Fic: Chances (1/ )
title: Chances
fandom: Glee
pairing: Rachel/Will
rating: PG - PG13
spoilers: Up to Sectionals. Everything after that is my own version of canon.
a/n: Bear with me, this is the "lots of exposition" chapter. takemeaway is my fantastic beta who helped me make the timeline make infinitely more sense than it did in my first draft, so thank her for that :) Also, for my purposes, all the original members of Glee were sophomores when the club started, as it's never been completely clear what everyone's grade is anyway.
Prologue
Will flinches when the door to his office slams shut behind Rachel, then sighs. He presses his fingertips against his closed eyes as he leans back in his chair.
Rachel’s been bugging Will all week about auditions. He doesn’t get it; he’d explained the year before that he was going to hold auditions for Glee club every year, regardless of past membership. He thought it would help level out the playing field and open up the ranks for the younger kids who might want to try out. Nothing had terrified him more than auditioning his freshman year for an audience of seniors who were obnoxiously sure of themselves since they just had to show up to be included.
He explains this to Rachel the third time she comes to his office to feed him another argument about why she should be exempt,
(They range from, “You’re kidding, right? Right, Mr. Schuester?” to, “Don’t you want me to save my voice for more important performances? Like Nationals? Which, might I add, we won last year, thanks to my solos,” to, “I find it offensive that you expect me to audition for a club I’ve dedicated myself to for the last two years. My fathers are not going to be pleased to hear about this, and they’re card-carrying members of the . . .” - it kind of blurs into blah blah blah after that because, honestly? After two years and roughly eight hundred tantrums, he’s over it. Will tries to always be a patient and understanding mentor no matter what’s going on in his personal life, and God knows he loves the girl, but sometimes she’s just too much.)
but she’s not having it. Luckily the bell is about to ring, so he’s spared for the moment.
As she marches out of his office he calls, “just show up and sing, Rachel. It’s not like you won’t get in.”
She whirls around and shoves the door back open, her knuckles white as she clutches her books to her chest with her other hand.
“I know I’d get in. That’s the point. I wish you would just finally let up on me. I’ve been a perfect Glee club member and it’s my senior year and I just don’t see the point in demeaning-”
He holds a hand up. “Rachel. I promise you, this is not a personal attack. Just like it wasn’t a personal attack last year when everyone had to audition. Why is this such a big deal?”
Rachel pauses, and then grits her teeth. “It just IS!” and with that she’s gone.
If he were religious, he might say a prayer for the serenity to accept the drama he cannot avoid, courage to defuse the tantrums he can, and the wisdom to know that when Rachel was involved, it was both unavoidable and un-defuseable.
Will’s not religious.
“Shit,” he mutters.
_
It’s senior year for the remaining original members of Glee club.
Matt’s family had moved to Chicago during the summer, and Santana had eventually decided Glee wasn’t enough fun to justify the dip in popularity.
Puck and Quinn didn’t come back to Glee after the first year. She’d ended up moving in with his family and they’d both found ways to graduate early - no small feat for Puck - and were making something of a family of themselves with their daughter.
Will avoids as much as possible thinking about the teary conversation when he’d had to tell them that he and Terri couldn’t take the baby because there no longer was a he and Terri.
(“What am I gonna do?” she whispered, her face blank even as tears fell one after the other down her cheeks. Her fingers curled tightly into his shirt, making creases that would never really come out.)
Puck had looked like he wanted to punch Will until his fists imploded, either because of the cancelled adoption, or because of how Quinn was so willing to let Will hold her as she sobbed into his shoulder, while Puck mostly got the brush-off.
Will realized soon enough that Terri had stolen any chance he had to be really helpful in that situation to anyone but Finn, so he bowed out after that, and just kept track of the pair through occasional updates from the other kids.
He and Terri had stayed separated for over eight months before Will finally filed, right before the 2010-2011 school year began. Terri dragged her feet at every turn, and negotiations were hell. Part of him still wanted to protect her, to allow her the wide berth she always needed.
(“Will, I was only dating him because I was lonely. You know you’re the only man for me. If you just say the word, I’ll break it off and we can be a family again.”)
The divorce was officially finalized the day before Nationals, leaving him a wreck for the day of the competition. But he’d pulled it together for his kids and they’d made him prouder than he’d ever been. That time he was there to see it live. No suspension. No Emma. No Terri. Just him and his kids and it was the best and worst year he’d ever had.
Now this year, the kids’ senior year, is supposed to be the one where everything rebuilds and gets better.
