Author's Notes: Long chapter is long. Also, trust me. You might not like me very much, but please, trust me. A big part of the delay in this chapter was a snag in my original sketch (I've actually got the ending of the story written and skeletons for pretty much everything else), where I couldn't find a canon character to serve the purpose I needed. As a personal preference, I prefer to limit named original characters in my fanfiction so it was really driving me nuts. All I have to say is- God bless Sue Sylvester and her throwaway lines. So yup, the character is canonical, just probably not at all like what Ryan Murphy has in mind :)

I also want it to be very clear that although certain aspects of this story are inspired by Jewish cultural stories and supernatural themes, as well as themes from a variety of other backgrounds, they are not a faithful representation of these themes and no offense is intended with my reinterpretation.

Thank you:To the amazing people who helped me with my Glee trivia issues- my beta isn't familiar with Glee, so you guys are life savers. A special thank you to Chamberlin of Music who shared some brilliant, thoughtful ideas about Rachel's potential Care Bear. To all of you who reviewed, favourited and put this story on alert- I consider this story a conversation and you letting me know what you think or what worked for you really helps me improve my side of the conversation. And, since they wish to remain anonymous, but I want to thank them anyways, a huge thank you to my awesome beta without whom this story would be completely rather than mostly unreadable.

Warnings: Rated M for language, violence and suggestive sexy fun-times. Sort-of-spoilers for "Home", but not really. Don't expect episode fidelity from here on out.

Disclaimer: Glee, 'The Art of War', 'High Noon', 'Pride and Prejudice' and Jewish proverbs do not belong to me, alas.

Quick Definitions: 'Mame' or 'mameh' means 'mother' or 'mommy' and 'Bubbe' is similarly 'Granny' in Yiddish. Gehenna is the place of spiritual purification for the wicked dead in Judaism, a site at the greatest possible distance from heaven. There are some major differences from the Christian hell though - the period of purification or punishment is limited to only 12 months and every Shabbat is excluded from punishment. After this the soul will ascend to Olam Ha-Ba, the world to come, or will be destroyed if it is severely wicked. The Kol HaNe'arim (literally 'all the children') is where, during Simchat Torah, all the children are called to the front and a talit (a Jewish prayer shawl) is spread over their heads while a blessing over the Torah is pronounced. In more conservative congregations, only boys are called, but since two gay dads, I'm assuming Rachel goes to a Reform Temple. I'm also going to take creative license and pretend that the ark in this Temple is close enough to the front for it to be near where this is taking place, m'kay?

Illegitimi non carborundum is mock-Latin meaning 'don't let the bastards grind you down'.

Chapter Summary: She's done.

Chapter 4: Closing Doors, Closing Mouths

When you open a door, don't forget to close it. Treat your mouth accordingly.

-Jewish Proverb

Thursday? What is this 'Thursday' you speak of?

"Why are we in a closet?"

"We aren't in a closet. I have no idea why you followed me but, get out! Get out! And close the door!"

Rachel frantically pushes at Puck. She has seconds, minutes at the most, before they find her. Unfortunately, Puck's lovely arms, legs and chest seem to weigh about as much as the elephant at the zoo she had once tried to make move. The result is very similar. Well, except for the fact that Puck doesn't poop on her.

Rachel has a split second decision to make- run for a new hiding place or brave the closet with Puck?

A flash of knee socks in the crowd makes her decision for her.

She reaches frantically for the door, but Puck is somehow between her and her objective.

"Whoa Berry, what's got your panties in a knot?"

His face suddenly clouds thunderously. "Some asshole giving you problems?"

His face clouds even more thunderously. "Or giving you hickies?"

Rachel honestly isn't paying much attention because she is far too busy scanning the crowd behind Puck. Her frantic checking only confirms her worst fears.

It's too late.

They've spotted her.

There is a momentary pause where they seem to be marshalling their courage.

But now... Now...

The one with the cardigan is advancing.

Rachel turns, her last desperate stand filling her with righteous indignation. "This," she hisses up at Puck, "is all your fault."

xXx

After the emotional rollercoaster of Monday, it doesn't take long after waking on Tuesday for Rachel to realize that she has to focus on other aspects of her plan. Considering how frighteningly exhausted and dispirited she has been, even with the benefit of the wishes, she can't afford any more nasty surprises. She has decided that rather than one club a day she will attempt one club a week and instead put a more urgent aspect of her longterm planning into play.

Rachel knows, far better than she should, that being the best isn't enough. If she can thank Glee for anything, it is this knowledge that now drives her next set of plans. The fact of the matter is, with her remaining clubs likely to be equally as awful as her first experience, she is going to need excellent references. Her professional references she will accomplish with talent and discipline, but her academic references are going to need a little more... finesse.

It is an urgent enough problem that she has skipped the elliptical entirely. Instead she has gathered the three resources she will need: curling up at the head of her bed with her binder, her daytimer and her Jesse seated casually across from her.

"So who do you think that I should approach at McKinley for a reference?"

"Mr. Schuester?"

She's fairly sure that she has Jesse's full attention, despite what his hands are doing. By now she thinks that folding his penis into a variety of shapes is simply an unconscious habit.

She just really wishes that he was a nailbiter instead.

Shaking her head, both in response and to not look at... was that a giraffe? She bites out her answer a little more sharply than she had intended.

"Absolutely not. He would probably consider it a 'character growth' experience for me to tell the committee how I was a terrible teammate and unable to work constructively within the group."

Jesse frowns and moves his hands to frame Rachel's face. "Hold that face! You need to memorize that look of bitterness and world-weariness for your breakout role as Jafar once they finally make 'Aladdin- The We're Running out of Back Catalogue Musical'."

Rachel thwacks him with her Strawberry Shortcake daytimer before blushing. "I'm being ridiculous, aren't I?"

Jesse's impish grin doesn't exactly reassure her. "Probably not, but honestly, I've only seen looks like that in Disney movies."

"Yes well, Mr. Schue makes me sympathize with Disney villains so..."

She shrugs. "Regardless, I have to find some appropriate academic references who will enhance rather than hurt my admissions process."

Jesse strikes a pose very much like 'The Thinker' except that Rachel is pretty sure that the thinker wasn't using his other hand to play with his penis. Or maybe he was. Rachel has never been sure about statuary. It appears to do the trick though. Jesse looks smugly satisfied, which means that he's thinking of either an idea or himself.

"Why don't we run through your teachers by subject and work through any obvious vetoes?"

It's not exactly earth-shattering but Jesse looks so proud of himself, Rachel doesn't have the heart to contradict him. She briskly nods and Jesse leans forwards in interrogation mode.

"History?"

Rachel winces.

"She was the official, non-Coach Sylvester sponsor for Celibacy Club."

Jesse quirks an eyebrow. "So?"

Rachel tries very, very hard to look innocent. "I might have um... accidentally killed Celibacy Club?"

Jesse's got this look on his face and Rachel can't help start babbling. "It's not my fault! Not really! How was I to know that Coach Sylvester bugged the rooms- I thought it was still fine after I left. And really, it was just a speech about female empowerment and taking control of our sexuality! I would never have known if I hadn't contested the B+ on my paper on Artistic Freedom in Communist China!"

"And?"

Rachel really doesn't like Jesse's slowly growing smile. "They-kind-of-blame-me-for-Quinn's-pregnancy."

She winces again. "Well me and the shocking lack of sexual education emphasized by such ineffectively pro-abstinence fundamentalist fronts like the Celibacy Club."

Jesse's playing with his penis again. Rachel really, really hopes that it's subconscious.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Miss Fabray already pregnant by the time you gave your inspirational inducement to fornication?"

Rachel's eyes slowly widen.

"You... You jerk! You already knew all about it! And you made me talk about it anyways!"

Just before she throws her binder at him, something makes her pause. "Wait... what makes you think Quinn was pregnant before then?"

Jesse shrugs. "In my line of work baby deals come up pretty often, which means sticking it out for nine months of jellied stomachs. The earliest you can tell the sex of a baby with any accuracy is at four and a half months."

Rachel can see spots passing in front of her eyes, and not because Jesse's obviously been spying on her for far longer than she could have imagined. "It was never about me. It was never about my stupid obsession with Finn and him running between us. It happened in the summer. It was never about me."

Rachel knows that this doesn't excuse her own shortcomings, but the poison that was sitting in the back of her mind, dark and insidious, drains so suddenly that she feels lightheaded.

"Well maybe not for Quinn."

It's so quiet that Rachel is sure that she must have misheard Jesse and since what she thinks he said makes absolutely no sense, she decides that ignorance is the better part of happiness. Especially since Jesse seems to just be smiling blandly and smoothly continues before she can think on it anymore.

"Math?"

"I corrected five answers on our last test just at the moment that the school superintendent stopped in to do a classroom tour."

"Chemistry?"

"My partner set the lab bench on fire while trying to pour chemicals down my shirt and blamed me."

"English?"

"I discussed the homosexual undertones in 'Of Mice and Men' and he thought that I was promoting pseudo-incest. Or sex with rabbits. There was too much spit for me to completely understand."

"Biology?"

"I looked for information on where we were getting our dissection materials from in order to make sure the source was as humane as possible. Apparently one of Principal Figgins' budget saving measures involved importing frogs from an exotic animal smuggling ring."

She winces.

"Armed federal agents stormed the lab."

Jesse's just staring at her and there's something like pride or... fondness? Rachel dismisses the thought as soon as it occurs- she's quite aware of Jesse's formidable acting abilities.

"Okay, why aren't you in private school?"

It's obvious that he's half-seriously joking, but it is an unfortunate sore point and Rachel can't quite manage a Smile of Indifference with her reply. "My fathers thought that it wasn't a good idea to encourage my stunted and inappropriate social skills."

She can't look at him and instead bends her head over her binder, trying hard to stop her traitorous eyes from itching. "It's hopeless, isn't it?"

She nearly falls off her bed in shock when Jesse's hands appear on either side of her face, holding her in place so that she meets his suddenly serious eyes.

"Rachel, just because they're not enough, doesn't mean that you have to be less. You're not thinking about this the right way. Admittedly, you don't have my exceptional skill and natural abilities in the necessary arts, but you know what you need to do. What does 'The Art of War' say?"

Rachel's eyes widen in sudden understanding. "If you know both yourself and your enemy, you can win a hundred battles without a single loss."

There's something else from 'The Art of War', something she needs to remember-

"Precisely. You know yourself. So now you need to know your enemy. How else did you deal with Sandy Ryerson?"

Rachel is dazed.

It's so obvious.

"I need to know about them. What they like, what interests them, how to best approach them and get on their good side-"

"-how to blackmail them if necessary."

Rachel glares at Jesse. He shrugs, sporting a completely unrepentant grin. "What? It's a tool."

