Fic: 'Little Superstar' Part 2/3
Title: 'Little Superstar' part 1/3 (Prologue | Part 1 | Part 3 )
Fandom: Glee future!fic
Pairings/Characters: Rachel/Jesse, Kurt/Puck (vague implied), Maria Melanie Berry-St.James (OC), random appearances by some old friends.
Challenge/Prompt: A super late response to x_clemonlemon 's prompt on the glee_fluff_meme: Rachel and Jesse realise their daughter cannot hold a note and is completely tone-deaf. Cue the horror. Bonus! for their reasons as to why she's tone deaf.
Rating: PG, for the odd unexpected f-bomb.
Word Count: (This part) 4902
Genre: Gen
Copyright: I don’t own ‘Glee’ or anything to do with it.; I just have vivid hallucinations.
Summary:
Author’s Notes: Ok, so, this was meant to be a ficlet and turned into an epic fluffy multi-part behemoth that ate my brain. It’s probably not as fluffy as you wanted, but I hope you like it anyway :).
Rachel buries her nose further into her pillow, huffing in the soothing lavender she always adds at times of stress. She closes her eyes; tries to level her breathing, matching the rhythm with Jesse's; listens to her own heartbeat and tries to be calmed by it.
No good. Her eyes snap open again, bleary and sore with lack of sleep, mocked by the sight of the alarm clock on the cabinet beside her: 3.56am.
She shifts, as quietly as she can manage, although she knows Jesse's only pretending to sleep as well. She feels him sigh heavily against her hair; run his toes gently along the back of her calf:
"Do you want to--?"
"--I don't wanna sing about it." Rachel cuts him off, mumbling into the edge of the duvet. She feels how his body tenses in panic. Like most men, he has about one response to stressful situations. Unlike most men, it isn't sex.
Irritated by her husband's slightly condescending silence, Rachel flips over to face him, beginning again the conversation they've had at least five times since they got home.
"We can't simply not enter her-- It would be immediately suspicious! Especially considering it was our petition that led to the expansion of their arts stream in the first place! Maria already has an expectant audience-- if she doesn't deliver the show-stopping debut anticipated, her professional reputation might be permanently disfigured!"
Jesse grimaces: "Damn YouTube--"
"--Exactly! And in a city as competitive as LA? One humiliating video clip could mean the retraction of a college scholarship."
They stare at each other through the hazy darkness. They both know how invaluable their college scholarships had been, and the idea of never having the chance to perform in a city where it really meant something? To have been stuck at some tech college in Ohio?
Despite the repetitiveness, Rachel can feel the tears beginning to sting behind her eyelids again.
One of the curses of being able to cry on command is that she sometimes does it without meaning to.
"Hey..." Jesse reaches over, pulling Rachel closer, cradling her body protectively against his. Rachel gives a big, inelegant sniff. He's always been good for a sympathetic cuddle, has Jesse.
"Well, maybe," he suggests "we enter her and then have to... 'unexpectedly' leave the state? Huh? Could one of your dads fake a stroke?"
Rachel screws up her forehead: "They do love the chance to exercise their acting abilities..."
"Or, perhaps, my parents come home for a week? We would have to visit, they haven't even met Maria yet."
For a moment Rachel considers. Then she remembers; pokes a finger into his hip:
"We can't-- It's only two weeks before your opening night." (They'd been very vocal about Jesse's lead debut; there were flyers pinned to every notice-board within ten blocks of their apartment) "Everyone knows you would never leave town during such an essential rehearsal period."
"Amazing how often a stellar reputation can work against you." Jesse muses mournfully.
"How about..." Rachel's forehead is scrunched up with thinking "we allow her to enter, but a few days beforehand we pull her out with a sick note? We could say acute Laryngitis? Or maybe something infectious would be better, so no-one will be tempted to visit..."
"How to explain to Maria though?" Jesse says, nestling his chin against the top of Rachel's head "I don't think she would take it well. She really wants to compete..."
Rachel feels the corners of her mouth start to tug downwards again: "...She can't compete." She sulks. Then: "Ugh-- We're awful parents!"
"No, we're not..." Jesse tries to sound dismissive, rubbing soothing circles into her back "We're just... protecting her from premature exposure to professional heartache."
His reasoning is valid, Rachel supposes. Yet somehow, it isn't convincing. She closes her eyes, breathing through her nose to try and halt any burgeoning sobs. She feels her mouth tighten again as Jesse cards his fingers through her hair, smoothing it out across her shoulders. It's meant to be reassuring.
"...I just don't understand." she tells him in a whisper "She's a Berry-- she should be swimming in extraneous talent."
Jesse snorts: "More than that: she's a Berry-St.James-- her talent should be large enough to warrant its own Livejournal community."
For long, long minutes they lie there-- stuck for words, and more than a little unnerved by the occurrence.
Rachel tunes out everything except her husband's fingers curling in her hair; the ever-present rumble of traffic rushing past outside their window. The thing about LA: it's never quiet. Not in the way Lima was, where you could walk down the street at four o'clock in the morning and no-one would notice you except the cats, and possibly Jacob Ben-Israel, hiding in the bushes beside your driveway.
It seems such a long way to here from there. A long road. Here, Rachel still might not have the high-flying friends she imagined: but she has a bunch of really close ones, and a husband she loves, and a beautiful daughter. Lima was too small for Rachel, in the end. It might be harder for her star to shine here, in amongst so many others; but Lima suffocated it.
Like her and Jesse were trying to suffocate Maria's?
"No." Rachel says suddenly, and feels Jesse's hand pause mid-stroke in surprise as he glances down at her. "No, you're right. Maria's a Berry-St.James." she says decisively: "If she wants to compete, she can compete-- against anyone! And win against anyone!"
Rachel rubs the heel of her hand across her eyes and pulls out of Jesse's embrace, propping herself up on her elbow.
"The answer's been staring us in the face this whole time." She explains excitedly: "It's a talent contest, correct? A good, old, non-genre-specific talent contest. There's no rule that says Maria's entry has to be singing."
Except me, except me I want her to sing, I want her to sing and sing with me, with us, and be wonderful.
"She could do anything!"
"She can dance." Jesse says, sitting up as well, catching onto her train of thought "She has exceptional coordination."
Rachel nods, a little wildly: "Yes!--"
"--Although ballet or tap would be far too pedestrian at a pre-school talent show... we'd have to coach her in something more... unexpected."
Rachel thinks for a second, then holds up a finger of triumph: "Flamenco." she announces.
"Ok..." Rachel thinks Jesse's looking at her funny, although it could just be lack of sleep "But how about jazz?"
"Ballroom?" she tries again: "Always a crowd-pleaser."
"She'd need a partner..."
"Interpretive?"