Will’s wrong about that; everything just keeps falling further apart, starting with Rachel.
_
Will calls Rachel’s name from his list.
Whispers drift up from the group of kids in the seats just in front of him. Even the brand new freshmen have heard of Rachel Berry, and seem to be asking the older Glee kids for confirmation of various rumors: Liza Minelli’s her real mother; she has special bottled water flown in from Canada because it’s good for her voice; her vocal chords are insured for fifty grand each.
“Rachel?” he calls again. Finally Casey Lightman wheels a cart with a TV and VCR on it on stage.
Casey was a junior who’d fallen hard and fast for Rachel when he’d joined Glee as a sophomore the previous year. Even though he was a year younger than the original crew, Casey had been a hit in Glee club from the start. He was fairly talented and unstoppably charming in a Disney Prince kind of way. Why Rachel never warmed up to him was anybody’s guess.
Will had always had his suspicions that Casey was kind of a jerk underneath all the teenaged bravura, but he was a good kid and he seemed to actually try at Glee, so Will had ignored his suspicions and grown to like him.
Will can’t recall ever being quite as impressed with Rachel as he was when she magnanimously but firmly let Casey down easy in a hushed discussion behind the piano in a practice room moments before smoothly leading the team to victory at Nationals.
Casey had been mooning over Rachel so much that it was starting to affect the performances, and they needed him at the top of his game if they were going to win. Will still has no idea what Rachel said to him, but whatever she said worked wonders. She was seventeen years old then and completely unstoppable.
“Casey, what’s this?” Will doesn’t actually want to know, he just wants it to go away.
“This,” Casey says with a flourish as he yanks the slack of the power cord, causing it to jerk through the air and into an immediate knot, - Will winces; the A.V. club will not be happy about this - “is Rachel Berry’s audition.”
“She taped it?”
More whispers from the kids in the audience.
“Well, kind of,” Casey answers under his breath as he cues up the tape. He turns around and presents the paused image onscreen. He grins, obviously incredibly pleased with himself that he’s been chosen to carry out Rachel’s wishes.
“Ahem. Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Rachel Berry.”
He presses play and steps away from the cart, and the screen goes dark before a spotlight turns on and highlights closed curtains at the back of a full auditorium. Will squints at the screen, confused. It doesn’t look familiar.
Soon he realizes why. The music starts. After a few bars, the curtains are thrown apart, and Rachel bursts out. The sound quality isn’t great, but Will recognizes it. He remembers it clearly, even now.
“Don’t tell me not to live, just sit and putter. Life’s candy and the sun’s a ball of butter. Who told you you’re allowed to rain on my parade?” Rachel sings from the aisle.
He should be holding up a hand and telling Casey to stop the tape, but he’s almost mesmerized, watching her dance toward the stage, twirling and pausing and stirring up passion in his gut.
How did she know? How did she know to use this tape of this performance, the one performance that he’d never gotten to see? Watching her, somehow looking so much younger than she does now just two years later, belting out the song like it was written for her, gets him in the place where Rachel’s performances always have.
Will swallows over the rock in his throat and is glad for the darkness of the auditorium. He’s not really visible from the stage, just a dim shadow in the seats with a clip board. He sees Casey hold his hand parallel to the floor and wiggle it back and forth out of the corner of his eye, and he realizes Rachel must be back there, waiting to find out what Will’s reaction to the tape is.
Will schools his expression into something neutral - he doesn’t want Rachel to find out by way of her adoring sidekick that her little trick has nearly reduced him to tears in a matter of moments.
On the screen Rachel stretches her hands out to the audience. The new kids sitting in McKinley’s auditorium sit with rapt attention, while the older ones whisper together as they watch themselves march out from behind the curtains and down the aisles to join Rachel onstage.
When the song ends, spectacularly of course, Casey quickly stops the tape. The live audience applauds in place of the on-screen one, and Rachel steps out from the curtain, smiling smugly. She waves to the audience, and then addresses Will with a raised chin. Casey smirks from behind her, his curly blond hair all lit up from the stage lights looking like some sort of ridiculous halo.
Will clears his throat. He shoves all the emotion out of his voice and off of his face. He’s become practiced at it; overlooking his own awe to deal with her behavior. It’s a necessary skill with Rachel, and one that he imagines her fathers never had to develop since they watched her from the beginning. He’s been walking this line between amazement and authority since she opened her mouth to sing “On My Own” two years ago.
“Nice try Rachel, but you have to actually audition live if you want to be considered.”