Rachel decides to surprise him and lets Grin of Devious Planning Number 69 slowly spread over her face. "Actually, it's just that it's too much work over the long term. Much easier to keep them under control if you have a single strike or a long term campaign where they grow fond of you."

Jesse's staring at her as if he's never seen her before. His pupils are starting to dilate and his breath is coming deeper and harsher.

Rachel wonders if he's having a heart attack.

She guesses not because he manages to speak, even if his voice breaks midway.

"AN-yways, so you want me to do some research? Stake out the enemy? I can use my fabulous spying and data acquisition abilities to spend the day seeing what I can dig up."

Rachel swallows the lump in your throat. "You'd do that? Really? It... wouldn't cost me anything?"

"Hey," and his whole face softens as he tilts her chin up towards him. "Acting in your best interests, right?"

"Can I-" She can't bear to look at him, but she needs this.

"Can I get a hug too?"

Her eyes sting as she feels his arms wrap around her without even a moment of hesitation. She thinks though that she must be imagining the roughness of his voice as he leans into her ear.

"Hugs are always free."

Just sitting there in his arms Rachel feels safe in a way she doesn't think she's ever known.

She can't allow that.

Trying very hard to smile harmlessly and a little stupidly, she pushes off of both Jesse and the bed. She can't quite miss the way Jesse's face hardens momentarily before it... changes. Suddenly, he's off the bed and... gliding towards her. The way he's looking at her...

Rachel is afraid in a way that even bone-white claws couldn't inspire.

He stops in front of her, so close that Rachel feels her temperature rise from his heat. His voice is as smooth as his walk, but with something dark that eats away all of the security she had felt before.

"Hugs might be free, but there are so many other... pleasurable activities in this world."

He's so close.

G-d, why is he so close?

"I know you, Rachel. You want everything."

His fingers.

They're only barely touching her skin.

How can he do that?

Her arm has never felt like that before.

"Why should you deny yourself?"

His lips.

They're coming closer, brushing her chin, her cheek, her ear...

"You going to give me your wish, darling?"

She shakes off the pinpricks of sensation where his fingers (his lips) touched her, but can't help backing up a step or two. "N-no."

Jesse's smile is impossible to read as he leans into her, his lips faintly tracing the shell of her ear. "Let me know if you change your mind."

He pulls back abruptly, sauntering towards the door in a way that makes it impossible for her to look away.

Barbra, he's good at making her believe he's-

And then she remembers.

She remembers the verse from 'The Art of War' that she had forgotten. Staring at Jesse as he, for once, opens the door, she mouths silently, "All warfare is based on deception."

And the door closes.

xXx

Jesse's gone by the time Rachel is able to bring herself to leave the room.

Rachel realizes how used she is already to having someone to talk to when she catches herself every few minutes turning over her shoulder to direct some thought or comment to Jesse.

This only deepens the sinking sensation in the depths of her stomach.

She knew that he wanted her to make her third wish.

She just didn't know how far he was willing to go in order to achieve that.

The worst of it is, she's starting to expect him. To expect his comments, his casual touches, even his unspeakably awful tendency to hum 'Raise a Little Hell' in his sleep. She can't let expectation become need.

It's hard.

Her fathers love her, but sometimes the deep, poisonous part of herself thinks that she became less interesting, less desirable to be around the more she grew up. She knows it's just that they trust her to manage herself and that there is an entire country that needs their services and they are always interested in her on their phone calls but...

Nobody touches her affectionately.

And G-d, everytime Jesse casually wraps an arm around her shoulders or flicks her nose or curls up at her back, she's almost willing to promise him anything, anything at all, if he'll keep doing it.

She can never let him know.

"The clever combatant imposes her will on the enemy, but does not allow the enemy's will to be imposed on her."

Her smile is grim, but determined.

Today it seems that the guerilla musical will be a little lacking in chorus, instrumentation or even notes. But she can't imagine entering McKinley in this mood with anything less than 'The Art of War' as her companion.

She may never find that quiet place where she can rest and be herself, but by G-d, she's going to climb so high that all they'll taste is stardust.

xXx

As Rachel strides up to the doors of McKinley, she can practically feel the tumbleweeds rolling past her. It almost makes her regret not wearing her denim skirt and suede cardigan. Almost.

As she throws open the doors she can't help muttering, "If you're honest you're poor your whole life and in the end you wind up dying all alone on some dirty street. For what? For nothing. For a tin star."

She realizes that she probably needs to cut back on her secret vice of late night Western re-runs, particularly since she suspects that it is affecting her acting decisions. She can't help but smile anyways. "No worries Marshal, I'm done with tin stars. Only gold from here on out."

It almost disappoints her that none of the people on her to-be-avoided list are there for her to confront. She really wants a confrontation.

"Though we have heard of stupid haste in war, cleverness has never been seen associated with long delays."

Unfortunately delays are inevitable because, well, G-d hates her, and for the first time in well, ever, nobody who makes her blood pressure soar appears before she has to go to class. Rachel eventually gives up and works on some material for her private lesson that evening, with much sullenness. How is she supposed to conquer McKinley when the opposing armies won't even show?

The fact that she keeps seeing flashes of the Cheerios uniform out of the corner of her eye she puts down to massive paranoia, rather than a potential source of confrontation.

Because G-d hates her, and hated her even before she started watching Jesse make his penis into a palm tree, the morning is painfully dull. Her only potential confrontation comes at the end of second period and it is so utterly bizarre that Rachel has no idea what prompted it, even before it is cut abruptly short.

Shortly after English, where she keeps her head down and avoids making eye contact with the teacher or Tina or Kurt, Rachel is startled by someone grasping the sleeve of her dancing penguin sweater.

Since Rachel has been so busy trying not to draw the teacher's attention until she has worked out a plan of attack, she had no idea that Tina wanted to speak to her. She thinks, more than a little coldly, that it's very unusual for Tina to be the one to deliver the usual threats and publicly at that.

That's before Tina actually starts talking.

After an awkward exchange of greetings and comments on the assignment, Tina starts moving her hands back and forth in some kind of pattern, opening and closing her mouth at least three times before the words finally come.

"My grandfather was at Temple and h-h-he said y-y-you..."

Tina makes a strange little gesture with her hands while staring at Rachel in mute appeal.

Rachel is starting to get a little concerned. Tina only brings out the stutter now when she's nervous and the precipitous ending to her sentence isn't exactly filling Rachel with warmth and rainbows. Tina hasn't gone to Temple in years and her mother only attends infrequently, so Rachel has no idea why sweet, elderly Mr. Cohen would see any reason to bring up Rachel to his family.

She smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring manner- it is in fact a blend of Reassurance 4 and Non-Threatening 2 (work in progress). "He said I?"

"Tina!"

Kurt is standing a few feet over, his arms crossed, tapping his foot.

"We have to go do that thing."

Tina blinks. "Thing?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Yes, the thing."

Tina strangely, looks a little bit embarrassed, and won't meet Rachel's eyes as she mumbles. "Oh that thing. S-s-sorry R-r-r-achel, I've got to go."

Rachel stands there for a few moments, trying to figure out what just happened. She shakes her head briskly and wonders if the reason why everyone thinks that she is crazy is because they are all completely insane.

She shrugs. It's all just more information for her tactics development. After all, she needs to remember that, 'As water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions.'

Even so, she's fairly sure that Sun Tzu never had to deal with Kurt.

As bizarre as her encounter with Tina is, it precipitates what she has been waiting for all day- a series of showdowns.

None of which work out the way she expected.

But what is the purpose of tactical maneuvering except to turn misfortune into gain?

If only she could be sure that she actually wants what she gained.

xXx

Her first confrontation comes at the very beginning of lunch. The only unexpected aspect of it is that it took this long to happen. After all, if there is one constant in Rachel's life it is Jacob Ben Israel's ability to lock on to her location like a particularly advanced piece of military equipment.

She's staring blankly at her locker, trying to decide whether to go to the auditorium or the music room since she seems to be without Jesse, when she feels the slime oozing in her direction. Sure enough a quick pivot brings her face to face with a disturbingly enthusiastic Jacob.

"Word on the street is-"

So much for a desire for confrontation. There is no way that Rachel is going to let him continue.

"Is this the same street that houses the polling company for your Dockers? Because I'm not interested in hearing about anything from there."

Rachel spins on her heel, hoping to make a fast exit. Courage and military tactics be damned. Sun Tzu had clearly never planned for hormonal, obsessive, stalkeresque Jewish nerds.

"You're dating Noah Puckerman!"

Rachel pivots back so fast she almost gets whiplash.

"What?"

Jacob's eyes are glinting in a disturbingly enthusiastic way.

"Mommy could speak of nothing but your sordid display at Temple. Is this why Jesse St. James really left? Because you were doing the horizontal mambo with them both at once? Or maybe you were doing them together and-"

Jacob's panting and turning red and-

No.

Just no.

Confrontation is go.

"Jacob," Rachel says flatly. Amazingly he closes his mouth, even if he's leaning in a little closer than she would like.

"Do you remember my seventh birthday at the Jewish Community Centre?"

Jacob's mouth is still closed, even if he looks puzzled whilst nodding. Rachel should have tried this earlier.

"What did I do at the Jewish Community Centre for my seventh birthday?"

"A routine where you were dressed in a star-spangled skirt that showed off your already delectable legs."

Well he remembers. And ewww...

Rachel bravely soldiers on.

"And what happened?"

"You did something with chairs, a piece of fruit and a baton and then-"

She can see the moment that he really remembers what happened.

"And then?"

"And then Puck picked up the piece of fruit you'd tossed into the audience, threw it at you so that you lost hold of the baton, you tripped over the chairs and the entire audience saw your Elmo underpants."

"And do you know how long it took for the JCC crew to stop calling me 'Tickle Me Rachel?'"

Jacob blinks. "Until last Wednesday?"

Rachel's lips tilt up in a grim smile. "Exactly."

She steeples her fingers together and is pleased when Jacob actually takes a step backwards. "Simchat torah. Eleven years old. When the Kol HaNe'arim was called out."

Jacob actually winces. "The reason the Puckermans aren't allowed to attend Simchat torah until Puck moves to another continent?"

Rachel's smile is more a baring of teeth. "And why is that?"

"Because when they were placing the talit, Puck said it looked like your skirt and he wanted to see if your panties were just as ugly and flipped up your skirt knocking you forward and ultimately making all of us fall like dominoes until someone knocked the eternal light into the ark."

Rachel and Jacob both simultaneously flinch.

"And then everything was on fire."

Rachel is momentarily distracted because she realizes that a surprising number of stories involving Puck end that way, but she realizes that she needs to make her point irrefutably.

"And when did Rabbi Greenburg stop making stupid jokes about how good little Jewish girls need to be careful not to light the flame of love without the fire extinguisher of faithful morals?"