"Or perhaps not dancing..." Jesse ponders, rushing ahead "How about drama?"
"She could perform scenes from classical literature; from Shakespeare! It would be spellbinding--"
"--She could read poetry, romantic poetry--"
"--In French!"
"--Yes, everything sounds far more accomplished in French..."
"Oui, tout retentit bien plus accompli en français."
Jesse grins at her, grabbing hold of her hand and squeezing tightly, his eyes once again sparkling with possibilities.
They stare at each other, breathing hard with excitement. No: of course their suggestions aren't simply more and more elaborate attempts to obscure the fact their daughter (her of the impeccable musical lineage) can't hold a note to save her life. What a ridiculous suggestion. They're good parents. They have nothing but Maria's best in mind.
Rachel watches Jesse physically wince as she tightens the grip of her fingernails in the back of his hand.
"Mime?" He suggests finally, weakly: "There's always mime..."
*
Jesse isn't particularly proud of what he does next.
But it was something Rachel said--"She's a Berry!"-- and she always says it, he always has to correct her, and now with Maria's unexpected tunelessness...
'Cos he doesn't really doubt it. He doesn't-- Maria's far too adorable to have been the product of anything but the most impeccable genetics. But still... Rachel has so many boy friends; and Jesse had been away so much that summer, and 'straightforward' had never really been a word that applied much to their relationship.
Of course, full-day rehearsals aren't exactly conducive to private investigation; but when evil, bitter director Mr Sukowitz (the name seems to have stuck) gives them all five for a Gatorade break, Jesse puts on his best don't-even-think-you're-important-enough-to-converse-with-me expression (very well rehearsed), digs his phone out of his bag and sprawls out on the step at the back of the stage-door.
He scrolls through his contacts, swigging his Gatorade and letting the breeze cool the sweat on his forehead. Gosh, but he has a lot of contacts. A number possibly only exceeded by his number of Facebook friends.
He stops, and clicks on a name that, until today, was only in his phonebook to make some kind of obscure point about how mature and superior he was.
Jesse stares at it for a minute or so; then-- whipping a small, neatly written list out of his pocket-- he presses 'call'.
*
Being a tree doesn't come naturally to Rachel.
She fully recognises the benefits of interpretive dance-- the exhilaration of becoming another thing; discovering the capabilities of your body out-with the rigours of choreography; simplifying the bond between mind and flesh until all that's left is music and instinct.
But honestly? She sucks at being a tree.
Maria doesn't though. Maybe it's because she's still so young, a coupling of childish innocence and the pushy, self-possessed Berry genetics-- but she makes an excellent tree. She's so caught up in creating budding blossoms with her fingers, curling her arms as a storm buffets her branches, wriggling her nose to be rid of the sparrow perching on it's tip, that she doesn't even notice her mom's stopped joining in and is simply intoning the scenario with a beaming smile on her face as she re-ties her ballet pumps.
Of course, the operative word in interpretive dance, is, well... dance. Which requires music. It's the part Rachel's afraid of-- but she steels herself and scrolls through her iPod until she finds the track she's looking for as Maria whirls, happily oblivious, around the room in her tutu and spotty leggings.
It's an instrumental, a track from the Spirited Away soundtrack album. No lyrics. Absolutely no lyrics.
"Ok, cookie," Rachel sits back on the floor, holding her arms out for Maria to toddle in to. "Mommy's gonna put some music on, and I want you to show me how to dance to it, ok? Dance however you like, but make it really, really beautiful..."
Maria gives her a glittering smile; another twirl.
"I'm bootiful mommy."
"Beautiful, yes you are baby." She kisses Maria lightly on the cheek, then urges her back to the centre of the floor; presses play on the iPod.
The melody fills the room: sinuous flutes, shivering bells, ominous drumbeats. Rachel watches her daughter take a moment, a breath to compose herself, fix a first position. Then the music takes off and so does Maria, sweeping around the living room with awe-inspiring grace never before seen in an under-average height three year old.
But with the music comes the singing. The happy, joyous notes that Maria screeches along with the music in agonising harmony.
Rachel puts a hand over her mouth.
Maybe not dancing then.
*
“Finn?”
“Uh, hello?”
“This is Jesse St.James.”
“Um, yeah. I have caller id.”
“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry; I had the sneaking suspicion you may have deleted my number in a childish yet understandable act of rejection after I married the woman you were clearly still in love with.”
There’s silence for a long moment.
“Finn?”
The line crackles with heaviness of the other man’s sigh:
“…Did you want something?”
Jesse's happy to get back to the point.
“Yes, actually, I’m glad you asked. There’s no particularly tactful way to put this Finn, but I was wondering: do you recollect sleeping with my wife at any point in the last four years?”
“… DUDE, WHAT THE HELL?”
“Oh don’t be alarmed, I’m not out for revenge, I’m merely looking for some information that may help shed light on some recent… developments. I did have a more specific timescale in mind: namely, any time between April and July 2016?”
“Dude, I haven’t… slept with Rachel! Not since… not since, like, high school! What the hell is this--?”
“-Are you quite positive of that? I notice you’ve attended many of Rachel’s after-show parties Finn, and I know alcohol has a way of impairing judgement, especially if the object of your affection is emotionally fragile after the longer-than-expected absence of her loving fiance who is occupied starring in his first touring off-Broadway production--”
“Jesse, I don’t know what you’re talking about! Seriously, what the fuck’s happened? Me and Rachel are just friends! Just friends. Especially after you got married! I would never…Jeez, my mom would have my balls if she found out I was up to that sort of shit!”
He sounds so sincere. Finn’s special brand of dumbness is just too unique to fake, even by Finn himself.
Jesse takes a moment to assemble this information, frowning to himself (and then instantly un-frowning, appalled at his blasé attitude towards premature wrinkling).
“Jesse? Seriously, what is this?” Finn's voice comes again, quieter but still high-strung. Jesse, of course, has no intention of revealing his motivation to his one-time rival.
“One more question Finn.” He says, interrupting the other before he can start protesting again. “Do you own a turkey baster?”
“...I don’t… I don’t really follow baseball..?”
Jesse breathes a sigh of relief.
“Thankyou Finn. Your responses have been very useful. Um… Do you have Noah Puckerman’s number?”
*
So, yes: everything did sound far more romantic in French. But everything sounded far more exotic and kooky and Yiddish, and Rachel knew which she preferred.
Also, she knew which she had more sheet music for.
Not that she was giving Maria sheet music. She'd learned her lesson about that. But she'd sat up the night previously (she thinks to Jesse's secret relief, because he came home after rehearsal looking exhausted and more than a little twitchy) and studiously copied out the lyrics of a couple of songs that wouldn't take too much re-arranging to become decent poetic verses.
