familiarity that can feel like love.

Go Ahead In The Rain: Notes to a Tribe Called Quest, Hanif Abdurraqib

“You’ve missed a lot in Glee,” Finn says casually, leaning up against the locker next to hers.

Rachel sighs. “What do you want, Finn?”

“Come back to Glee.”

Rachel shut her locker, turning to face Finn head on. “Finn, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you—“

“Just perform with us for the School Assembly,” he pressed.

She sighed again, pressing her forehead to the cool metal of her locker. “What did Mr. Schue suggest this time? A similarly out of date song like last year?”

“No, that’s why I keep telling you you’re missing a lot in Glee. Ms. Pillsbury brought her dentist boyfriend in to talk to us and now Mr. Schue has completely gone off the deep end. We aren’t allowed to do Britney Spears, but we all got together to practice ‘Toxic’,” he relayed.

Rachel nodded, impressed they organized themselves in such a way, not even considering that she might have planted the seed that encouraged them to do so after her ‘Push It’ stunt the year before.

Then a thought occurred to her. “What does Ms. Corcoran think of—all this?”

“She hasn’t really gotten involved yet. She’s just been sitting in - today is the first day she’s actually joining rehearsal. Oh, and we’ve been trying to recruit members since Matt moved, but that hasn’t been going well. There’s a new kid, Sam, but he’s afraid of the flack from the football team,” Finn relays.

“Uneducated heathens,” Rachel huffs.

Finn smiles at the hint of the old Rachel. “Then, there was this foreign exchange student, Sunshine, but Kurt and Mercedes scared her off because they were afraid of losing solos. The new coach of Vocal Adrenaline came like some sort of hawk and snatched her up; everyone accused Ms. Corcoran of setting it up. It was chaos.”

Rachel highly doubted Ms. Corcoran didn’t have any thoughts about it all, but if she did, they likely weren’t forthcoming to the group as a whole while she was just sitting in. If Jesse’s descriptions of Vocal Adrenaline were correct, though, she would have no problem as such when she’s fully involved.

Rachel shook her head in absent fondness. “Never a dull moment.”

“I know you miss performing,” Finn stuck his hands in his pockets as they began to walk to the sound of the warning bell.

“I don’t, not really,” Rachel lied, looking away.

She did miss performing. She missed it a lot, actually. But she didn’t miss the hatred that came with doing something she was good at. Everyone else got cheered on, got laughs and smiles regardless of how good it was, if they missed a note, got constructive criticism and group praise - and Rachel Berry got ‘nice, thank you Rachel’.

She knows she’s good at singing. But would it hurt to get encouragement not because they think its spectacular - even though that would be nice, for once - but because they just want to be there for her?

Yeah. Right. There were just as many awful things that rose in her when she performed - feelings of inadequacy, the shame, the self hatred - that makes her not want to perform because of the equally negative feelings that came with the rush of euphoria. It just wasn’t enough to drown out the rest anymore.

She couldn’t be her own cheerleader forever. It wouldn’t carry her through. She needed people to tell her they wanted to hear her, see her, for her to be able to believe it herself. She just wanted people to clap like they loved her for her, not just her singing and what it does for them. And they only even do it for the bare minimum, at that. Polite, ‘I’m clapping because we really wouldn’t otherwise’ pity claps.

Post-Glee Club when they don’t have a performance makes her more sad than anything else, and even performances just make her depressed when the high fades.

“I don’t know who think you’re fooling. Just think about performing with us, okay?” Finn asked as he walked off to his own class.

Rachel sighed for what felt like the hundredth time Maybe she would, just because she did miss the thrill of performing.

Her newest borderline obsessive line of thought though, lately, pertained to Finn. She couldn’t fathom what she had been thinking, once upon a time. Why she got together with him this summer, when she had seen the path she was going down.

The summer was fun. It kept her distracted. But it wasn’t fair of her to let him into her life like that when she couldn’t really reciprocate. She hasn’t felt much of anything authentic in so long, she knew that whatever she felt for Finn wasn’t real. It was just her desperation to be seen and loved showing itself again.

She realized that quickly. And honestly, she didn’t want to deal with a boyfriend. So she broke things off.