A bead of sweat rolls down Jacob's forehead.

"Er... my Mom told me that one at dinner yesterday."

Rachel takes a deep breath. She really, really doesn't want to bring up the next one, but it's not as if it is not already known to the entire world. She wonders how much worse it would be to say this out loud if she hadn't made her wish. She hopes that Jacob doesn't notice the slight tremor in her voice when she speaks.

"Fifteen. First day of Freshman year. First few steps into McKinley."

Unlike her other scenarios, Jacob looks well pleased to be remembering this one. His voice is dripping with smugness when he replies.

"It was what awakened me to how well you would please me physically once we started getting it on."

Well, one more thing to thank Puck for.

She makes a mental note to put her plan for Jacob into operation sooner rather than later.

Jacob's got an incredibly disturbing smile on his face as he continues reminiscing.

"I was fortunate enough to be standing near the door and have never been more grateful that G-d chose me to be in the right place at the right time. So you walk into the school and throw yourself-"

"I. Tripped."

Jacob takes one look at her face and noticeably whitens before hastily correcting himself.

"You tripped onto Puck, knocking both of you to the ground, where you grabbed his-"

"I accidentally landed-"

Jacob backs up a step.

"You accidentally landed on his penis while exposing your incredibly luscious 'shooting star' panties to the entire hallway. Then Puck pushed you off and said, 'I know you're desperate for the Puckster, but Puck doesn't fuck crazy.'"

Rachel closes her eyes.

"And what then?"

"'The captain of the football team said, 'I don't care about crazy- I'll fix the chick who's begging for it.' Puck said, 'Nah, I'll cool her down,' grabbed someone's slushie and threw it in your face.'"

There's a detachment, as if she's asking these questions from across the vast void where all her hurt would lie.

"And what was the outcome?"

"The Cheerio captain thought you were willing to fornicate with her boyfriend when she wasn't and started drawing luscious pornographic pictures of you in the bathroom. The football captain told the school how awesome your wet bra was so he got Puck to start a regular routine of slushies in order to get on the team which led to more pictures in the bathroom and more conversation about how depraved and desperate you were."

Jacob perks up. "Did I mention how much I like depraved and desperate?"

Rachel tries not to think about that or about how... thorough Jacob's reporting skills are.

"So what is the common thread in all of these scenarios?"

"That Puck likes to see your underwear?"

Rachel will not scream. She will not scream.

"That Puck has spent years making my life a living hell!"

Jacob is pressed spread-eagled against the nearest locker.

Huh.

Maybe that was a slightly inappropriate volume.

However, if Jacob is sufficiently terrorized her point is well made.

Unfortunately Rachel has reckoned without Jacob's Jacobness.

She really shouldn't be surprised after years of direct and empathetic rejection that merely yelling only delays his behavior for a few seconds. He's already sidled up towards her again, something that Rachel has classified as the Perverted Reporter gleam in his eyes.

"But you've already dated Puck."

Yes. Because she was desperate for somebody, anybody to actually want her.

Well that and she'd had, much to her self-disgust, several very pleasurable evenings spent imagining him using that disgusting mouth of his for a much better purpose.

But she's hardly sharing that with Jacob.

"Tactical maneuvering consists of turning the devious into the direct."

It is possible to be both bluntly honest and completely misleading.

"Did you say something?"

Rachel blesses her ability to blush on command.

"I can't conceal anything from your keen sense of observation, can I? Well knowing my history with Puck, someone as intellectually gifted as yourself must realize that there was an ulterior motive to our relationship."

Jacob preens and lands right where Rachel wants him. Well, not where she really wants him, which would be anywhere that she isn't, but close enough.

"Of course I know! So er... what was the motive again?"

Rachel smiles the Soft Smile of Nobility and Martyrdom Twenty Three and One Eighth.

"Well, his mother really wanted him to date a Jewish girl..."

"Oh. That actually makes sense. Hey... My mameh-"

"Not going to happen."

And that should have been the end of it.

But apparently every time she thinks that Jacob can't go any lower she discovers that he's digging a hole to China.

"Oh I think it is. Tell me Rachel, how did people treat you when you were chasing after the boy with a pregnant girlfriend the first time? You barely survived that socially. A second time... Well, if you think pornographic pictures are as bad as it can get, you are adorably naive."

Rachel turns very slowly and speaks in the tone that her fathers would know Does Not Bode Well.

"And what, precisely, are you offering to do about it?"

Jacob smiles, apparently the many years of their acquaintance not allowing him to catch her undertones.

"I could be... persuaded not to make the information public, if you were willing to let the cashmere puppies out to play. At first. I might also want a few other trifling services-"

Rachel's voice is dangerously even.

"Let me see if I understand. You are threatening to publish false information so that the bullies at McKinley will rape me if I don't agree to sexually service you."

Too late, Jacob appears to realize that this isn't the Rachel he normally deals with. He gulps hard.

"T-that's not quite what I-"

Rachel raises her hand and he falls completely silent, his eyes growing wider and wider at whatever it is he sees in her eyes.

"For years, I tolerated this completely inappropriate and illegal behavior because I was afraid of what you might do to my already fragile reputation. But do you know what, Jacob?"

Jacob is actually trembling as he shakes his head.

Rachel grabs the collar of his shirt, as she pulls his face down to hers. "I. Don't. Care."

Rachel hadn't thought it was possible for someone's forehead to produce that much sweat. She can practically feel her eyes hardening into ice as she purrs, "And do you know what happens when I don't care?"

She doesn't give him a chance to do anything before she forms an entirely new smile for her repertoire, one of Feline Satisfaction while Toying with Ugly Mouse. "Your mameh gets a whole new story to tell in Temple after I make a tear-filled confession at the Daughters of Jerusalem kosher pickle tasting."

As Rachel shoves Jacob away from her she notices that the front of his pants is wet. Rachel refuses to think about which liquid is involved.

"T-they wouldn't believe you! Coming from a home with such perversion, everyone knows you have to be just as indec-"

He didn't.

He didn't just bring her fathers into this.

Rachel is completely calm as she moves towards him. She has no idea what he sees in her face, but he breaks off mid-sentence and presses himself into the locker behind him. She stops just short of him and her tone is conversational, almost friendly as she lets him see the images of his destruction in her eyes.

"Even if you erase every disgusting, filthy thing you ever posted, every perverted, invasive picture you ever took, I took the liberty of saving this information and taking web captures for the inevitable court case once I was able to leave Lima. You post so much as one innuendo, make one inappropriate, slanderous comment and I will destroy you."

She smiles.

Jacob lets out a high-pitched whimper and takes off with a strangely duck-like waddle-jog down the hallway.

Rachel's smile widens and she can't help muttering softly, "Run Jacob, run."

She lets out a gurgle of laughter as she realizes just how well she has been following 'The Art of War'.

"She will win who, prepared herself, waits to take the enemy unprepared."

Smug, satisfied and feeling remarkably self-congratulatory, Rachel turns to head to the auditorium when she notices that she has an audience.

There's a group of tiny Freshman girls, one with a Cheerios uniform no less, who are standing not very far from her and just... staring.

When they notice her one guiltily flips her phone closed and the rest of them continue to stare, their eyes growing impossibly wider.

Rachel mentally shrugs.

If someone wants to Youtube her verbally castigating Jacob she can't really see how that will make things any worse for her.

Unfortunately, she's only gotten halfway down the hallway when a strange prickling at the back of her neck causes her to spin around as quickly as possible.

They're still following her.

Rachel glares at them in the hopes that whatever power she had over Jacob holds over little girls as well, but instead of becoming scared the one in the Cheerios outfit actually squeals and says in a not-quite stage whisper, "She looked at me!"

There's something vaguely familiar about her and Rachel pales, remembering that the hallway when she staged her switch on Dave Karofsky was hardly empty. But surely she would have noticed a group of people intent on harassing her? Although considering that she spent most of Monday on evasive maneuvers...

Rachel suddenly bursts into laughter.

She really is becoming paranoid. There's no way that there's some kind of new Freshman conspiracy to make her life a living hell. She's just not that important in the grand scheme of things at McKinley. If the worst that some McKinley babies can up with as their initiation is to follow her around and stare at her until they get bored, then she really has nothing to worry about.

So even though she can hear the pitter-patter of little feet behind her, she deliberately blocks it out as she thinks on far more serious subjects.

Her 'conversation' with Jacob has brought up all sorts of unpleasant memories, one of the worst of which is her first day at McKinley. She can blame Puck for initiating nearly everything in their long, painful history but that one has far more shades of grey than she would have ever shared with Jacob.

The thing is, she's pretty sure that the initial collision wasn't deliberate. And she knows that it would have taken more talent and coordination than either of them possess for him to have somehow positioned her, without touching her, into the position she wound up in with her hand bracing herself on his penis. And it really wasn't his fault that her hand had unconsciously tightened once she realized who she had landed on. She hadn't understood –then- why there had been movement under her hand, why he had shuddered and stiffened and why her hand had been slightly damp when she was able to pull away. The thing is, after some experience with Finn 'hair trigger' Hudson, she understands. She understands that Puck was humiliated, that somehow on her very first day of school she had managed to put a shadow on his badassitude and make him involuntarily ejaculate within the space of less than a minute. She understands that he needed to do something huge in order to overcome all of this.

But it doesn't excuse him.

It doesn't excuse any of them.

She's not some sub-human punching bag that they can use to elevate themselves and bond over criticizing and humiliating. She's not some tool to use when it is convenient or when they're lonely or when they need to convince their mother that they're dating a Jewish girl. She may not be the most likable person. She's done things that are stupid in hindsight and definitely desperate with disastrous results. She can be selfish, irritating and frighteningly single-minded. None of which endears her to anyone. In fact, it is entirely possible that she is incapable of inspiring anyone to love her enough. But she doesn't deserve this.

She's done.

"On desperate ground, fight."

And that's when someone grabs her and pulls her into the nearest classroom.

xXx

"You. Of course it's you."

"Fuck Berry, you having fantasies about me abducting you and shit?"

...

"I can work with that."

xXx

"Um, no."

Rachel smiles, a little more fiercely than she was really aiming for, and starts edging towards the door. "Well Puck, as fun as this isn't, I've got places to go, people to hopefully not see."

Unfortunately Puck's guns appear to have a greater reach than her legs and the door, so close yet so far, closes in front of her, with Puck standing in front of it.

"You don't call me Puck."

Rachel isn't going to pretend this is about anything other than what it is.

"Well you didn't used to call me Berry."

He actually flinches and when he meets her eyes there's a strange vulnerability that puts a halt on her righteous indignation, at least until he opens his mouth. "I thought you forgave me for the slushies and stuff."

And Rachel's right back to furious.