She felt a little guilty passing the words (written in bright eye-catching glittery pink) across to her daughter-- neither of them were at Temple as regularly as she would really like at the moment-- but Rachel consoled herself that Maria would make her own religious decisions when she was old enough to consider them properly. For now, well, they were just appreciating beautiful music.
Or poetry. Poetry. No music.
Maria squints at the unfamiliar language in front of her (no, Rachel doesn't expect her to be able to read it; but, well: it never hurts to get in a bit of literacy training) then she glances enquiringly up at her mother. Rachel smiles at her:
"It's lovely words Ra-Ra, and I'm gonna teach you them." she explains, pointing at the paper "It's called poetry; it's amazing... you can do it at your talent show. You have an endearing speaking voice."
(She does too; God knows where that came from.)
Maria scrunches up her nose; brushes her hair away from her face with an elegant, slightly chubby hand.
"Ta-ent show? My show?" she questions.
"Your show baby." Rachel agrees, pleased at her possessiveness.
"I'm gonna sing at the show!" Maria beams, and bounces up and down a bit in excitement, her Yiddish song lyrics fluttering forgotten to the ground.
"No, baby, you're-- you're not... How about we try some of this, huh?"
Jesse's right; it is far too hard to tell her.
Rachel scoops the paper off the floor and passes it back to Maria. Then she pulls her own copy into her lap:
"Ra-Ra?"
"…Mommy?"
If Rachel didn't know she was three, she'd say her daughter was being sullen.
"You wanna copy what mommy says?"
Maria nods smally, twisting her paper in her hands. Rachel frowns for a second; then she starts to read, doing her best not to sing the words that are so familiar to her:
"Ikh vil bay aykh a kashe fregen, zogt mir ver es ken/Mit velkhe tayere farmegen bentcht got alemen?..."
Maria catches on quickly. She repeats back what Rachel quotes, a couple of words at a time, and she doesn't seem to have trouble keeping them in order. Her pronunciation is very near perfect, and Rachel finds herself asking her to repeat lines just so she can bask a bit in how wonderful her child is. Although she hates to admit it, as a child even she had problems with Yiddish. Granddaddy and Granddad will be so proud.
It goes considerably better than the interpretive dance fiasco, and Rachel's taught Maria the whole first verse before she decides to stop for a munchie break (banana sandwiches, cut like stars with the dough cutters Puck brought last Hannukah when he and Kurt stopped over).
They sit at Maria's little red plastic play table, Maria layering bread and banana and reciting the poem under her breath with a beatific little smile on her face-- probably the same one Jesse says Rachel gets when she sings easy-listening. It's sweet and domestic enough that for a moment Rachel doesn't notice; she doesn't notice that she's humming along the original tune to Maria's poetry.
Then Maria joins in.
*
"The fuck dude? You know the last time I banged someone with a vagina? 'Cos I fuckin' don't."
Jesse had forgotten how charming Noah Puckerman could be.
"Well, I know you've always felt an affinity with Rachel because of your shared religious beliefs--"
"Yeah, we're both hot Jews." Puckerman agrees modestly "So what? Artie's a hot Jew, I don't go boning him. Truth be told I like me a bit of ethnic diversity. And I sure as hell never felt Rachel's 'affinity', or whatever you're calling it-- her underwear was freakin' vacuum-sealed in high school, man."
Jesse has the feeling it would be so much easier to hang up than try to continue this conversation. He thinks he can feel a cluster headache coming on; and Lauren's almost certainly calling him back for another shot at their duet.
Jesse girds himself, and makes his last enquiry with as much authority and dignity as he can manage:
"Then there's absolutely no chance that an accident may have occurred between the two of you sometime while I was away? Perhaps on my 'Breaking into Broadway' period? Around, um, four years and two months ago perhaps?"
"St.James, are you still talking? Look. Two words: Beth Fabray Corcoran."
*
Teaching Shakespeare is almost as successful as teaching Yiddish (Maria seems determined to turn Macbeth into a rock opera); their attempts at Flamenco leave a surreptitious dent in the kitchen wall, and mime... well, just: no. Isn't gonna happen. So-- with only two weeks to go-- Rachel sees no alternative but to set about imbuing her daughter with what those in the biz call 'Diversionary Tactics'.
Rachel takes Maria's hand, pulling her up beside her and spinning both of them around to face the row of angle-poise desk lamps lined up on the second-top shelf of their book cabinet. She closes her eyes. Even when it's only pretend-- even though she should be used to it by now-- the heat of the spotlight on her skin still makes her heart all a-flutter.
She starts a little when she feels Maria's face pressing into the side of her knee:
"So shiny mommy..."
"It's ok sweetie. Here--"
Rachel picks up a pair of pink plastic star-shaped sunglasses, specially bought for the occasion. With an excitement that reminds Rachel of a certain Kurt Hummel in response to a personalised New Directions jeans jacket, Maria grabs the shades and pushes them onto her face, turning back to face the lights with new-found enthusiasm.
"You'll become used to them in no time." Rachel assures the preening toddler "But at this age it's wise to take extra-care with your still developing retinas. Just remember--" She lowers her voice to a more serious tone: "Nobody wants a squinting star."
"Squinty stars."
"Are bad. Squinty stars are bad." Rachel makes a growly face.
"Bad..." Maria echoes; but she's mostly enamoured with the lights.
So much like her mother.
"Ok, so. This is your very first lesson in what's called 'stage presence', baby. It's very important." Rachel announces, crouching down again to meet Maria's eyes.
"Singing with mommy?"
Rachel winces. "Not quite. See, we're going to start at the very beginning." she smiles sagely "As a friend of mine says: it's a very good place to start."
Maria doesn't seem to register the reference-- but that's ok. Education in classical musical theatre can come later, once Rachel's had time to sit down and prepare the relevant flashcards.
Maria lowers her sunglasses, peering curiously over the top at her mom's beaming face.
"I like singing mommy." she says very seriously "I wanna sing 'Cindrella'..."
"We will sing 'Cinderella'." Rachel assures her, pushing Maria's last agonising performance of the Disney classic to the back of her mind and leaving it there, abandoned, to be hacked to pieces in the night. "But right now we need to learn something even more important."
Maria frowns. On an older person it might have been incredulity.
With well-practiced ease, Rachel tosses her hair back, letting the dark waves ripple beautifully across her shoulders.
"How to look fabulous under a spotlight."
*
"While in a warped way I kind of appreciate that you consider me dude enough to do the horizontal salsa with another dude's wife, you should know I'm totally 100% on board with my asian princess."
"That's on board the love train!"
Jesse hears Tina giggle in the background, and then some upsetting noises that sound like her and Artie making out.
Jesse rolls his eyes: "But how can I trust you?" he asks forcefully, loud enough to drown it out: "You and Tina have only been an item again for the last fourteen months."