She’s glad that he’s not mad at her, but she’s worried he’s only doing it because he expects that eventually, they’ll get back together. She doesn’t think that’s likely. She just isn’t into him like that. She just wanted someone to look at her like she was worth something, and he did. It had, once, made her euphoric.

Now, it made her feel nothing.

She wished that someone could pull her down back onto the Earth. Her feet haven’t touched solid ground for so long, and she misses the feel of dirt. You take for granted what you’ve known your whole life when you’re deprived of it for long enough.

She misses the world she used to know. But there’s no going back to the pre-jaded Rachel Berry.

There’s only going forward.

“So? How did it go?” Finn was immediately accosted as soon as someone from Glee spotted him.

“She said she’ll think about it.” She actually had said no such thing, but Finn knew Rachel well enough to tell that she was. He fed her just enough to get her hooked.

Mercedes’ shoulders slumped a little. “I guess that’s better than nothing.”

Kurt patted her arm. “We’ll get her back. Have you noticed what she’s wearing lately?”

“Yeah,” Mercedes tilted her head, imagining Rachel in her mind. Hoodies, sweatshirts, ripped jeans. Not like her at all. “I hope she’s okay,” she sighed.

“I think she will be,” Finn said optimistically.

Mercedes and Kurt exchanged a silent look that Finn missed.

They had both noticed how much the resident diva had changed in such a short amount of time, and it scared them. They never meant to take away her sparkle. They just didn’t understand her. And when people don’t understand something, they want it to change. They want familiarity.

They realize that now, realize the consequences that came with, essentially, the ostracization of Rachel Berry because of their fragile egos. They felt like children who, when their parents paid too much attention to a child who was not them, acted out, and were now embarrassed with being faced with the aftermath of their behavior when it was explained that it didn’t mean they were loved any less.

They just hope it isn’t too late to fix the damage.

Chapter Text

And why does the past come back like this: looming, a human figure
formed—

from Thrall: Poems; "Mythology", Natasha Trethew

The school assembly went way better than expected, all things considered. Shelby had heard all sorts of things about the one from last year, how it was almost a disaster, until Rachel - Rachel! - convinced them to rehearse Push It.

Someone showed her a video of it, and she’s not by any means a blusher. But she blushed.

Bright, beet red.

Rachel had explained to them - and this was paraphrased to her, but she filled in the gaps - that they have to play to their audience to get the attention, and Shelby felt her heart soar with admiration for her little girl. Rachel understood show business already.

In a way, that crushed Shelby, too. Because Rachel understood, if only theoretically, how to play it, but didn’t understand how it would inevitably, play her back.

She didn’t have the firsthand experience - and how often, it made people bitter, hard and jaded - much like Shelby herself - to know that. She was too idealistic - too straightforward in her goals. She thought she saw the whole picture, and she did have to give the girl credit for being good at seeing more than her peers; but in this, she was only looking at such a small portion.

Yes, she was ruthless, willing to do whatever it takes. She got that part.

A little too well, sometimes. Shelby agonized sometimes, over how it seemed that Rachel only got the worst parts of her. Or at least, the worst parts of Shelby emerged in Rachel the same way they appeared in herself, and she could only helplessly watch and desperately hope the girl would break the cycle: be smarter, softer, but still strong, and all those horrible parts of her be worth something, for once.

The way they aren’t in her.

The thing is, just like Shelby—horribly ambitious, possessive and arrogant Shelby—Rachel just didn’t correctly estimate how there was a living element to getting into this - it would do what it took to survive, to propel itself; because it had already convinced those that benefit from it of the usefulness of its existence.

The people within it would continue to perpetuate the toxic cycles and patterns, if only to prolong their own standing and wealth. They had sold themselves long ago and would not be getting themselves back; most did not want themselves back.

And if that meant she got in the way, it would remove her.

Break her spirit.

Shelby resolved, no matter what, no matter how close they end up - if at all - to not let Rachel do ‘whatever it takes’ in show business. She’d send her post cards with the advice if she had to—she’d slip them under the damn door if Rachel put out a stop notice on any mail from her.

But she wouldn’t let Rachel do that to herself.