He can see Rachel’s eyes harden from there.
“That was my audition, Mr. Schuester. I think it was more than sufficient.”
Will stands from his chair and folds his arms over his chest. “Either you sing right now, or you’re not in Glee.”
Now Rachel smirks while Casey’s smile begins to fade. Will can tell the kids in the audience are getting uncomfortable, but he’s not about to start the year off by losing a battle with Rachel. If the past is any indication, he’ll do enough of that as the year progresses anyway.
Rachel folds her arms as well. “We both know I’m going to get in, so why don’t you just save the time, and put my name on your list?”
Will bristles. It’s typical Rachel. She makes strides forward only to take a few giant leaps backward at the least opportune time.
“Okay, I’ll take that as a no. Thanks Rachel. You can move the TV, and we’ll hear the next real audition.” Will sits back down and picks up his clipboard again. The kids in the audience would probably be “oooo”ing if Rachel didn’t look so mad she might spit fire.
“Come on, Mr. Schuester, this is ridiculous and everyone knows it.”
“What I know, is that everybody who wants to be in Glee club has to audition. You don’t get to just decide you don’t have to follow the rules, Rachel. Now move the TV and get off the stage!”
He doesn’t realize he’s actually yelling until Rachel yells back.
“Oh!” she shrieks, stamping her foot as Casey hurriedly shoves the TV cart off stage behind her, “sometimes I think it’s not even worth it being in your stupid little club in this stupid little town!”
“Then QUIT, Rachel! Leave! I don’t need this!”
He’s on his feet again, throwing his arms up and completely out of control of himself.
It’s so quiet in the auditorium you could hear a pin drop if it weren’t for the ragged breathing coming from Will and Rachel, still faced off with each other. Rachel’s expression deadens and when she speaks her voice has too.
“Fine,” she says flatly, and simply walks off stage.
Casey starts to trot after her, but Finn catches up to him and with a slap on the shoulder sends him to sit back down.
Will doesn’t say anything, doesn’t follow her, doesn’t drag himself to her locker or one of her classrooms later in the week to convince her to come back.
Rachel doesn’t come to his office or show up at a Glee rehearsal or one of his Spanish classes to ask him to take her back.
And that’s how it starts: Rachel quits Glee senior year.
_
fandom: Glee
pairing: Rachel/Will
rating: PG - PG13
spoilers: Up to Sectionals. Everything after that is my own version of canon.
a/n: Bear with me, this is the "lots of exposition" chapter. takemeaway is my fantastic beta who helped me make the timeline make infinitely more sense than it did in my first draft, so thank her for that :) Also, for my purposes, all the original members of Glee were sophomores when the club started, as it's never been completely clear what everyone's grade is anyway.
Prologue
Will flinches when the door to his office slams shut behind Rachel, then sighs. He presses his fingertips against his closed eyes as he leans back in his chair.
Rachel’s been bugging Will all week about auditions. He doesn’t get it; he’d explained the year before that he was going to hold auditions for Glee club every year, regardless of past membership. He thought it would help level out the playing field and open up the ranks for the younger kids who might want to try out. Nothing had terrified him more than auditioning his freshman year for an audience of seniors who were obnoxiously sure of themselves since they just had to show up to be included.
He explains this to Rachel the third time she comes to his office to feed him another argument about why she should be exempt,
(They range from, “You’re kidding, right? Right, Mr. Schuester?” to, “Don’t you want me to save my voice for more important performances? Like Nationals? Which, might I add, we won last year, thanks to my solos,” to, “I find it offensive that you expect me to audition for a club I’ve dedicated myself to for the last two years. My fathers are not going to be pleased to hear about this, and they’re card-carrying members of the . . .” - it kind of blurs into blah blah blah after that because, honestly? After two years and roughly eight hundred tantrums, he’s over it. Will tries to always be a patient and understanding mentor no matter what’s going on in his personal life, and God knows he loves the girl, but sometimes she’s just too much.)
but she’s not having it. Luckily the bell is about to ring, so he’s spared for the moment.
As she marches out of his office he calls, “just show up and sing, Rachel. It’s not like you won’t get in.”
She whirls around and shoves the door back open, her knuckles white as she clutches her books to her chest with her other hand.
“I know I’d get in. That’s the point. I wish you would just finally let up on me. I’ve been a perfect Glee club member and it’s my senior year and I just don’t see the point in demeaning-”
He holds a hand up. “Rachel. I promise you, this is not a personal attack. Just like it wasn’t a personal attack last year when everyone had to audition. Why is this such a big deal?”