Artie comes back to the phone, clearing his throat to return his voice to its usual register.
"Okay, um, just so we're clear: you're asking me to confirm whether or not your wife jumped me and forced me to have sex with her? 'Cos y’know, if that’s the case, I think maybe your marriage has developed some bigger problems."
Tina’s obviously still in range. Jesse practically hears her straddling her boyfriend:
"Mmm... looks like someone else is developing a bigger problem too..."
Jesse instantly jerks the phone away from his ear. Ok, he can't ever imagine Rachel being with Artie, as friendly as they are. And the boy has a point of course: his situation surely doesn't give him much opportunity for impromptu proactive ravishing.
As if in direct reaction to his thoughts, the wet, giggling noises of Artie and Tina on the phone become more pronounced. Jesse slaps his hand over the earpiece.
No. He certainly can't imagine Rachel being determined enough and angry enough to go through the rigmarole of figuring out the do's and dont's of paraplegic sex all on one drunken whim.
"Artie?"
"...Yeah?"
"Thankyou. My list of suspects is depleting by the minute."
"Sure thing. I'll let you know. It'll be...good...um..."
Jesse hangs up. Clearly, Artie's far too distracted to converse.
*
Jesse’s pen hovers over the next name on his list, unconsciously written with less vehemence than all the others: William Schuester.
A moment of uncertainty, then Jesse drags his pen through the letters.
Surely not, he thinks. Rachel caused the glee tutor far too much psychological damage for him to consider her a viable post-divorce rebound. Besides: his hair is atrocious.
*
"Sometimes I think we own too many sequins..." Jesse muses, picking gingerly through the rainbow of glitter-filled boxes in front of him. Rachel winces as he finds some especially heinous holographic ones and holds them up in sardonic example:
"Do you really want her to look like a mirror-ball?"
Rachel tucks a stray strand of hair irately behind her ear.
"Perhaps if she blinds the audience with shiny they won't notice how her voice is making their eardrums bleed..." she mutters, feeling immediately guilty and exorcising it by squeezing out another painstaking line of glitter-glue onto Maria's already neon-pink tutu.
Jesse puts the box down and after a moment (where Rachel watches the battle between being cocky and being comforting play across his features) he comes around behind her and kisses her gently on the side of her neck before starting to knead his fingers into her stressed-out shoulders.
Rachel lets her eyes fall shut: it feels like heaven.
"Mommy, mommy! Daddy! Look at me! Look at my shoes!! LOOK AT MY SHOES!!"
Rachel's eyes snap open again and she forces a smile that's probably more a horrifying grimace across her face:
"Oh, wow cookie, they're... lovely, aren't they lovely daddy?"
"Yeah, lovely baby girl." Jesse echoes, in a voice that doesn't sound quite like his: "Why'd you use so many feathers?"
Maria bends down to stroke her marabou-covered footwear. "They're so soft now, like bunnies!"
Rachel feels Jesse's fingertips tighten a little on her shoulders. "Bunnies? Don't you mean 'birdies' care bear? Y'know, because of the feathers?"
Maria gives him a withering look, then tilts her foot to look at her shoes again:
"Bunnies." she says decisively, then plonks herself back on the floor to begin bedazzling her socks.
"She's going to look like an ostrich..." Rachel hisses dazedly, and Jesse instantly resumes his shoulder-rub: "She's going to look and sing like an ostrich! Why did I think costumes were a good idea? 'Diversion tactics'?? No-one is going to be diverted from looking at the ostrich girl!!!"
"Hey, it'll be ok." Jesse tries to be soothing "We'll redo the shoes when she's sleeping. It'll be fine."
Rachel wishes she could believe him. She cocks her head and watches distractedly as Maria takes a break from her clothing customization to stick a couple of love-heart sequins to her cheek, humming happily to herself all the while.
Surreptitiously, Rachel blocks her ear with her finger.
"Hairography." she whispers eventually "Do they make wigs for three-year-olds?"
Jesse leans his head momentarily against hers:
"I'll ask Kurt." he says, somewhat startlingly "I was meaning to call him anyway..."
*
"I didn't father your child, Jesse."
"Um..."
"--Put it this way:" Kurt enunciates perfectly: "if I wasn't gay before hypothetically sleeping with Rachel Berry, I'd certainly be gay in the hypothetical aftermath."
And he hangs up.
Jesse takes the phone away from his ear; squints at the screen. That was probably the shortest phone-call he's ever made.
Then he thinks back over Kurt's sentence.
"Berry-St.James." he sighs.
*
"So there's nothing wrong with her? Nothing at all?" Rachel asks again, just a little shrill.
Dr Kim shakes her head, smiling pleasantly.
"Nothing at all. Maria's perfectly happy and healthy, aren't you little one?"
Maria giggles at the finger tapped against her nose and reaches across to do the same back, only stopped by her mom's arm tightening around her waist. Obviously pleased at being given the all-clear, the toddler bursts into a bumbling chorus of 'Get Happy' and Rachel stares wildly at her for a moment before whipping her head back round to gaze desperately at her GP:
"But there must be some--"
"--She had a cold, a few weeks back." Jesse interrupts, stopping his wife with a hand on her knee. "It hit her pretty hard; she couldn't talk..."
Rachel catches his eye and her face instantly contorts into its most concerned expression:
"She was in bed for days." she adds, nodding sincerely.
"It could've been the flu." Jesse suggests "She had a temperature, didn't she Rach--?"
"-- 102, easy--"
"--influenza can have serious long-term affects in children, isn't that right--?"
"--sinus damage, eardrum rupture--"
"--don't you think a few days bed-rest could be the most effective prescription--?"
"--just to be on the safe side--"
"--EXCUSE ME."
The two Berry-St.James' mouths snap shut, their desperate improv cut brutally short by the normally lovely Dr Kim's steely rebuke.
The doctor gets to her feet, hooking her stethoscope pointedly back around her neck.
"Your daughter, as I said, is perfectly healthy. All signs of any 'flu' are long gone." Dr Kim looks like she's struggling not to use air-quotes "She'll need to come in for some booster shots in a month or two, but for now? She's free to go. As are you. If you don't mind, I have patients waiting."
And she holds the door open, revealing the waiting room full of sniffling babies and harassed mothers and miserable looking kids with chicken pox.
After a moment's helpless blinking, Rachel and Jesse get stiffly to their feet. Maria slides off her mom's knee, taking her hand instead and toddling along beside her parents as they file out, still mumbling her cheerful little song:
"...Sun is shinin’, c’mon get happy, c'mon ev’rybody la la la..."
Back in the car, Rachel and Jesse glance despairingly at each other, then at their vocally-challenged daughter reflected in the rear-view mirror.