"Well maybe it would be easier for you to stay forgiven if you would stop using me. Do you have any idea what my day has been like? Jacob Ben Israel attempted to use what you did in Temple to blackmail me into performing illicit sexual favors and – oh Celine- that's what Tina was trying to ask me about and now there are little girls following me everywhere! If I didn't stop him fast enough doubtless everyone thinks that I'm the evil homewrecker once again trying pathetically to steal Quinn Fabray's man. Not that I care about them, but I'll never get my references that way! And with the literal hell I'm living through right now-"

Quickly catching herself before she starts saying something she shouldn't, Rachel moves back to the material point. "So yes Puck, I'm sorry, G-d, I'm sorry that I didn't force someone else to break the news to Finn and that things are so chaotic and miserable for you right now, but I'm not your tool or your punching bag. I won't be a punching bag."

The last words are starting to waver a little and Rachel needs to leave right now. She won't let them see her cry. She'll never let them see her cry.

She doesn't want to look up at Puck- she's far too close to the edge of her control, but she needs to get through the door.

His face is completely drained of color and... are the rims of his eyes turning red?

To her amazement, he moves quickly, far too quickly, out of the way and she is out the door in seconds as it closes behind her with a decisive click.

It only occurs to her much later while sitting on the floor of the bathroom stall that she never did find out why he pulled her in in the first place.

xXx

Now that Rachel's aware of it, she notices that even between classes there is always some tiny girl just a few feet back, shadowing her as she goes down the hallway. She racks her brains to see if she can remember when this started, but honestly, Monday was such a disaster that she doubts she would have noticed if she tried. All she has to go on is that uncomfortable feeling she had after initiating the slushie war. She makes a mental note to put a lot more weight on her sixth sense. After all, what use is being a little bit psychic if you can't use it to dodge tiny, evil Cheerios?

Mainly though, thinking about Freshmen means that she doesn't have to think about Puck, who is becoming increasingly bothersome and who she is, perhaps unfairly, holding responsible for nearly every awful aspect of her school life (she is conveniently not thinking about gay dads or her own refusal to adopt a more demure, conventional persona). She is also pointedly not thinking about Jesse because if she does she'll miss him and this morning was exactly the stab in the gut that she needed as a reminder that getting attached to him is a really bad idea.

Unfortunately, not thinking about Jesse proves impossible because Rachel could swear that she once again sees him walking through the wall to Coach Sylvester's office, but she's willing to concede that her obsessive personality might possibly be leading to hallucinations.

She's so wrapped up in boys or demons or demonic boy-demon-boys –again- that it only occurs to her as her final class is ending that she has both Glee and vocal lessons to look forward to.

"Slow transition," she mutters to herself. "Slowly transition out of the spotlight so the focus can be on professional development rather than being the club donkey."

"Pretend to be weak so that the enemy may grow arrogant."

It is a good plan.

An excellent plan.

In fact there is probably an alternate universe in which no one is ever made aware of her swiftly changing view of the world.

Unfortunately, the first person she sees outside the auditorium is Kurt.

xXx

Rachel hasn't really thought that much on Tina's performance this morning in light of everything else that has happened today. Unluckily, or perhaps luckily, Kurt sees her approaching and after deliberately meeting her eyes, decides to clear up any of her misapprehensions in a loud conversation with an oblivious Tina.

"What were you thinking trying to have a conversation with Rachel Berry?"

Rachel pauses, watching Tina's back as she shrugs.

Since this is obviously performance art for her benefit, she might as well get the best possible angle.

"I was curious-"

Kurt rolls his eyes and dramatically waves his hand.

"Curiosity isn't a good enough excuse. You know how she jumps on the slightest bit of interest. Do you want her to start stalking you too?"

Rachel can't help the sudden gurgle of laughter in the back of her throat. Maybe before this would have hurt, but honestly it's just so ridiculous.

"Not tall enough," she says cheerfully as Tina turns in an almost comical rubberneck. "My obsession is reminiscent of an amusement park. You must be at least this high for me to stalk you."

She bites her tongue immediately afterwards, because they're both looking at her and she's trying to –slowly- transition her role.

Be cool, Rachel.

Be nice, Rachel.

The problem of course is that Rachel has never been cool and frankly, not caring has not increased her desire to actually be considerate of people who are, in her current unbiased opinion, horrible little gremlins.

She wonders, idly, if it has ever occurred to them that she doesn't go up to random strangers in the hallway and start discussing Broadway. That perhaps the fact that she was trying to initiate conversation and sharing her passion with them has implied that she thought better of them, or at least that they had more in common, than the 90% of their class who weren't going to leave Lima. Since that would require self-reflection, or not using her as a safe release valve for all of their tensions and difficulties, she suspects not.

She knows that she's not innocent in all this. But she's spent more than enough time cataloguing her own faults, trying to address them and then being shot down in flames at the slightest provocation. At this point, she is quite content to merely make sarcastic comments and watch the show.

She's almost eager to further expand Kurt's gaping mouth (it's like his jaw is as unhinged as his mind). But everyone else is arriving and she remembers her resolution to transition slowly. So she forces out her seldom used Bland Smile of Conformity and trails after the rest of the group into practice.

Santana's in front of her and Rachel can, rather against her will, hear her stage whisper to Brittany. "I thought that Cheerios had the auditorium today."

Brittany is staring at a strand of hair she's holding in her hand. "I dunno, Coach Sylvester's been kind of strange lately. Maybe she needs to see a psychopath."

Santana just smiles fondly, and runs a finger through Brittany's hair. "That's what her mirror is for, babe."

And Rachel is just going to pretend she never heard any of that.

She focuses on her more pressing concern- how to not alert suspicions while still dealing with the fact that she's a little bit repulsed that she has to attend Glee twice a week when she doesn't have the desire to do anything for it anymore. Luckily, Mr. Schue, with a pointed look in her direction, says that they'll be doing the blocking for Tina's solo and the three leads on another number that had apparently been decided in the hour she missed on Thursday.

Holding tight to her Bland Smile, Rachel sits as far back in the audience as she can without looking like she is no longer paying attention. This is the perfect opportunity for her to work out some ideas of her own for her private lessons, but she wonders if it has occurred to Mr. Schue that in punishing her he's also leaving three-quarters of his group with nothing to do. Considering that she suspects that fully half the group is just lip-synching anyways, this isn't entirely new, but she no longer has the desire to actually do anything about it. In fact, the thought of Mr. Schue obliviously conducting a group of mute students brings a rather unholy grin to her face.

She's settled into her seat with her binder open, pointedly ignoring the looks being shot at her lack of protest (and if Puck's expression is somehow different from curiosity and wariness, she has no idea what his problem is), when Mr. Schue makes his second announcement. "Guys, before we take this from the top, I want to let you know that there will be some reshuffling of leads in our older songs as well. I got some news today that I'll share at the end of practice and it's going to mean a little shake up in what we're doing."

While Rachel would like to think that she is the center of her own story at least (unfortunately she has long had the horrible suspicion that she is a secondary character in 'Quinn Fabray- I Don't Need A Milkshake to Bring All the Boys to My Yard'), she really doesn't think that this particular announcement has anything to do with additionally punishing her. Mainly because there would be some thinly veiled parable about her actions if it were another punishment and she hasn't done anything. Yet. That they know of.

Fortunately, Mr. Schue does seem to want to just move into practice and sets Tina up on the stage to run sound checks and blocking. Rachel is grateful to have the time to work out a potential set list to present her vocal instructor, but is a little concerned that every time she looks up momentarily, Mr. Schue appears to be watching her rather than the stage.

She's not sure what his problem is. Tina's fine. Her voice is pretty, and, honestly, a little weak, but nothing that practicing some diaphragm work and learning not to always use her head voice wouldn't solve. She supposes that he might be expecting her to share this kind of insight, but not caring means not wanting to deal with the kind of life lesson she's sure he's just waiting to spring on her should she give him the slightest opening.

If Tina is pretty, but a bit mediocre, the Finn, Mercedes, Kurt trio is a disaster.

Finn and Kurt do not blend well at the best of times and Mercedes' grace notes, without a backing group to cover the variations in modulation, are not doing the arrangement any favors. She can see that they realize that something is going wrong but none of them are willing to stop and work it out or recognize themselves what needs to be done.

The thing they have to realize is that when people are singing together, not everyone can be lead. A choral group has soloists but it also has blend and it's Mr. Schue's fault for attempting three soloists on a song that should at most have one. But they also aren't willing or able to work with the voices around them and are reacting to knowing that it is going wrong by singing louder.

Rachel knows that, even with these handicaps, they could do it- if she started them off.

It's not vanity or pride or even that she thinks she's more naturally talented than they are (although she suspects that she is). It's that she's had years of experience, lessons and competition and knows how to read, lead and perform. They've never been taught how to deal with various aspects of performance and that's partly Mr. Schue and partly their own decision that they don't want to take lessons or practice. It works when they can initially follow someone more experienced like herself, but when left to their own devices the problems become glaringly obvious. Flying by the seat of your pants is all well and good when you're competing against a reform school and a deaf choir with corrupt judges, but talent isn't enough, desire isn't enough, unless you're willing to put in the work. And you'd think that anyone who shared a school with the Cheerios or was in Cheerios would know that.

But it's not her problem.

Not anymore.

So with a mental shrug, she goes back to seeing where she can reduce the number of glottal attacks on some of the sections and transitions (she's aware that she's starting to use it as a crutch and that it is necessary to nip any affected vocal mannerisms in the bud). She can see that the rest of Glee is paying even less attention than she is. Santana and Brittany appear to be talking on their cells to one another, despite the fact that they are sitting next to one another. Quinn is alternating between scowling and a beatific Stepford wife face when anyone glances her way. She is drawing something that Rachel suspects will grace a bathroom wall sometime in the near future. Tina and Artie are doing that awkward and progressively louder flirting/not-flirting they do while playing with his wheelchair. She has no idea where Puck, Mike and Matt are.

Perhaps it is fortunate that the Kurt, Mercedes and Finn are so stubborn because Glee's time allotment is finished and Mr. Schue's hair is looking more disheveled rather than artfully disheveled by the time they stop. Rachel is selfishly grateful because it means that she is completely prepared for what she wishes to discuss at her voice lesson. She is just making some last minute notes when she gets a most unexpected interruption.

"So Rachel, we haven't heard your thoughts yet today. What did you think of that last number?"

Considering that they haven't heard anyone's thoughts today, she isn't sure where Mr. Schue is going with this.

"Pretty," she says looking up to flash a quick smile. Actually it sounded like a drunken elephant attempting to mate with a peanut stand (her one and only trip to the zoo was very traumatic) but she is sure that for someone who is tone-deaf, rhythmless and with a complete lack of knowledge of the original song that it was quite possibly pretty, so she's not technically lying.

"Yeah, if you're a fucking walrus."