Rachel pauses, and then grits her teeth. “It just IS!” and with that she’s gone.
If he were religious, he might say a prayer for the serenity to accept the drama he cannot avoid, courage to defuse the tantrums he can, and the wisdom to know that when Rachel was involved, it was both unavoidable and un-defuseable.
Will’s not religious.
“Shit,” he mutters.
_
It’s senior year for the remaining original members of Glee club.
Matt’s family had moved to Chicago during the summer, and Santana had eventually decided Glee wasn’t enough fun to justify the dip in popularity.
Puck and Quinn didn’t come back to Glee after the first year. She’d ended up moving in with his family and they’d both found ways to graduate early - no small feat for Puck - and were making something of a family of themselves with their daughter.
Will avoids as much as possible thinking about the teary conversation when he’d had to tell them that he and Terri couldn’t take the baby because there no longer was a he and Terri.
(“What am I gonna do?” she whispered, her face blank even as tears fell one after the other down her cheeks. Her fingers curled tightly into his shirt, making creases that would never really come out.)
Puck had looked like he wanted to punch Will until his fists imploded, either because of the cancelled adoption, or because of how Quinn was so willing to let Will hold her as she sobbed into his shoulder, while Puck mostly got the brush-off.
Will realized soon enough that Terri had stolen any chance he had to be really helpful in that situation to anyone but Finn, so he bowed out after that, and just kept track of the pair through occasional updates from the other kids.
He and Terri had stayed separated for over eight months before Will finally filed, right before the 2010-2011 school year began. Terri dragged her feet at every turn, and negotiations were hell. Part of him still wanted to protect her, to allow her the wide berth she always needed.
(“Will, I was only dating him because I was lonely. You know you’re the only man for me. If you just say the word, I’ll break it off and we can be a family again.”)
The divorce was officially finalized the day before Nationals, leaving him a wreck for the day of the competition. But he’d pulled it together for his kids and they’d made him prouder than he’d ever been. That time he was there to see it live. No suspension. No Emma. No Terri. Just him and his kids and it was the best and worst year he’d ever had.
Now this year, the kids’ senior year, is supposed to be the one where everything rebuilds and gets better.
Will’s wrong about that; everything just keeps falling further apart, starting with Rachel.
_
Will calls Rachel’s name from his list.
Whispers drift up from the group of kids in the seats just in front of him. Even the brand new freshmen have heard of Rachel Berry, and seem to be asking the older Glee kids for confirmation of various rumors: Liza Minelli’s her real mother; she has special bottled water flown in from Canada because it’s good for her voice; her vocal chords are insured for fifty grand each.
“Rachel?” he calls again. Finally Casey Lightman wheels a cart with a TV and VCR on it on stage.
Casey was a junior who’d fallen hard and fast for Rachel when he’d joined Glee as a sophomore the previous year. Even though he was a year younger than the original crew, Casey had been a hit in Glee club from the start. He was fairly talented and unstoppably charming in a Disney Prince kind of way. Why Rachel never warmed up to him was anybody’s guess.
Will had always had his suspicions that Casey was kind of a jerk underneath all the teenaged bravura, but he was a good kid and he seemed to actually try at Glee, so Will had ignored his suspicions and grown to like him.
Will can’t recall ever being quite as impressed with Rachel as he was when she magnanimously but firmly let Casey down easy in a hushed discussion behind the piano in a practice room moments before smoothly leading the team to victory at Nationals.
Casey had been mooning over Rachel so much that it was starting to affect the performances, and they needed him at the top of his game if they were going to win. Will still has no idea what Rachel said to him, but whatever she said worked wonders. She was seventeen years old then and completely unstoppable.
“Casey, what’s this?” Will doesn’t actually want to know, he just wants it to go away.
“This,” Casey says with a flourish as he yanks the slack of the power cord, causing it to jerk through the air and into an immediate knot, - Will winces; the A.V. club will not be happy about this - “is Rachel Berry’s audition.”
“She taped it?”
More whispers from the kids in the audience.
“Well, kind of,” Casey answers under his breath as he cues up the tape. He turns around and presents the paused image onscreen. He grins, obviously incredibly pleased with himself that he’s been chosen to carry out Rachel’s wishes.
“Ahem. Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Rachel Berry.”
He presses play and steps away from the cart, and the screen goes dark before a spotlight turns on and highlights closed curtains at the back of a full auditorium. Will squints at the screen, confused. It doesn’t look familiar.