That was their last shot. Their very last shot.
The talent contest's tomorrow.
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
xxx
Fandom: Glee future!fic
Pairings/Characters: Rachel/Jesse, Kurt/Puck (vague implied), Maria Melanie Berry-St.James (OC), random appearances by some old friends.
Challenge/Prompt: A super late response to x_clemonlemon 's prompt on the glee_fluff_meme: Rachel and Jesse realise their daughter cannot hold a note and is completely tone-deaf. Cue the horror. Bonus! for their reasons as to why she's tone deaf.
Rating: PG, for the odd unexpected f-bomb.
Word Count: (This part) 4902
Genre: Gen
Copyright: I don’t own ‘Glee’ or anything to do with it.; I just have vivid hallucinations.
Summary:
Author’s Notes: Ok, so, this was meant to be a ficlet and turned into an epic fluffy multi-part behemoth that ate my brain. It’s probably not as fluffy as you wanted, but I hope you like it anyway :).
Rachel buries her nose further into her pillow, huffing in the soothing lavender she always adds at times of stress. She closes her eyes; tries to level her breathing, matching the rhythm with Jesse's; listens to her own heartbeat and tries to be calmed by it.
No good. Her eyes snap open again, bleary and sore with lack of sleep, mocked by the sight of the alarm clock on the cabinet beside her: 3.56am.
She shifts, as quietly as she can manage, although she knows Jesse's only pretending to sleep as well. She feels him sigh heavily against her hair; run his toes gently along the back of her calf:
"Do you want to--?"
"--I don't wanna sing about it." Rachel cuts him off, mumbling into the edge of the duvet. She feels how his body tenses in panic. Like most men, he has about one response to stressful situations. Unlike most men, it isn't sex.
Irritated by her husband's slightly condescending silence, Rachel flips over to face him, beginning again the conversation they've had at least five times since they got home.
"We can't simply not enter her-- It would be immediately suspicious! Especially considering it was our petition that led to the expansion of their arts stream in the first place! Maria already has an expectant audience-- if she doesn't deliver the show-stopping debut anticipated, her professional reputation might be permanently disfigured!"
Jesse grimaces: "Damn YouTube--"
"--Exactly! And in a city as competitive as LA? One humiliating video clip could mean the retraction of a college scholarship."
They stare at each other through the hazy darkness. They both know how invaluable their college scholarships had been, and the idea of never having the chance to perform in a city where it really meant something? To have been stuck at some tech college in Ohio?
Despite the repetitiveness, Rachel can feel the tears beginning to sting behind her eyelids again.
One of the curses of being able to cry on command is that she sometimes does it without meaning to.
"Hey..." Jesse reaches over, pulling Rachel closer, cradling her body protectively against his. Rachel gives a big, inelegant sniff. He's always been good for a sympathetic cuddle, has Jesse.
"Well, maybe," he suggests "we enter her and then have to... 'unexpectedly' leave the state? Huh? Could one of your dads fake a stroke?"
Rachel screws up her forehead: "They do love the chance to exercise their acting abilities..."
"Or, perhaps, my parents come home for a week? We would have to visit, they haven't even met Maria yet."
For a moment Rachel considers. Then she remembers; pokes a finger into his hip:
"We can't-- It's only two weeks before your opening night." (They'd been very vocal about Jesse's lead debut; there were flyers pinned to every notice-board within ten blocks of their apartment) "Everyone knows you would never leave town during such an essential rehearsal period."
"Amazing how often a stellar reputation can work against you." Jesse muses mournfully.
"How about..." Rachel's forehead is scrunched up with thinking "we allow her to enter, but a few days beforehand we pull her out with a sick note? We could say acute Laryngitis? Or maybe something infectious would be better, so no-one will be tempted to visit..."
"How to explain to Maria though?" Jesse says, nestling his chin against the top of Rachel's head "I don't think she would take it well. She really wants to compete..."
Rachel feels the corners of her mouth start to tug downwards again: "...She can't compete." She sulks. Then: "Ugh-- We're awful parents!"
"No, we're not..." Jesse tries to sound dismissive, rubbing soothing circles into her back "We're just... protecting her from premature exposure to professional heartache."
His reasoning is valid, Rachel supposes. Yet somehow, it isn't convincing. She closes her eyes, breathing through her nose to try and halt any burgeoning sobs. She feels her mouth tighten again as Jesse cards his fingers through her hair, smoothing it out across her shoulders. It's meant to be reassuring.
"...I just don't understand." she tells him in a whisper "She's a Berry-- she should be swimming in extraneous talent."
Jesse snorts: "More than that: she's a Berry-St.James-- her talent should be large enough to warrant its own Livejournal community."
For long, long minutes they lie there-- stuck for words, and more than a little unnerved by the occurrence.
Rachel tunes out everything except her husband's fingers curling in her hair; the ever-present rumble of traffic rushing past outside their window. The thing about LA: it's never quiet. Not in the way Lima was, where you could walk down the street at four o'clock in the morning and no-one would notice you except the cats, and possibly Jacob Ben-Israel, hiding in the bushes beside your driveway.
It seems such a long way to here from there. A long road. Here, Rachel still might not have the high-flying friends she imagined: but she has a bunch of really close ones, and a husband she loves, and a beautiful daughter. Lima was too small for Rachel, in the end. It might be harder for her star to shine here, in amongst so many others; but Lima suffocated it.
Like her and Jesse were trying to suffocate Maria's?
"No." Rachel says suddenly, and feels Jesse's hand pause mid-stroke in surprise as he glances down at her. "No, you're right. Maria's a Berry-St.James." she says decisively: "If she wants to compete, she can compete-- against anyone! And win against anyone!"
Rachel rubs the heel of her hand across her eyes and pulls out of Jesse's embrace, propping herself up on her elbow.
"The answer's been staring us in the face this whole time." She explains excitedly: "It's a talent contest, correct? A good, old, non-genre-specific talent contest. There's no rule that says Maria's entry has to be singing."
Except me, except me I want her to sing, I want her to sing and sing with me, with us, and be wonderful.
"She could do anything!"
"She can dance." Jesse says, sitting up as well, catching onto her train of thought "She has exceptional coordination."
Rachel nods, a little wildly: "Yes!--"
"--Although ballet or tap would be far too pedestrian at a pre-school talent show... we'd have to coach her in something more... unexpected."
Rachel thinks for a second, then holds up a finger of triumph: "Flamenco." she announces.
"Ok..." Rachel thinks Jesse's looking at her funny, although it could just be lack of sleep "But how about jazz?"
"Ballroom?" she tries again: "Always a crowd-pleaser."
"She'd need a partner..."
"Interpretive?"
"Or perhaps not dancing..." Jesse ponders, rushing ahead "How about drama?"