For one horrible moment, Rachel is sure that she is voicing her innermost thoughts out loud (she's had nightmares about this very problem during the time period she first discovered her hormones and her love of well-defined musculature). Then she realizes that the voice is coming from directly behind her (and when did Puck move and how did she not notice him sitting that close to her?) and that it was quiet enough that she was its only recipient.

"Seriously, how'd you say that with a straight face?"

Matt's behind her too?

And speaking? In Glee?

She's trying desperately to maintain her Smile of Innocence (she has a horrible suspicion that it is far over-balanced into Manic) because Mr. Schue is still staring at her with a noticeable frown on his face.

"And what did you think of Tina's solo?"

Is this a trick question?

Rachel continues to smile as blankly as possible, but she's sure that her reply comes out a bit more questioning than she would have liked.

"Also pretty?"

She suspects her case is not helped by the sudden snort of laughter from behind her.

Mr. Schue's cold voice seems to concur with her suspicions.

"Why don't you explain what you mean by pretty?"

Rachel bites back her frustration. Honestly, they never wanted her opinions when she was eager to contribute and now that she's in the middle of sketching out transitions they decide to turn her every word into a crime procedural.

"Well Mr. Schue, I have never heard anything quite like it. I am sure that it will be lauded as a novel reinterpretation of a classic standard."

Mr. Schue is looking increasingly angry and Rachel suspects that it is not so much his dislike of her (she is not sure that he has ever really admitted that to himself) but that he feels that she is somehow mocking him (and she thinks that there is something horribly wrong that she and the Glee director have spent most of the year feeling and acting as if they were in competition with one another, other than her brief, disastrous crush).

The fact that he is taking her attempts to back away more personally than her attempts to participate puzzles her, but fortunately Finn interrupts something that appears to be about to take an unfortunate turn for the personal.

"We performed like a book? Is that a good thing?"

Rachel is trying to be honest. Why does the world continue to test her? But Finn isn't waiting for her answer (something that she has to admit happens quite frequently) and is striding towards her with a look that makes her increasingly uncomfortable.

"It's weird to not have to check under my bed for you anymore and I kind of don't like it because you're hot if you're not into boobs or having to listen. I was, like, planning to sing 'Jessie's Girl' but since he dumped you I guess I don't really have to work anymore. So I'll pick you up after Glee?"

He's got his 'aw shucks' smile, but his entire posture and presence speaks of the utmost confidence in what is about to happen. Rachel cocks her head, looking at Finn as if she's never seen him before. When she speaks her voice is full of the wonder of her revelation.

"You know... You're kind of a jerk. I think... I think that you get away with it because of your pleasant voice."

The idea excites her so much –has she finally discovered the key to Finn Hudson's mysterious powers?- that she starts outlining potential testing methods in her notebook. When she lifts her head after a few paragraphs, she realizes that perhaps that wasn't the best way to quietly transition her role in Glee.

Everyone's staring at her with varying degrees of shock, horror and... lust?

Rachel quickly looks away from Santana.

Besides, Mr. Schue looks as if his bowel movements aren't as regular as he would like. She's pretty sure that means she's about to get a lecture.

"Finn Hudson has shown extraordinary leadership skills and a remarkable talent since joining Glee. He certainly hasn't been anything but patient and understanding to Kurt or Tina or Artie or Mercedes or-"

Rachel frowns. "Maybe it's just to me then. That's unfortunate. I was looking forward to testing the effects of vocal modulation on random members of the public."

She sadly crosses out her list of Golden Age Hollywood starlets she had hoped to use as inspiration.

Unfortunately, Mr. Schue now looks like his digestion as well as his colon is affected.

"Finn represents the very best part of Glee and the best attitude towards the club and the rest of you. Rachel, you're being rude and overreacting. I don't see how you have anything to complain about and you need to apologize."

Well, that certainly lets her know where she stands. Before Rachel manages to think of anything in response, someone else beats her to the punch.

"Well, you're kind of a jerk to her too. That's probably why you don't see it, Mr. Schue!"

Brittany nods, obviously proud of herself for figuring this out.

Rachel thinks that this has the potential to go very, very badly, but, to her surprise, Mr. Schue actually pales and starts to mumble something about reconsidering set lists. Finn is still standing there looking confused and Rachel's hope that someone will take pity on him is answered when Mike appears out of nowhere and pulls Finn down beside him.

But it appears that more people than her have noticed Mr. Schue's moment of weakness. Mercedes, a little paler and more exhausted-looking than Rachel is used to, stops in front of him. "If we're looking for crazy opinions, what's your opinion, Mr. Schue, on the director of New Directions dating the director of Vocal Adrenaline?"

She's planned her moment well. Mr. Schue's eyes widen, and his voice swings up as he blurts out, "I'm not dating Shelby!"

Kurt's eyes flicker towards Finn before he glares with unusual anger at Rachel and Rachel realizes that she is beginning to understand why he might always be so irrationally upset with her. "Hardly a convincing denial. But since the source was Miss Berry, it's probably a dramatic exaggeration anyways."

Mr. Schue looks oddly like he is facing down headlights and doesn't appear to be paying much attention. "I'm not dating Shelby."

It's not that Rachel cares where Mr. Schue is hiding his non-kosher pork. It's just that Rachel can see the moment hanging in the balance, where if she fails the club will think that she is just being dramatic and assume that they can continue to treat her with the same lack of respect as always. And if Rachel is forced to sit through this at least long enough for them to attend Regionals, she refuses to be the subject of every other insulting comment. The idea that has formed in the back of her mind nearly takes her breath away. Rachel isn't entirely convinced that her theory about Finn is wrong and she thinks that this might be an excellent time to test it out.

After all, 'indirect methods will be needed to secure victory.'

So she makes sure that her voice is soft and even, her eyes wide and gentle when she speaks.

"You're right. You might not actually be dating. You might have just been using your tongue to investigate the presence of nodes on her tonsils. But-"

And Rachel shrugs delicately.

"They're in Cheerios and since Coach Sylvester hasn't gone more than thirty seconds without trying to destroy Glee, I'm pretty sure they have no room to throw stones."

She almost doesn't dare look, but when she attempts a modest glance from under her eyelashes, she finds her heart beating quicker.

Mr. Schue, Mercedes and Kurt look like they swallowed something sour, but everyone else including Santana and Brittany, are nodding in agreement and sending appreciative glances her way. Except Puck, who is staring fixedly at her with an unreadable expression and Matt, who looks... guilty?

But that doesn't matter.

They listened.

They actually heard the special Rachel vocal range.

It takes every ounce of her ability not to allow a look of scorn and disgust to reach her face.

So that's been it all along, or at least a big part of it. They can't handle assertion; they can't handle dominance expressed in voice or body language by a girl not aiming to be Head Cheerleader. Even though they have no value for her at all, merely changing her vocal tone and some clever word play was enough for them to side against the three people she has always, frankly, considered at least as irritating as her. Well now she gets to decide what to do with that information.

As she thinks it over, she realizes that Mr. Schue is making some closing remarks.

"... and the announcement I wanted to save for the very end: Jesse's uncle came in today to finalize the paperwork for Jesse to move to Bali with his parents. Unfortunately, I didn't know about this earlier and it seems to have been a last-minute decision, so we're going to have to shuffle a few of the leads around to make up for his absence. I'm sure you're all-"

"We told you! Jesse St. James was obviously a spy for Vocal Adrenaline and now we have proof."

"It's all Rachel's fault!"

"Why would anyone actually want to date Manhands?"

"What are we going to do if Vocal Adrenaline knows all about us? It'll be like Sectionals except that they're actually good."

To Rachel's surprise, Mr. Schue actually raises his voice.

"Enough! Jesse was in Bali as of this Saturday morning. I received a copy of his plane ticket as part of his paperwork. I doubt that he had the time between Thursday night and Saturday morning to teach Vocal Adrenaline all our moves."

"It's still a betrayal that he moved to Bali!"

Rachel knows that her voice sounds tired because she is. She's so tired of all of this. "Yes because Jesse's move to Bali is obviously part of some plot where Vocal Adrenaline is secretly part of an international Balinese furniture ring set to bring down New Directions. I mean it's so obvious how this is a betrayal of you that I'm sure you'll be able to inform me how badly hurt you are other than having to shuffle a few leads. I mean it's not like I was the one who was oh, actually dating him."

There's a long moment of uncomfortable silence before Mr. Schue interjects weakly, "Well um, his uncle left something that Jesse wanted me to play for the group. I-I think that I'll do that now."

Sometime today Jesse managed to make his transfer official and make a recording, despite what happened this morning? Rachel feels an unexpected surge of warmth.

"This is for everyone except Rachel."

While the rest of the club snickers, Rachel is suddenly feeling a lot less charitable. Ah well, it's not like she cares what any of them think of her anyways.

"I know that my absence is inopportune, because really, who could ever live up to my abilities? But I have no doubt that New Directions will rise to the occasion. You have a great depth of natural talent, creativity and an uncanny ability to pull full routines out of nothing at all."

"You're also all directionless bastards."

Okay, Rachel's charitableness meter is rising. Except that Jesse isn't finished.

"And Rachel? Sweetheart, you're going to be amazing. You are amazing. I'm so sorry, God, I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't want to break things off and I was a complete idiot. If there was any way I could think of to smuggle you out of there, I would have taken it. You deserve the stars. You deserve everything. You're-"

And his voice actually breaks.

"- the best thing that ever happened to me. Illegitimi non carborundum."

xXx

Rachel had never believed before.

She'd thought he was talented, both as a singer and an actor, but she had always been slightly humoring his ego and his declarations.

But he is, he is every bit as good as he's always claimed.

If she didn't know, she would think that every word was sincere.

"You bastard."

Someone's talking.

It takes Rachel a few seconds to realize that it's her.

And G-d, her mouth is still moving.

"You stupid bastard."

Why can't she stop talking?

Fortunately, Brittany's soft, puzzled voice pipes up.

"Um... doesn't he, like, really like you? I mean even if he's sort of gone away like Mr. Blue Fish and Mr. Red Fish and Mr. Boy/Girl Fish?"

Rachel doesn't have to fake the quiet, broken voice. In fact there's no thinking at all involved in her reply. "But I'm still here!"

She gets up. Glee is over. It's not really a dramatic exit if she's just leaving on time. She's not fleeing. Really.

She makes it halfway down the aisle before someone presses something into her hand.

"You might want... Perhaps you should hang onto this."

She sort of nods and fumbles the recording into her bag, trying to ignore what might be one of the first genuine looks of concern Mr. Schue has ever sent her way.

She's not sure when exactly she lost control of the situation but sometimes even the best generals need to beat a strategic retreat and regroup.

She's reached the door before someone says something and of course it's a way to put her back in her natural place.