Soon he realizes why. The music starts. After a few bars, the curtains are thrown apart, and Rachel bursts out. The sound quality isn’t great, but Will recognizes it. He remembers it clearly, even now.
“Don’t tell me not to live, just sit and putter. Life’s candy and the sun’s a ball of butter. Who told you you’re allowed to rain on my parade?” Rachel sings from the aisle.
He should be holding up a hand and telling Casey to stop the tape, but he’s almost mesmerized, watching her dance toward the stage, twirling and pausing and stirring up passion in his gut.
How did she know? How did she know to use this tape of this performance, the one performance that he’d never gotten to see? Watching her, somehow looking so much younger than she does now just two years later, belting out the song like it was written for her, gets him in the place where Rachel’s performances always have.
Will swallows over the rock in his throat and is glad for the darkness of the auditorium. He’s not really visible from the stage, just a dim shadow in the seats with a clip board. He sees Casey hold his hand parallel to the floor and wiggle it back and forth out of the corner of his eye, and he realizes Rachel must be back there, waiting to find out what Will’s reaction to the tape is.
Will schools his expression into something neutral - he doesn’t want Rachel to find out by way of her adoring sidekick that her little trick has nearly reduced him to tears in a matter of moments.
On the screen Rachel stretches her hands out to the audience. The new kids sitting in McKinley’s auditorium sit with rapt attention, while the older ones whisper together as they watch themselves march out from behind the curtains and down the aisles to join Rachel onstage.
When the song ends, spectacularly of course, Casey quickly stops the tape. The live audience applauds in place of the on-screen one, and Rachel steps out from the curtain, smiling smugly. She waves to the audience, and then addresses Will with a raised chin. Casey smirks from behind her, his curly blond hair all lit up from the stage lights looking like some sort of ridiculous halo.
Will clears his throat. He shoves all the emotion out of his voice and off of his face. He’s become practiced at it; overlooking his own awe to deal with her behavior. It’s a necessary skill with Rachel, and one that he imagines her fathers never had to develop since they watched her from the beginning. He’s been walking this line between amazement and authority since she opened her mouth to sing “On My Own” two years ago.
“Nice try Rachel, but you have to actually audition live if you want to be considered.”
He can see Rachel’s eyes harden from there.
“That was my audition, Mr. Schuester. I think it was more than sufficient.”
Will stands from his chair and folds his arms over his chest. “Either you sing right now, or you’re not in Glee.”
Now Rachel smirks while Casey’s smile begins to fade. Will can tell the kids in the audience are getting uncomfortable, but he’s not about to start the year off by losing a battle with Rachel. If the past is any indication, he’ll do enough of that as the year progresses anyway.
Rachel folds her arms as well. “We both know I’m going to get in, so why don’t you just save the time, and put my name on your list?”
Will bristles. It’s typical Rachel. She makes strides forward only to take a few giant leaps backward at the least opportune time.
“Okay, I’ll take that as a no. Thanks Rachel. You can move the TV, and we’ll hear the next real audition.” Will sits back down and picks up his clipboard again. The kids in the audience would probably be “oooo”ing if Rachel didn’t look so mad she might spit fire.
“Come on, Mr. Schuester, this is ridiculous and everyone knows it.”
“What I know, is that everybody who wants to be in Glee club has to audition. You don’t get to just decide you don’t have to follow the rules, Rachel. Now move the TV and get off the stage!”
He doesn’t realize he’s actually yelling until Rachel yells back.
“Oh!” she shrieks, stamping her foot as Casey hurriedly shoves the TV cart off stage behind her, “sometimes I think it’s not even worth it being in your stupid little club in this stupid little town!”
“Then QUIT, Rachel! Leave! I don’t need this!”
He’s on his feet again, throwing his arms up and completely out of control of himself.
It’s so quiet in the auditorium you could hear a pin drop if it weren’t for the ragged breathing coming from Will and Rachel, still faced off with each other. Rachel’s expression deadens and when she speaks her voice has too.
“Fine,” she says flatly, and simply walks off stage.
Casey starts to trot after her, but Finn catches up to him and with a slap on the shoulder sends him to sit back down.
Will doesn’t say anything, doesn’t follow her, doesn’t drag himself to her locker or one of her classrooms later in the week to convince her to come back.
Rachel doesn’t come to his office or show up at a Glee rehearsal or one of his Spanish classes to ask him to take her back.
And that’s how it starts: Rachel quits Glee senior year.
_