"She could perform scenes from classical literature; from Shakespeare! It would be spellbinding--"
"--She could read poetry, romantic poetry--"
"--In French!"
"--Yes, everything sounds far more accomplished in French..."
"Oui, tout retentit bien plus accompli en français."
Jesse grins at her, grabbing hold of her hand and squeezing tightly, his eyes once again sparkling with possibilities.
They stare at each other, breathing hard with excitement. No: of course their suggestions aren't simply more and more elaborate attempts to obscure the fact their daughter (her of the impeccable musical lineage) can't hold a note to save her life. What a ridiculous suggestion. They're good parents. They have nothing but Maria's best in mind.
Rachel watches Jesse physically wince as she tightens the grip of her fingernails in the back of his hand.
"Mime?" He suggests finally, weakly: "There's always mime..."
*
Jesse isn't particularly proud of what he does next.
But it was something Rachel said--"She's a Berry!"-- and she always says it, he always has to correct her, and now with Maria's unexpected tunelessness...
'Cos he doesn't really doubt it. He doesn't-- Maria's far too adorable to have been the product of anything but the most impeccable genetics. But still... Rachel has so many boy friends; and Jesse had been away so much that summer, and 'straightforward' had never really been a word that applied much to their relationship.
Of course, full-day rehearsals aren't exactly conducive to private investigation; but when evil, bitter director Mr Sukowitz (the name seems to have stuck) gives them all five for a Gatorade break, Jesse puts on his best don't-even-think-you're-important-enough-to-converse-with-me expression (very well rehearsed), digs his phone out of his bag and sprawls out on the step at the back of the stage-door.
He scrolls through his contacts, swigging his Gatorade and letting the breeze cool the sweat on his forehead. Gosh, but he has a lot of contacts. A number possibly only exceeded by his number of Facebook friends.
He stops, and clicks on a name that, until today, was only in his phonebook to make some kind of obscure point about how mature and superior he was.
Jesse stares at it for a minute or so; then-- whipping a small, neatly written list out of his pocket-- he presses 'call'.
*
Being a tree doesn't come naturally to Rachel.
She fully recognises the benefits of interpretive dance-- the exhilaration of becoming another thing; discovering the capabilities of your body out-with the rigours of choreography; simplifying the bond between mind and flesh until all that's left is music and instinct.
But honestly? She sucks at being a tree.
Maria doesn't though. Maybe it's because she's still so young, a coupling of childish innocence and the pushy, self-possessed Berry genetics-- but she makes an excellent tree. She's so caught up in creating budding blossoms with her fingers, curling her arms as a storm buffets her branches, wriggling her nose to be rid of the sparrow perching on it's tip, that she doesn't even notice her mom's stopped joining in and is simply intoning the scenario with a beaming smile on her face as she re-ties her ballet pumps.
Of course, the operative word in interpretive dance, is, well... dance. Which requires music. It's the part Rachel's afraid of-- but she steels herself and scrolls through her iPod until she finds the track she's looking for as Maria whirls, happily oblivious, around the room in her tutu and spotty leggings.
It's an instrumental, a track from the Spirited Away soundtrack album. No lyrics. Absolutely no lyrics.
"Ok, cookie," Rachel sits back on the floor, holding her arms out for Maria to toddle in to. "Mommy's gonna put some music on, and I want you to show me how to dance to it, ok? Dance however you like, but make it really, really beautiful..."
Maria gives her a glittering smile; another twirl.
"I'm bootiful mommy."
"Beautiful, yes you are baby." She kisses Maria lightly on the cheek, then urges her back to the centre of the floor; presses play on the iPod.
The melody fills the room: sinuous flutes, shivering bells, ominous drumbeats. Rachel watches her daughter take a moment, a breath to compose herself, fix a first position. Then the music takes off and so does Maria, sweeping around the living room with awe-inspiring grace never before seen in an under-average height three year old.
But with the music comes the singing. The happy, joyous notes that Maria screeches along with the music in agonising harmony.
Rachel puts a hand over her mouth.
Maybe not dancing then.
*
“Finn?”
“Uh, hello?”
“This is Jesse St.James.”
“Um, yeah. I have caller id.”
“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry; I had the sneaking suspicion you may have deleted my number in a childish yet understandable act of rejection after I married the woman you were clearly still in love with.”
There’s silence for a long moment.
“Finn?”
The line crackles with heaviness of the other man’s sigh:
“…Did you want something?”
Jesse's happy to get back to the point.
“Yes, actually, I’m glad you asked. There’s no particularly tactful way to put this Finn, but I was wondering: do you recollect sleeping with my wife at any point in the last four years?”
“… DUDE, WHAT THE HELL?”
“Oh don’t be alarmed, I’m not out for revenge, I’m merely looking for some information that may help shed light on some recent… developments. I did have a more specific timescale in mind: namely, any time between April and July 2016?”
“Dude, I haven’t… slept with Rachel! Not since… not since, like, high school! What the hell is this--?”
“-Are you quite positive of that? I notice you’ve attended many of Rachel’s after-show parties Finn, and I know alcohol has a way of impairing judgement, especially if the object of your affection is emotionally fragile after the longer-than-expected absence of her loving fiance who is occupied starring in his first touring off-Broadway production--”
“Jesse, I don’t know what you’re talking about! Seriously, what the fuck’s happened? Me and Rachel are just friends! Just friends. Especially after you got married! I would never…Jeez, my mom would have my balls if she found out I was up to that sort of shit!”
He sounds so sincere. Finn’s special brand of dumbness is just too unique to fake, even by Finn himself.
Jesse takes a moment to assemble this information, frowning to himself (and then instantly un-frowning, appalled at his blasé attitude towards premature wrinkling).
“Jesse? Seriously, what is this?” Finn's voice comes again, quieter but still high-strung. Jesse, of course, has no intention of revealing his motivation to his one-time rival.
“One more question Finn.” He says, interrupting the other before he can start protesting again. “Do you own a turkey baster?”
“...I don’t… I don’t really follow baseball..?”
Jesse breathes a sigh of relief.
“Thankyou Finn. Your responses have been very useful. Um… Do you have Noah Puckerman’s number?”
*
So, yes: everything did sound far more romantic in French. But everything sounded far more exotic and kooky and Yiddish, and Rachel knew which she preferred.
Also, she knew which she had more sheet music for.
Not that she was giving Maria sheet music. She'd learned her lesson about that. But she'd sat up the night previously (she thinks to Jesse's secret relief, because he came home after rehearsal looking exhausted and more than a little twitchy) and studiously copied out the lyrics of a couple of songs that wouldn't take too much re-arranging to become decent poetic verses.