"Well it wouldn't be Glee without a patented Rachel storm out."

As expected as the insult is, the quick sarcastic reply nearly sends her into paralytic shock.

"Yeah, I can't fucking imagine why the megadouche thought we were all bastards to her."

As Rachel quickly closes the door behind her, she doesn't know what terrifies her more- that Puck of all people defended her or that he knows what Illegitimi non carborundum means.

Her eyes widen.

Why hadn't she seen it earlier?

She'll need Jesse, a chicken and a bucket of salt.

Obviously she is the only one who can give Puck the exorcism he so desperately needs.

xXx

"No Rachel, I don't think that trapping Puck in a circle of salt is going to solve anything."

"Even if we get a chicken?"

"Especially if we get a chicken."

"But how else can we make him less demonic?"

"Go back in time and castrate Papa Puckerman."

xXx

Jesse was leaning against her car when she burst out of McKinley. His unexpected presence nearly stopped her cold. The pain that she felt at knowing the depth of the lie she was living actually did bring her to a jarring halt. She had forced herself to take a deep breath, to smile. She could only hope that demonic vision wasn't such that he had been able to see the look of ashen shock on her face.

She knows she said something when she arrived. She isn't sure exactly what it was but since she seems to be in the middle of an argument about how effective chicken's blood would be in creating a demon-trap and performing an exorcism, it must have been something about Puck. And isn't that just the story of her life?

"So he's not possessed?"

"With abysmal taste in personal toilette? Yes. By a demon? No."

"Then why is he acting so strangely!"

Rachel doesn't understand the expression on Jesse's face but his voice is soft when he replies.

"When did he start seeming to act 'strangely'?"

So much has happened in such a short time that it takes a moment for Rachel to understand what Jesse is getting at. "Just after my wi-"

"Oh."

"..."

"So it's me then, not him?"

Jesse gives a very Gallic shrug. "It could be that your perception is different now that you no longer care. It could be that he is reacting to your different perception and is acting differently. I can't say that I care to make a life study of a boy who thinks of his farts as musical accompaniment."

Rachel bites back the sudden suspicion that Jesse knows something. If she doesn't trust him, at least a little, she is going to drive herself mad. It is the bitterest of bitter comforts, but nearly everything that he's done has been because she's asked him to do it and she has to hold onto that hope. It unfortunately doesn't stop her from voicing the pattern she is starting to see.

"It's not just Puck. I think that I'm being followed, Jesse. It's quite disconcerting to have a group of Freshmen shadowing my every move."

Jesse's eyes become impossibly large. "Already?"

Rachel can't believe she just heard that. "What?"

Rachel has never seen Jesse caught so off-guard. She can actually see the wheels turning in his head as the hamsters come to a screeching halt and quickly reverse direction.

"It's just that er... McKinley always seemed so immune to your natural animal magnetism."

Really?

Really?

That was the best lie he could come up with?

Rachel tightens her grip on the steering wheel and tries very hard not to explode.

"I have the animal magnetism of a dead hamster! A zombie hamster with halitosis!"

Jesse has a very peculiar expression on his face. "You've... thought about this."

She grits her teeth. "I know my virtues. I also know my faults. How else could I expect to succeed? I've spent most of my time since hitting puberty recognizing that I appear to have negative personal appeal to the vast majority of people, despite not being physically unattractive and possessed of both intelligence and talent. I accept that. If you must lie to me, at least make it somewhat within the realm of believability. I would prefer the truth. How much worse can it possibly be?"

Jesse smiles an enigmatic smile. "So did you enjoy my tape?"

Obviously Rachel should never play hardball with a demon.

She transitions into her brightest Smile of Unaffected Cheeriness. "You were brilliant! Your remorse over dumping me at a community theatre production and leaving for Bali was a master class in thespian technique. You're an amazing actor."

Jesse's just staring at her.

"Remorse over... Bali?"

Rachel wonders why his smile is so strained. "Yes well, I've always prided myself on my ability to believably win over an audience. You might say that sometimes I even fool myself."

Rachel wants to pry, to understand why it seems like her and Jesse have been having two different conversations the entire drive, but they're already on the outskirts of Dayton and she can see the Academy coming up at the next turnoff.

Jesse seems to realize where they are as well, because he suddenly gets an incredibly (cute) devilish grin. "Oh by the way, I have news- about both your teachers and your private lessons, but I think I'll save it for tomorrow."

That reminds Rachel of something that has been bothering her (and no, she is not going to talk about her obsessive hallucinations). "Is someone actually posing as your uncle?"

Jesse freezes and looks away from her, his shoulders so tight beneath his impossibly folded wings that she's afraid that they'll snap. "No. I possessed the school secretary and convinced her that she had seen my uncle come in and deal with the paperwork I had created."

There's something seriously wrong. Jesse's voice is flat, completely devoid of emotion, but there are fine tremors in his arms, in the set of his shoulders.

Making a split second decision, Rachel bypasses the Academy entirely and pulls into an empty parking lot.

The car's stopped and Jesse's still turned away from her, trying, as far as she can tell, to curl into himself and disappear.

Rachel's not good at this. She's no good at social situations, no good at comfort. And Jesse is so far removed from the somewhat understandable motivations of her peers that he might as well be an entirely alien species (which she supposes that he is). There's no guarantee that whatever she does won't make things far, far worse.

She reaches out a tentative hand, careful to keep some distance between her and his body.

"Can I... Can I help?"

"No."

Rachel should feel rejected, but there is no musical in her mind to play to today. There is her and a parking lot and Jesse (and if somewhere in her mind some alternate future plays out, it has no place here).

She pulls out her phone and dials, carefully not watching Jesse watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Hi, it's Rachel Berry. I'm afraid that I started feeling miserable during my school glee club practice and won't be able to attend my lesson today."

"Yes, I understand that it is non-refundable on such short notice. I am very sorry for the inconvenience."

"Thank you. I'm sure that I will be able to make a full recovery quite quickly. My regime won't allow for anything else."

Without looking over at her passenger, she casually, carefully leans back against the driver's seat and closes her eyes.

It takes fifteen minutes as measured by the beating of her heart and that is a full ten minutes sooner than she had mentally expected.

Because apparently she was right- however else Jesse was acting, he couldn't hide his genuine pleasure in physical contact.

She doesn't allow herself to react at the tentative brush of fingers against hers. Instead, she slowly turns her palm towards him. His awkward entwining of their fingers is feather-light, unsure in a way she has never associated with Jesse. She forces herself to keep her breathing even, concentrating on the heat of his palm, his own slightly ragged breathing.

They sit and Rachel listens to them breathe accompanied by the beat of her heart. There's a music in this and she lets it play out, chorus and verse, until the curtain falls on the light of day.

xXx

It's pitch black by the time Rachel arrives home.

She's exhausted.

She's starting to be concerned that sitting in silence makes her more tired than verbal conflict with her various arch-nemeses.

Jesse hasn't spoken, but nor has he let go of her hand which involved some very creative one-handed maneuvering with the steering wheel (she's a defensive driver, honestly she is).

This led to some additional problems when she received the call from her fathers while in midst drive. She'd had to answer while driving one-handed, since she couldn't very well explain why she was still in Dayton (Honestly, she is a defensive driver. It's not her fault that everyone else is as slow and uncreative in their driving as they are in their day-to-day lives.). She could swear that Jesse had momentarily broken his silence to mutter something like, 'Survived Gehenna,' when she started steering with her knees, but she was distracted by the school bus from Special Flowers of Womanliness Academy that appeared out of nowhere (really!) so it's entirely possible that she was mistaken.

She, however is not mistaken in that while Jesse lets go of her hand once they reach the house, he is still not speaking. All the way through her production and serving of a quick stirfry, Rachel tries to think about what is bothering Jesse, and if there is anything she can do to somehow makes things better.

The more she thinks about it, the more her insides twist in self-recrimination.

Jesse has lost his human form, that he seems to have been attached to, is forced to spend most of his time in her company, and doesn't appear to have anything or anybody that he can call his own while on the job.

She may not understand what upset him in the first place, but she can at least attempt to provide him with a better working environment.

As a first step, she tries to give him a glass of water, but his blank look makes her want to get a glass of water, so she decides to immediately proceed to the next stage of the plan.

When he follows her up to her room, she lifts a hand to stop him mid-room, twisting her fingers nervously as she launches into her speech.

"It has occurred to me that you are lacking in anything that you can designate as your own while you are forced to bear my company. I know that psychologically it is important to have your own space and possessions and since you seem to wish to remain in my room, we'll create a Jesse Space!"

Well, he doesn't look so... dead anymore.

And the height on his eyebrows means that he's exercising his facial muscles!

Rachel determinedly plows forward.

"Due to my extreme lack of appropriate socialization, I have very little idea what boys or even other girls enjoy, and no idea at all what demons like, but I have been making some associative guesswork based on my research into popular culture."

She reaches into her closet to pull out her boxes of things that are too precious to consign to the Rachel Berry Basement Retrospective. Smiling in triumph, she proudly presents the first item.

"This is a hand-carved chess set sent by Bubbe to Dad before I was born and before she discovered that Lara was actually Leroy and ceased all communication. Demons like strategy and games, right?"

Jesse's just staring. But then, then...

"Yes."

His voice is harsh, as if it hadn't been used for months instead of hours, but she thinks that it sounds wonderful. She refuses to let the overwhelming relief show on her face and instead grabs the next item.

"This was a gift from my first voice coach before she discovered that Daddy wasn't actually interested in her and asked me to change instructors."

She hesitates a little before handing it over. "I... I know that it's a little... used, but I found the complete works of Sondheim quite inspiring and frequently returned to it when I felt myself flagging in enthusiasm. I was forced to buy a new copy when I noticed that the binding was beginning to dissolve, but I believe that if you are careful, you should be able to gain many hours of enjoyment from its pages!"

He actually starts flipping through the pages and Rachel feels her heart beat a little faster.

"We'll work out which space would best meet your personal needs and allow you to feel self-actualized once you've had some time to reflect. I unfortunately do not have a wide range of other items to give you, although we can certainly purchase more, should you express your other needs. I do have one last item to start your Jesse Space though!"

With a triumphant flourish, she pulls out the best part of the Wiggles concert date, a tangible sign of the bond, fake or not, that she and Jesse share. Also, although she won't admit it, a companion on nights when she needed something to hold.

"May I present... Tenderheart!"

Okay, Jesse looks much, much less impressed. Rachel can feel her heart fall because she had hoped, that out of everyone she knows, he would understand the power of a good metaphor. She bites back her need for another glass of water and tries to keep the tremble out of her voice as she continues.

"I know that you didn't understand why I specifically wanted this bear when we were attempting to win him, but I hope that I will be able to convince you that he is the best possible companion!"