Regardless, given she now had the context behind last years near fiasco - and it could still, arguably, in her opinion, be called one, and though she suspects she will soon get used to the wild antics and shenanigans of this school, she isn’t quite there yet, and so is repeatedly finding herself completely stupified and wondering how exactly these things seem to keep happening and escalating to these points - she was a little surprised when Will wanted to potentially make the same mistake twice, because… well, he actually wasn’t really very clear on his reason.

Appreciation for older music? She got it, truly. She was a former off-Broadway performer. She had more records than she did CDs, and she barely had downloaded music, except for the stuff she had once been ripped onto a tape for her walkman, and then her iPod, and then onto her phone. Anything she wanted to listen to was easily put into a CD player, honestly, and wasn’t worth all that hassle as it all got more and more intricate.

But kids who weren’t already being taught that through arts programs or by someone or simply through exploration didn’t tend to. They didn’t want to hear 80s classics or 20s contemporary, they wanted music they could really relate to from their ‘now’.

Which, in all honesty, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Their music was contemporary to them. It was still relatable to them. Shelby found that relating to kids through what they enjoy helped them relate to the past later, kind of like an ‘aha’ moment.

It’s why she was able to mix and match her own numbers so much, and Vocal Adrenaline did them all with enthusiasm - besides being handpicked as great performers, most who had been training outside of school for a long time, and drilling the skill of listening at the drop of a hat into them - because she used their input and listened, and they in turn listened to what she had to say. And in the end they did end up seeing her point, when she didn’t force it.

And in the privacy of her own head, she will admit that she did have to learn that by trial and error. She may be stubborn, but she’s also something more: She’s a winner, and that tends to make her a fast learner… The stubbornness plays its own hand in that, actually, because she’ll be damned if her own flaw will stand in the way of her success in anything. Shelby Corcoran never does anything less than 100%, never less than as perfect as she can.

Like she said. Stubborn. So stubborn that she has to, and will, out stubborn herself in order to achieve her goals.

When she saw her first method - ‘I know best, just listen’ - wasn’t working, she reevaluated. Recalculated. She saw how her own frustrations were affecting the kids, and she didn’t want that. Above all, she did want them to have some fun, even if she wanted them to also take it seriously.

But Will just wouldn’t hear it from Shelby, who while he, ‘admitted she knew what she was talking about on most things, would need to sit on the back burner for William McKinley High for the time being’.

She didn’t miss the horrified looks that the kids exchanged behind her and Will squaring off—the first real one, though mild, and she suspected it would not be the last, with Will’s fragile ego and numerous insecurities and her own hard head—that cued her in to the fact that this was not something that was going to go over well with McKinley High, at least for the Glee Club.

(She definitely heard something muttered about ‘Get the slushy kits ready, girls’ from Kurt as he looked down mournfully at his meticulously picked clothes and patted his perfectly coiffed hair, and she narrowed her eyes at that.

She had ears like Ms. Krause, her mother would often say. She chalked it up to her being able to match pitch; she could hear the most minute things very well as it was a natural skill she honed and then later became useful for other things. She didn’t, however, imagine it becoming useful for overhearing high school conversations when she was aspiring to be a Broadway performer all those years ago, but alas… Here she is.

Notably, she’s seen quite a few students - all them being apt targets for those self-proclaimed Top Dogs: usually small in stature, or one of the ‘nerdy’ kids she’s seen with all AP books, or just someone she has taken note of being, clearly, as at the ‘bottom’ of the social heap of McKinley - walking hurriedly to bathroom, and more often than not, with tears in their eyes, and if not, an attempt at a hardness in them that was betrayed by the hunched in posture as they rushed through - covered head to toe in shaved ice and food dye, but had gotten frustratingly little in the way of answers.

That was something she’s been keeping an eye on, as best as she could. She’d been able to prevent a few of them—too few, in her opinion.

[She had many of those. Opinions, that is. Rachel and her were alike in that respect, though Rachel would have once said she was simply correcting wrong statements. Now, it appeared as if she just didn’t care. It was likely that somewhere, she very much did care, but not enough to be faced with rejection of her opinions and ideas, whereas before, from what Shelby’s heard, the opposite was true: she didn’t care a whit about what other people said about what she had to say.]