She felt a little guilty passing the words (written in bright eye-catching glittery pink) across to her daughter-- neither of them were at Temple as regularly as she would really like at the moment-- but Rachel consoled herself that Maria would make her own religious decisions when she was old enough to consider them properly. For now, well, they were just appreciating beautiful music.
Or poetry. Poetry. No music.
Maria squints at the unfamiliar language in front of her (no, Rachel doesn't expect her to be able to read it; but, well: it never hurts to get in a bit of literacy training) then she glances enquiringly up at her mother. Rachel smiles at her:
"It's lovely words Ra-Ra, and I'm gonna teach you them." she explains, pointing at the paper "It's called poetry; it's amazing... you can do it at your talent show. You have an endearing speaking voice."
(She does too; God knows where that came from.)
Maria scrunches up her nose; brushes her hair away from her face with an elegant, slightly chubby hand.
"Ta-ent show? My show?" she questions.
"Your show baby." Rachel agrees, pleased at her possessiveness.
"I'm gonna sing at the show!" Maria beams, and bounces up and down a bit in excitement, her Yiddish song lyrics fluttering forgotten to the ground.
"No, baby, you're-- you're not... How about we try some of this, huh?"
Jesse's right; it is far too hard to tell her.
Rachel scoops the paper off the floor and passes it back to Maria. Then she pulls her own copy into her lap:
"Ra-Ra?"
"…Mommy?"
If Rachel didn't know she was three, she'd say her daughter was being sullen.
"You wanna copy what mommy says?"
Maria nods smally, twisting her paper in her hands. Rachel frowns for a second; then she starts to read, doing her best not to sing the words that are so familiar to her:
"Ikh vil bay aykh a kashe fregen, zogt mir ver es ken/Mit velkhe tayere farmegen bentcht got alemen?..."
Maria catches on quickly. She repeats back what Rachel quotes, a couple of words at a time, and she doesn't seem to have trouble keeping them in order. Her pronunciation is very near perfect, and Rachel finds herself asking her to repeat lines just so she can bask a bit in how wonderful her child is. Although she hates to admit it, as a child even she had problems with Yiddish. Granddaddy and Granddad will be so proud.
It goes considerably better than the interpretive dance fiasco, and Rachel's taught Maria the whole first verse before she decides to stop for a munchie break (banana sandwiches, cut like stars with the dough cutters Puck brought last Hannukah when he and Kurt stopped over).
They sit at Maria's little red plastic play table, Maria layering bread and banana and reciting the poem under her breath with a beatific little smile on her face-- probably the same one Jesse says Rachel gets when she sings easy-listening. It's sweet and domestic enough that for a moment Rachel doesn't notice; she doesn't notice that she's humming along the original tune to Maria's poetry.
Then Maria joins in.
*
"The fuck dude? You know the last time I banged someone with a vagina? 'Cos I fuckin' don't."
Jesse had forgotten how charming Noah Puckerman could be.
"Well, I know you've always felt an affinity with Rachel because of your shared religious beliefs--"
"Yeah, we're both hot Jews." Puckerman agrees modestly "So what? Artie's a hot Jew, I don't go boning him. Truth be told I like me a bit of ethnic diversity. And I sure as hell never felt Rachel's 'affinity', or whatever you're calling it-- her underwear was freakin' vacuum-sealed in high school, man."
Jesse has the feeling it would be so much easier to hang up than try to continue this conversation. He thinks he can feel a cluster headache coming on; and Lauren's almost certainly calling him back for another shot at their duet.
Jesse girds himself, and makes his last enquiry with as much authority and dignity as he can manage:
"Then there's absolutely no chance that an accident may have occurred between the two of you sometime while I was away? Perhaps on my 'Breaking into Broadway' period? Around, um, four years and two months ago perhaps?"
"St.James, are you still talking? Look. Two words: Beth Fabray Corcoran."
*
Teaching Shakespeare is almost as successful as teaching Yiddish (Maria seems determined to turn Macbeth into a rock opera); their attempts at Flamenco leave a surreptitious dent in the kitchen wall, and mime... well, just: no. Isn't gonna happen. So-- with only two weeks to go-- Rachel sees no alternative but to set about imbuing her daughter with what those in the biz call 'Diversionary Tactics'.
Rachel takes Maria's hand, pulling her up beside her and spinning both of them around to face the row of angle-poise desk lamps lined up on the second-top shelf of their book cabinet. She closes her eyes. Even when it's only pretend-- even though she should be used to it by now-- the heat of the spotlight on her skin still makes her heart all a-flutter.
She starts a little when she feels Maria's face pressing into the side of her knee:
"So shiny mommy..."
"It's ok sweetie. Here--"
Rachel picks up a pair of pink plastic star-shaped sunglasses, specially bought for the occasion. With an excitement that reminds Rachel of a certain Kurt Hummel in response to a personalised New Directions jeans jacket, Maria grabs the shades and pushes them onto her face, turning back to face the lights with new-found enthusiasm.
"You'll become used to them in no time." Rachel assures the preening toddler "But at this age it's wise to take extra-care with your still developing retinas. Just remember--" She lowers her voice to a more serious tone: "Nobody wants a squinting star."
"Squinty stars."
"Are bad. Squinty stars are bad." Rachel makes a growly face.
"Bad..." Maria echoes; but she's mostly enamoured with the lights.
So much like her mother.
"Ok, so. This is your very first lesson in what's called 'stage presence', baby. It's very important." Rachel announces, crouching down again to meet Maria's eyes.
"Singing with mommy?"
Rachel winces. "Not quite. See, we're going to start at the very beginning." she smiles sagely "As a friend of mine says: it's a very good place to start."
Maria doesn't seem to register the reference-- but that's ok. Education in classical musical theatre can come later, once Rachel's had time to sit down and prepare the relevant flashcards.
Maria lowers her sunglasses, peering curiously over the top at her mom's beaming face.
"I like singing mommy." she says very seriously "I wanna sing 'Cindrella'..."
"We will sing 'Cinderella'." Rachel assures her, pushing Maria's last agonising performance of the Disney classic to the back of her mind and leaving it there, abandoned, to be hacked to pieces in the night. "But right now we need to learn something even more important."
Maria frowns. On an older person it might have been incredulity.
With well-practiced ease, Rachel tosses her hair back, letting the dark waves ripple beautifully across her shoulders.
"How to look fabulous under a spotlight."
*
"While in a warped way I kind of appreciate that you consider me dude enough to do the horizontal salsa with another dude's wife, you should know I'm totally 100% on board with my asian princess."
"That's on board the love train!"
Jesse hears Tina giggle in the background, and then some upsetting noises that sound like her and Artie making out.
Jesse rolls his eyes: "But how can I trust you?" he asks forcefully, loud enough to drown it out: "You and Tina have only been an item again for the last fourteen months."