She can't quite look at Jesse when she speaks, but she puts as much enthusiasm into her voice as possible.

"He can be bossy and overbearing, but he knows what he wants and he gets things done. He cares and the other Care Bears, even Grumpy, know that and are forced to respect him and listen to him and support him. He makes things better and gets up and does it all over again. He's a good leader and a good friend."

She glances up and-

"Tenderheart," Jesse says, but he's not looking at the bear.

He reaches out and his hands stay on hers as they jointly hold the bear.

"How could I possibly refuse that kind of companion?"

Rachel swallows, trying desperately not to read more into his words, his touch than actually exists.

"So do you have any ideas for where you want your Jesse Space to be?"

He smiles, and it's so unplanned and beautiful that it hurts.

"I think that it's becoming much clearer."

She wonders how he can possibly indicate the part of the room that he wants while he is staring at her face, but she's too raw to start asking questions she's not sure that she wants the answers to.

She feels fulfilled but drained. Delicate maneuvering is not a skill she has successfully mastered and she is sure that it is more luck than anything else that she was able to get through to Jesse. However, it is the sleep of the content that she falls into once she gets into bed, the press of Jesse and a Care Bear warm against her back.

xXx

Rachel's still tired in the morning and no longer content. In fact, she is more than a little on edge.

Somehow, in her concern for Jesse she had forgotten, well, her concern about Jesse. She knows that she really doesn't have any right (just-a-wish-just-a-wish), but there's a low, resentful simmer of anger for both the previous morning's actions and the horrible, wonderful recording for Glee.

Then, just as she is forcing herself to not overreact, she glances at her floor and sees the still visible grooves from Jesse's previous escapade.

Looking behind her to see Jesse lying back on his arms, a grin of self-congratulation on his face, does nothing to ease her frustration.

With an amazing lack of his usual perception, Jesse launches into probably the worst speech he could have chosen.

"So, despite my amazing efficiency and underutilized skills as a an agent of perceptive reasoning, I still haven't gathered quite enough information on the trained monkeys who regurgitate trite sound bites for your classes. I had more important things to attend to-"

Rachel can't help herself- it's almost like her mouth has its own native control center (well, without the actual control part).

"Like finding new ways to deceive or otherwise frighten me into giving you my soul, no doubt."

Rachel feels a certain bitter satisfaction at the, no doubt acted, flash of hurt on his face before it evens into a rather frightening neutrality.

"Well it's not like possessing one has afforded you any recognition or even one person who enjoys your company."

It's a direct hit.

Rachel is forced to suck in a great gasping breath of air.

Jesse's face immediately crumbles, but Rachel already knows how much that means. So his much softer, almost hesitant voice doesn't do anything but make her heart hurt.

"We bonded last night, didn't we? I have no idea what part of my exemplary behavior and supportive company has so upset you, but I need you to tell me what you need me to do to make this right."

He can't seriously be pretending to be that blind, can he?

But he's staring at her expectantly and yes he can and she is so angry and she is going to do something that she'll regret if he doesn't just-

"Go away!"

"Fine," he says through gritted teeth.

And then he goes.

Rachel is, irrationally, even more upset. He should have known that she didn't mean it! Didn't they just last night stem the tide of malice and pour into the wounded bosoms of each other the balm of friendly consolation?

"Some fake friend you are," she mutters to herself as she makes the lonely drive to school.

It occurs to her briefly, and is just as quickly forgotten, that this is the first time since she started McKinley that she has not come prepared with some fantasy theme to distract her from the real world.

Just as quickly pondered and forgotten is the thought that that might be because McKinley is now less depressing than her desperate, painful dreams.

As she enters the school, she wonders when it was that successfully finding a place as a Broadway star became a more realistic goal than successfully finding a place as a friend.

xXx

As if to make a further mockery of everything she's ever hoped for, Rachel discovers that not only have her stalkers not given up (there in fact appear to be more of them), but that they have started to make rather disturbing changes to their appearances.

Several are now wearing knee socks (including the most persistent tiny Cheerio), another appears to have attempted to turn a leather jacket into a crude cardigan and one has pasted a cutout of a LOLcat on the front of her sweater. There are also mixtures of cardigans and sweater vests and skirts that have obviously been cut off at the bottom and Rachel isn't stupid.

She's not sure what it is that she's done that has prompted this new round of harassment, but she is Not. In. The. Mood.

Rachel realizes that she's basically a raw nerve when even her persistent tiny stalkers back up when she turns and glares at them.

(She is really trying to ignore the fact that one of them started fanning herself when she made eye contact instead.)

(She is, of course, all in favor of all forms of sexuality.)

(But honestly, tiny girls wearing short skirts and knee socks trying to crawl under the door of her bathroom stall sounds more like Puck's fantasy than hers.)

(And seriously, she's starting to wonder if G-d isn't maybe getting their prayers confused.)

It becomes worse after every class (they keep getting closer and closer before darting away). Rachel realizes that, in this case, employing her exemplary avoidance techniques might be necessary if she doesn't want to start an incident that will undoubtedly make it difficult to perform in anything but a Prison Revue.

So she's angry, paranoid, and feels like her stomach is full of battery acid before she sees Matt waiting for her at her locker at the beginning of lunch.

For one brief, shining moment she thinks that maybe he wants to apologize and they can be friends-

Then she realizes that she has no fantasyland today.

He's very obviously nervous and embarrassed by the people who seem to have gathered to watch him wait for her (she assumes that is why they have gathered, although it seems puzzling that so many people know where her locker is, but she supposes that the capital lettered TRANNY across it today might be a big clue).

He actually jumps when she pushes past him to attempt to open her locker and get her notes.

Unfortunately, he's blocking her way and his whispered greeting is nearly as sickly as his smile.

"People are watching," Rachel says flatly. "You don't want to be seen talking to me."

She raises her voice just enough so that the layer of people pretending not to listen can actually hear. "I'll get you the notes- just let me finish my color-coordinated highlighting of key points first."

She tries very, very hard not to let the resentment show on her face at his look of relief as most of their audience disperses at her announcement.

"BSU is supposed to meet Monday and Wednesday, so I'll see you after classes right?"

Rachel stares at him, trying to determine if he is performing an elaborate comedy routine or if his self-absorption makes her look like a Biblical martyr. Based on his expectant, hopeful expression, she is forced to conclude that he is unlikely to break out a rubber chicken. She doesn't grit her teeth when she replies, which she considers a victory of epic proportions.

"As novel as it is to be used for videogames rather than my voice, I think that I'll have to pass."

He has the absolute effrontery to look offended and mildly hurt.

"Hey! That's not cool. I mean, how do you know that I don't think that you're someone fun that I just want to spend some time with?"

"You seriously asked if I was planning on murdering your friends and family to more effectively stalk you. I think that's a pretty good indication."

He at least has the grace to look ashamed.

"Look- I know that I was way out of line. I kind of realized that from what I'd seen you're actually really cool, even if you're pretty intense, and it wasn't fair of me to believe shit Hud- other people wanted to say about you."

Rachel knows she should let it go. She knows this. She knows that she should smile and be grateful and lap up every scrap of attention he's willing to give her (strictly platonically, of course). She doesn't care what he thinks of her, so surely she should be willing to make a strategic acquaintance? But she can see him jump a little every time someone passes, the way he nervously scans the hallway and lowers his voice when it looks like someone might be paying attention. And something inside her snaps.

"This would be considerably more convincing if it weren't coming less than twenty-four hours after it was conclusively established that I am the one person Finn Hudson treats like dirt."

The momentary flash of guilt is more than enough to confirm her suspicions, even if it does nothing for the taste of acid in her mouth. Guilt quickly gives way to anger. Rachel knows that whatever comes out of his mouth is at least partly because of that, but it still doesn't stop that hollow swoop where the devastation would sit.

"Look- it's not like you haven't given the whole school enough reasons to think that you're over the top crazy. Man, I'm risking my whole reputation talking to you like this and you're all being the psycho-Berry that is the reason no one likes you!"

"Funnily enough," and there is no actual humor in Rachel's smile, "I'm all out of apologies for being me."

Without waiting for any further insults, she spins on her heel and stalks off, not caring if she's missing a few notes. She knows that she was being curt (Kurt?), but the fact that that accusation is always lurking just below the surface, waiting to be tossed in her face, only further confirms her suspicions that McKinley itself is toxic to her.

When she sees yet another wave of Freshmen following her after having obviously eavesdropped on her conversation with Matt, she can't take it anymore.

She breaks into a run.

xXx

Because McKinley is quite possibly the most dysfunctional school that is not featured in a teenage drama on the CW, nobody appears to care that she is careening down the hallway like a drunken panda (she's seen the documentary).

Or at least nobody appears to care until she locates a custodial closet for a brief reprieve and discovers, to her most unpleasant surprise, that the firm pressure on her arm for the last half-hallway was attached to another body.

Now, thanks once again to Noah Puckerman's impeccable ability to make her life worse, no matter the situation, she is trapped in an open closet with Puck, unable to run while her stalkers have become emboldened into approaching her.

She doesn't think that she needs to explain why this is his fault (after all, he must be aware that he is the reason that the school initially felt that she was a good target in the first place and he doesn't need to know about her conversation with Jacob about him, which she is sure prompted this escalation). But she does have a more pressing concern, particularly since he has the nerve to look surprised that she is blaming him.

"Never mind. I don't care that you are responsible. All I care about is that you somehow use some of the Puxtable or Puckibblet mojito and get us out of here before she tries to stare up my skirt again."

He's just looking at her.

She's really tired of people looking at her like that.

"You want me to use the Puckster mojo to get you out of a janitor's closet."

Rachel pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. Even if the girl briefly paused once she saw Puck, there is no time for this.

"I'm sure that you can work the process in reverse!"

His big lecherous grin is surprisingly reassuring. "Babe, have you ever come to the right badass."

Rachel does not say that he's never made her come for anything.

Rachel does not say that he's never made her come for anything.

In fact, she's so busy not saying it that she practically has to leap on him to avert disaster.

"Don't make eye contact," she hisses, as she pulls his head down from the danger zone. "They like eye contact."

To her disgust, he actually looks interested.

"Fuck Berry... Can I watch?"

He dares to look amused when she growls at him!

Then suddenly he's not amused.

"Look Berry, what the fuck is going on with you-"

Rachel steps back from him as if burnt, trying to rationalize that anger that has nothing to do with caring what he thinks about her and everything to do with people pretending that they care about her, only to gut her as soon as things don't go their way.

"Don't you dare pretend to care now! Where were you when-"

For once, she manages to bite her tongue.

Suddenly, all of her avoidance seems stupid and pointless.

Without sparing him another glance she prepares to storm past the Freshmen staring with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

He really should have known better than to grab her arm.