Shelby was positive there were more happening where and when she couldn’t see them, especially now that she was intervening—and, I mean, really! She scoffed to herself more than once. What were the teachers here even being paid for, if they were just going to stand there and drone on?

[She’d snuck into more than one classroom to take a look at what the curriculum had to offer here - which is to say, nothing much - for non-AP students, and even those lacked any depth or soul.]

How did this job provide any meaning for them? This wasn’t what Shelby wanted, true. But she made the best of it; she made it have meaning. It beat her down some days, the things she had no control over—unbridled hell, for someone like her—and the things she couldn’t fix or change, but she did what she could, and she had to let that be enough if she wasn’t going to go insane.

Was it the job? Was it the school, itself? Again, an instance of Shelby being left with endless questions and, likely, no answers in sight. Unless she interviewed every browbeaten teacher in this school to find out what the motive could possibly be for their, at best, apathy, and, at worst, whether it be gleeful or mindless, active participation in this screwed up perpetuation of an already toxic culture, she would likely never know.

She had no intention of digging deeper, on that front. Digging deeper almost always made things worse, and besides that, these people weren’t really her concern on a one-to-one level. Frankly, she didn’t care why Sally-What’s-Her-Name is tired or what she has going on and is taking it out on her students, she just wants her to get her shit together.

Though  she may care—and call her callous—she doesn’t care, generally, about the other staff as individuals. Their lives are not hers, and she has no interest in making them her friends or getting closer, even in order to find out:

How did they keep going on like this, actively looking away from, often targeted, bullying that bordered assault?

Better yet, how did they sleep at night knowing that’s what they were doing? Did they acknowledge it at all to themselves? Were they capable of being honest with themselves about it, or did they bury it the way Shelby buried her own truths and pretended that they didn’t shine up through the poorly patted down pieces of dirt?

Especially since Rachel had done the same thing, and Shelby didn’t even want to think about how many times it had happened—the fact that she had simply put her dirty clothes in her locker with no fanfare had the wheels turning over time in her head. She didn’t want to—couldn’t, really—think about the implications that left her with, how many of these incidents she wasn’t there for… to be there for her to seek comfort in. That she didn’t have anyone to seek comfort in.

[That road led her to many bad places, and Shelby loathed those places. So she opted to put it on a shelf until it could be properly dealt with.

Which, with Shelby’s track record of ‘properly dealt with’, meant those types of things sat collecting dust like neglected memorabilia that got passed down, and you swore you’d go through later, and later just kept never coming.]

Sure, she could have had a backup just because; Rachel, once upon a time, before everything, before her fall, was the type of person she could easily envision as being so prepared and committed that she would, in fact, do that. Shelby also knew that sometimes you have to change for Glee, for other schools’ at least - she had had her own in a standard set of sweatpants and t-shirts so that if one was off, she could tell - and maybe, it was just a habit. These were all plausible explanations—once.

But what had really tipped her off that something not right was Rachel’s body language. The sheer casualness of how she picked herself back up when she left the bathroom that day.

How quickly - relatively, that is, Shelby didn’t actually know how quick it should take someone to get food dye that is chosen to be bright and colorful for mass consumption and certainly not chosen with consideration to being easy to get out of skin, hair, or clothes - she was able to make it from the hallway to the bathroom and out again, clean as she could be, circumstances considered, and changed.

It just felt too seamless to Shelby. Too routine. She was too familiar with those motions to not be able recognize someone putting on a front.

And it wasn’t that she didn’t care about the other students; she was an educator, and while it hadn’t been her first choice, she did choose this career, and if there’s one consistent thing - most things, if not all, the good, the bad, and the downright terrible, are consistent with her - about Shelby Corcoran, is that she doesn’t half-ass anything. If she was going into a education based path, she would do it right.

She ended up getting a degree in education after Broadway didn’t pan out in order to appeal to schools better, and in her opinion (hah), she had the obligation to care, but she also genuinely did care about the wellbeing of children, regardless of if she was teaching them.

Children were people, seeing the world for the first time, just like the adults that were teaching them had - just like the children would eventually become adults still seeing the world for the first time. In her eyes, it is everyone’s first time seeing the world.

That is fact, and honestly, the most logical way to see it. So, if she’s teaching, she will treat it that way. That doesn’t mean she isn’t stern, and doesn’t expect the best when she’s coaching.