Artie comes back to the phone, clearing his throat to return his voice to its usual register.
"Okay, um, just so we're clear: you're asking me to confirm whether or not your wife jumped me and forced me to have sex with her? 'Cos y’know, if that’s the case, I think maybe your marriage has developed some bigger problems."
Tina’s obviously still in range. Jesse practically hears her straddling her boyfriend:
"Mmm... looks like someone else is developing a bigger problem too..."
Jesse instantly jerks the phone away from his ear. Ok, he can't ever imagine Rachel being with Artie, as friendly as they are. And the boy has a point of course: his situation surely doesn't give him much opportunity for impromptu proactive ravishing.
As if in direct reaction to his thoughts, the wet, giggling noises of Artie and Tina on the phone become more pronounced. Jesse slaps his hand over the earpiece.
No. He certainly can't imagine Rachel being determined enough and angry enough to go through the rigmarole of figuring out the do's and dont's of paraplegic sex all on one drunken whim.
"Artie?"
"...Yeah?"
"Thankyou. My list of suspects is depleting by the minute."
"Sure thing. I'll let you know. It'll be...good...um..."
Jesse hangs up. Clearly, Artie's far too distracted to converse.
*
Jesse’s pen hovers over the next name on his list, unconsciously written with less vehemence than all the others: William Schuester.
A moment of uncertainty, then Jesse drags his pen through the letters.
Surely not, he thinks. Rachel caused the glee tutor far too much psychological damage for him to consider her a viable post-divorce rebound. Besides: his hair is atrocious.
*
"Sometimes I think we own too many sequins..." Jesse muses, picking gingerly through the rainbow of glitter-filled boxes in front of him. Rachel winces as he finds some especially heinous holographic ones and holds them up in sardonic example:
"Do you really want her to look like a mirror-ball?"
Rachel tucks a stray strand of hair irately behind her ear.
"Perhaps if she blinds the audience with shiny they won't notice how her voice is making their eardrums bleed..." she mutters, feeling immediately guilty and exorcising it by squeezing out another painstaking line of glitter-glue onto Maria's already neon-pink tutu.
Jesse puts the box down and after a moment (where Rachel watches the battle between being cocky and being comforting play across his features) he comes around behind her and kisses her gently on the side of her neck before starting to knead his fingers into her stressed-out shoulders.
Rachel lets her eyes fall shut: it feels like heaven.
"Mommy, mommy! Daddy! Look at me! Look at my shoes!! LOOK AT MY SHOES!!"
Rachel's eyes snap open again and she forces a smile that's probably more a horrifying grimace across her face:
"Oh, wow cookie, they're... lovely, aren't they lovely daddy?"
"Yeah, lovely baby girl." Jesse echoes, in a voice that doesn't sound quite like his: "Why'd you use so many feathers?"
Maria bends down to stroke her marabou-covered footwear. "They're so soft now, like bunnies!"
Rachel feels Jesse's fingertips tighten a little on her shoulders. "Bunnies? Don't you mean 'birdies' care bear? Y'know, because of the feathers?"
Maria gives him a withering look, then tilts her foot to look at her shoes again:
"Bunnies." she says decisively, then plonks herself back on the floor to begin bedazzling her socks.
"She's going to look like an ostrich..." Rachel hisses dazedly, and Jesse instantly resumes his shoulder-rub: "She's going to look and sing like an ostrich! Why did I think costumes were a good idea? 'Diversion tactics'?? No-one is going to be diverted from looking at the ostrich girl!!!"
"Hey, it'll be ok." Jesse tries to be soothing "We'll redo the shoes when she's sleeping. It'll be fine."
Rachel wishes she could believe him. She cocks her head and watches distractedly as Maria takes a break from her clothing customization to stick a couple of love-heart sequins to her cheek, humming happily to herself all the while.
Surreptitiously, Rachel blocks her ear with her finger.
"Hairography." she whispers eventually "Do they make wigs for three-year-olds?"
Jesse leans his head momentarily against hers:
"I'll ask Kurt." he says, somewhat startlingly "I was meaning to call him anyway..."
*
"I didn't father your child, Jesse."
"Um..."
"--Put it this way:" Kurt enunciates perfectly: "if I wasn't gay before hypothetically sleeping with Rachel Berry, I'd certainly be gay in the hypothetical aftermath."
And he hangs up.
Jesse takes the phone away from his ear; squints at the screen. That was probably the shortest phone-call he's ever made.
Then he thinks back over Kurt's sentence.
"Berry-St.James." he sighs.
*
"So there's nothing wrong with her? Nothing at all?" Rachel asks again, just a little shrill.
Dr Kim shakes her head, smiling pleasantly.
"Nothing at all. Maria's perfectly happy and healthy, aren't you little one?"
Maria giggles at the finger tapped against her nose and reaches across to do the same back, only stopped by her mom's arm tightening around her waist. Obviously pleased at being given the all-clear, the toddler bursts into a bumbling chorus of 'Get Happy' and Rachel stares wildly at her for a moment before whipping her head back round to gaze desperately at her GP:
"But there must be some--"
"--She had a cold, a few weeks back." Jesse interrupts, stopping his wife with a hand on her knee. "It hit her pretty hard; she couldn't talk..."
Rachel catches his eye and her face instantly contorts into its most concerned expression:
"She was in bed for days." she adds, nodding sincerely.
"It could've been the flu." Jesse suggests "She had a temperature, didn't she Rach--?"
"-- 102, easy--"
"--influenza can have serious long-term affects in children, isn't that right--?"
"--sinus damage, eardrum rupture--"
"--don't you think a few days bed-rest could be the most effective prescription--?"
"--just to be on the safe side--"
"--EXCUSE ME."
The two Berry-St.James' mouths snap shut, their desperate improv cut brutally short by the normally lovely Dr Kim's steely rebuke.
The doctor gets to her feet, hooking her stethoscope pointedly back around her neck.
"Your daughter, as I said, is perfectly healthy. All signs of any 'flu' are long gone." Dr Kim looks like she's struggling not to use air-quotes "She'll need to come in for some booster shots in a month or two, but for now? She's free to go. As are you. If you don't mind, I have patients waiting."
And she holds the door open, revealing the waiting room full of sniffling babies and harassed mothers and miserable looking kids with chicken pox.
After a moment's helpless blinking, Rachel and Jesse get stiffly to their feet. Maria slides off her mom's knee, taking her hand instead and toddling along beside her parents as they file out, still mumbling her cheerful little song:
"...Sun is shinin’, c’mon get happy, c'mon ev’rybody la la la..."
Back in the car, Rachel and Jesse glance despairingly at each other, then at their vocally-challenged daughter reflected in the rear-view mirror.
That was their last shot. Their very last shot.
The talent contest's tomorrow.
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
xxx