"I know we're not sexting, but Mom would fucking kill me and feed Sarah my body if you're more fucked up than usual. C'mon, I'm trying to show a little em-pa-thy for a fellow Hot Jew."

Rachel's smile is as cold as her temper.

"Ten points for vocabulary. Unfortunately, showing empathy would mean that you would actually have to have a heart."

She regrets it as soon as it leaves her mouth.

She can't look at him, because she's not. She's not that person. She's always made sure her comments were professional rather than personal.

He's let go of her arm, so she leaves and the Freshmen part in front of her, giving her the kind of distance that she has been hoping for since the morning.

She knows she's wrong.

She knows she will have to apologize.

But all she can think about right now is surviving and she thinks that perhaps the universe owes her that much.

xXx

Somehow she gets through the rest of the day, everyone now giving her a wide berth (she's amazed at how quickly the text trees seem to work). She has no niceties to spare when she climbs into her car and spots Jesse sitting in the passenger seat.

"Where were you?"

"Away," he says in a clipped tone.

And all her brittle shielding dissolves into nothing.

Rachel can't... She needs someone who isn't angry with her.

"Are you still mad at me?" she says, her voice far smaller than she would like.

Jesse laughs, and there's a certain wry exhaustion that Rachel can recognize and respect. "I'm afraid that it might actually be impossible to stay angry with you, m'dear. And-"

He has that rare look of self-honesty again. "For my part, I'm sorry. I think that neither of us came off well in that equation. If I am to continue in my uninterrupted belief in my own perfection, I think that it would be best to completely erase it from our history."

He still looks a little self-conscious, but before she can say anything, he does one of his lightning-quick mood shifts into a disturbing expression of enthusiasm.

"I never did get to tell you what I was actually working on yesterday. You'll be very pleased to know that I have managed to line up more dance lessons-"

"I need more dance lessons?"

Jesse just gives her a look.

"Your echappés en pointe aren't clean, you occasionally sickle in transition and your transitions in general need some work. Speaking frankly, without consistent practice your pointe work is starting to resemble Bambi learning to walk. Ballet Club isn't sufficient, Rachel. You're not getting the kind of challenge and groundwork you need to expand your technique into theatrical dance."

It's true.

Rachel prides herself on her self-honesty, but she has allowed the drama of McKinley to allow her to become complacent about her far more important technical skills.

Jesse seems to take her silent self-castigation as hurt, because his voice softens and he reaches over to lightly cup her cheek.

"I won't lie to you, not about this. But you must be aware that the only reason I can even make these suggestions without active supernatural interference on my part is that you have the natural ability and discipline to accomplish this on your own. In fact, your natural ability is such, even in your lessons that are far below your ability, that it wasn't nearly as difficult as I had expected to get you into master classes with the very best instruction at the Academy."

Rachel immediately gets over her embarrassment as she realizes what this means.

"I thought that we were going to wait until the end of the week."

And then she really realizes what this means.

"Oh Tina, you've put me into the power of the Countess of Pain!"

Jesse smiles weakly. "Maybe?"

"She made someone perform 'The Dying Swan' in a hip cast!"

Jesse is starting to back away, but Rachel is just getting started.

"She's the world's only living heart donor! Twice! The second time with someone else's heart!"

"She hunted Nazis because their goose steps didn't have enough extension!"

"She's immortal and-"

"Wait... Is she immortal?"

"I can check."

Rachel is debating over whether it would be better or worse if the Countess of Pain (she doesn't even know if she has a human name) is actually supernatural, when Jesse sports another nervous smile.

"I suppose now is probably not a good time to tell you about my plans for your additional voice instruction and group work?"

"No," Rachel says shortly. "I don't think that my heart is supposed to stop beating more than once a day. And wait... How am I going to be financing these lessons? I am responsible for my own tuition from the account that my fathers set for me, but part of the reason that I had not attempted the higher level master classes last year was that our investments suffered during the financial crisis and much of my fathers' work is pro bono. We can afford last year's lessons but much beyond that is beyond our current financial means, if I don't want to touch my college fund."

"Well," Jesse smiling weakly is not a good sign. "I may have already solved that problem too?"

"You didn't find me a scholarship, did you?" Rachel says flatly.

Jesse uses a well-polished sheepish, probably-meant-to-be-charming grin. Unfortunately for him, Rachel already knows the only other option that the Academy has to finance students.

"You're going to make me teach."

"Yes."

"Children."

"Yes."

"Tiny, murderous children who wish to be triple threats by the time they are eleven and have never previously sang or danced for anything but abysmal home videos that get millions of hits on Youtube."

Jesse's eyes widen. "You're-"

"A little bit psychic. And going to kill you."

"Well look at that, we're already here!"

Rachel realizes that she's driven home rather than to Dayton for her lesson, but since Jesse appears to have rearranged her schedule, that is probably just as well since her whole body aches with the stress of the day and her current situation.

She wants to stay angry with him, but it is almost impossible when he arranges the asparagus to spell out "I'm sorry" while they are cooking supper.

In fact, she softens enough to allow him to help her with her English by putting on a (surprisingly nuanced) performance of Hamlet (who knew that penis puppetry could convey inherent schizophrenia so artistically?).

She gets a surprising amount of homework done by having him to discuss interpretation with and her mood improves dramatically until it becomes apparent that something is seriously wrong.

xXx

Two hours after the time that she should be in bed, Rachel finally gives up and goes to sit by the window, staring out at nothing in particular.

She's exhausted.

She can't sleep.

Her head feels like something prickly and painful is working its way through her system and every time she lies down, it feels like hot coals against her skin.

She doesn't know how long she sits there before she hears Jesse's voice, soft and rough.

"Rachel- it's after midnight."

She blinks.

"It's Thursday already?"

"Is something wrong?"

"I feel really strange. I'm so tired but I can't sleep. And my head feels like pins are running through it."

Even as she says it, Rachel can feel her vision swimming in and out of focus.

Suddenly, in the space of time it takes her to blink, Jesse is beside her. She can't really focus on his face, but his voice...

It's harsh and commanding and there is no trace of her pompous, soft-spoken fake friend.

"Focus on me!"

It's hard to focus.

Harder now.

Makes things hurt.

Don't want to hurt.

"How long have you been tired?"

Why are there two Jesses? They're funny. Jesses are always funny. They shouldn't frown like that though. Give 'em wrinkles.

"Week, maybe? So tired..."

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!"

Jesse doesn't swear. These two Jesses aren't doing a very good impression of single Jesse. Maybe the more Jesses the less like Jesse?

Ouch.

Her head hurts.

Need to lie down...

Or fall.

That works too.

Good Jesses for catching her.

His voice sounds like he's underwater though.

Oohhhh...

It's nice and dark.

"Rachel! Rachel!"

Blink.

"C'mon sweetheart, I need you to drink this."

Blink.

"Please honey, open your mouth. Please."

Jesse...

Jesse wants her mouth open?

It seems to take hours, but Rachel feels her jaw slowly drop. Jesse gives a strange, shuddering sigh that ends on an almost-sob.

"Do you take this freely, of your own will and desire? Nod Rachel, please."

Her head manages a single dip, almost without direction.

She can feel him lift her head and slowly pour something into her mouth.

It tastes like metal and fire and burns all the way down her throat-

It-hurts-it-hurts-please-please-make-it-stop

Burning out through flesh and bone and boiling blood

It-hurts-so-much-do-you-hate-me-is-that-why?

Can't see, can't hear, can't think, can't breathe-

xXx

She's warm.

No, her entire body feels as if she was the channel for some amazing source of heat that inhabited her and passed through as quickly as it came.

It takes a great deal of effort to become aware of her surroundings, to realize that the sensation against her hand isn't her imagination, but someone holding onto her as if their life depends on her touch.

"... Jesse?"

He rubs his thumb over the back of her hand when he speaks, so quiet that she can barely hear him.

"Are you feeling better?"

Rachel blinks, trying to move past the fog in her head.

"Was I not feeling well?"

The thumb rubbing becomes slightly harder, as if he is trying to burn a pattern into her skin.

"You were suffering from an odd combination of insomnia and exhaustion, but nothing a little enforced bed rest couldn't cure."

Rachel smiles, feeling the truth of his words in the lingering ache in her head and body. "I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble- you really do take excellent care of me."

She wonders why his breath catches briefly before he smiles back at her.

He shifts slightly and Rachel blinks, the movement making her haphazard vision catch sight of what she had earlier missed.

His horns are larger; no longer small points but clearly visible appendages. But they are only of minor interest compared to something that makes her mirror Jesse's caught breath.

There are dark marks etched into Jesse's back. Rachel can't really focus her eyes, but she thinks that they look like writing. Like what she sees on the Discovery Channel specials about the Dead Sea Scrolls.

"Did you give yourself a tattoo?"

Jesse's thumb stops its movement and he withdraws his hand altogether. Rachel, irrationally, misses the contact. He closes his eyes and takes a deep rasping breath before his lips turn up in a strangely sad smile.

"Well, tattoos will give me extra credibility should I attempt to roughen up my leading man image now won't they?"

Rachel frowns as she ponders this. "Well perhaps if you were interested more in film roles playing characters of misunderstood provenance, as I cannot see how the stage setting would effectively highlight-"

She breaks off as she suddenly catches a glimpse of the alarm clock.

"It's Thursday already?"

Jesse abruptly stands, turning away from her so that she gets a magnificent view of the intricate tattoo, nicely offset by his wings.

"I've got to go. I need to-"

He shakes his head.

"I've got to go."

He's walking stiffly, quickly towards the door. He doesn't seemed to be focused on anything except leaving, to the extent that he seems to have forgotten that he can walk through walls and vanish on command.

Rachel is puzzled and more than a little frightened. He pauses for a second, halfway out the opened door, and she thinks she may have a chance to stop this, to understand what is happening.

"Jesse-"

And the door closes.

xXx

Some Miscellaneous End Notes:

I was the Brad for several years for a nationally competitive high school pop choir, as well as competing with some nationally competitive musical ensembles. I am trying very hard not to let this spill over too much into what I'm writing here. If I am getting too technical without enough explanation or if it is starting to seem too "choir procedural" please let me know.

Trivia Note of the Week: since Rachel is apparently a pepperoni pizza vegan, I feel no guilt whatsoever about ignoring this development. I am also ignoring the recent age changes (which directly contradict Rachel's earlier lines anyways) because I really like her being able to drive. So she gets to stay sixteen in my universe :)

On a housekeeping front if there is anyone out there who is willing to Glee pick (i.e. fact check) or just let me ask them Glee trivia questions, please PM me. I missed a couple of the earlier episodes and have been unable to find transcripts to make sure I'm getting the picky details right. Yes, I know that caring about canon in a story involving turning characters into invisible demons is probably silly, but that's the way I roll :)

Updated June 11, 2010