But, quite contrary to common belief, she does have principles, and she does have an ethical code, and morals!

Regardless, the slushy situation absolutely became personal when it was her child who was involved. Despite how tenuous the idea of Rachel being her child at all was.)

But, her thoughts are wandering too far off the very beaten path and onto other, similarly beaten ones — so, when instead of the music Will had been rehearsing with the kids came on, it was the opening notes to Toxic, she wasn’t actually that surprised. She was more surprised that she hadn’t heard a peep about it, given how gossip prone those children are, and frankly how bad they are at keeping secrets.

(… Or, maybe they’re better at keeping secrets than her preliminary assessment had concluded. More information and observation needed, she decides.)

She was pretty impressed, in all honesty, that they had gone behind his—and technically, her, but she wasn’t sweating that at this point in time—back, and resolved not to be too hard on whatever choreography came out of this, given that she now knew that Rachel had been behind helping them with most of it the first go-around.

And then she had to eat her words, because first: The gym was alive with roaring teenagers.

Second: She was forced to blink several times to confirm that she was, in fact, seeing Will performing with them from her spot next to Emma Pillsbury, the school guidance counselor.

(Who, she had heard from the ever-churning gossip mill that they had previously been together, causing some interesting tension when she had the extremely unlucky fortune to be in both of their presences at the same time which, lately, was more often than not.

Not that she went looking for the gossip—she wanted to stay far, far out of it all, actually. She preferred it that way for many reasons, but chiefly among them being that petty drama wasn’t her business and she did not want to be involved nor witness it; she found it awkward, stifling and more than a little embarrassing, for all parties—mostly, her.

But it seemed in this school everyone had loose lips and loved to share if you were in their proximity. And in that case, well…

She didn’t necessarily mind listening, personal reservations of third-party involvement aside. Never know when the information may be valuable, and you don’t have to be involved to be informed.

In this case, it seemed to answer quite a few of her questions.

And in this school, there were always a LOT of questions.

And frankly, not nearly enough answers.)

“Oh… That’s… wow.” Emma finally managed to squeak out, her face contorting into a surprising shape, red as a tomato.

Or redder, really. Tomato is the only color she can think of, but it really was fascinating… in a weird way.

Shelby hadn’t known people could make that expression. Or become that color.

Shelby also didn’t know if this was a good or bad reaction, in all honesty.

But third, and possibly most importantly: Shelby was forced, for the second time that day of record-breaking firsts, to blink several times because she was blindsided by noticing Rachel’s presence on stage.

She hadn’t seen hide or hair of her besides in class and occasionally what she thought were glimpses of her in the hallways—blink and she’d be gone, just like that—and even there she was like a ghost, and seemed to be fading away more and more every day, despite Shelby’s attempts to grab a hold of her—it felt like her hands just… slipped right through.

Shelby was, when she got past the performances provocation, enthralled. Rachel was utterly in her element; she was every bit the star that Shelby knew she was. She was absolutely living for the reactions, the applause. Becoming invigorated with every second of positive engagement. Shining like a galaxy.

(Despite how she could see elements of the Rachel she saw in that video they showed her, in that stellar sectionals performance where Shelby had tears in her eyes listening to her sing Don’t Rain On My Parade that first time when she went to scope out potential competition and she just knew that was her daughter, in the time they sang Poker Face—

There was still something just… not-Rachel like about her. And, traitorously, that voice in her head that still sounds like her mother - and she knows is the manifestation of her guilt - reminds Shelby that she doesn’t really know what Rachel is like—but she knows that this isn’t it. Not entirely. She’s there, she’s present, she’s performing… but she isn’t. It’s a weak facsimile of her.

Like she isn’t in her skin. Like she’s someone else. Like when she’s done, she’ll go hang up the suit.)

Trying to stay focused, Shelby shook herself. Though she was no prude, Shelby found it hard not to be at least a little bit mortified.

When the fire alarm was pulled, Shelby was thoroughly unamused, seeing that infamous Coach Sylvester by the gym doors. Shelby merely stood up and guiding them out of the gym, attempting to restore some order to the chaos.

Will was going to have both her and Emma to answer to.