Fic: Chances (Prologue)
title: Chances
fandom: Glee
pairing: Rachel/Will
rating: PG - PG13
spoilers: Up to Sectionals. Everything after that is my own version of canon.
a/n: So, yes, I'm going to start posting this beast, finally. This has been growing for . . . like a month and a half? takemeaway has been my wonderful beta. Steph, thank you so much, and thank you in advance for getting through the rest of this with me :)
Rachel stares at the piece of paper in her hands the same way she stared at the sign up sheet for Glee auditions her sophomore year; the same way she stared at the TV screen when she was seven years old and her dad put Cabaret on for her for the hundredth time.
If she had her sheet of gold stars, she’d be sticking them everywhere around the name, phone number, and address, placing her stamp on the moment that she learned her mother’s name: Irene Douglas.
“So I can just . . . just call her?”
“If that’s what you want.”
The woman sitting at the desk pauses in rearranging the piles of documents in front of her. She smiles at Rachel, still staring reverently at the paper in her hands.
“You know it’s okay to be hesitant. A lot of people find that once they have a name, that feels like enough. At least for a while. Don’t rush yourself.”
Rachel glances up. “Thank you so much,” she stands, clutching the paper in two hands. The woman stands as well, and sticks her hand out, forcing Rachel to let go of the paper with one hand to shake her hand. “I can’t wait to meet her!” Rachel adds.
“Rachel?” she calls as Rachel opens the door. “Don’t rush.”
“Thanks!” Rachel calls as the door swings shut. The woman sighs. She sits back down at her desk, and begins to reshuffle the stacks.
_
Rachel meets her mother on August 12th, a few weeks before her senior year of high school begins. It’s 85 degrees and sunny and she fusses about her hair and her outfit as she sits in a booth at the restaurant where they’d chosen to meet. Her iced tea sweats, dripping over her fingers when she clasps them around the glass.
She perks up every time the door opens, but it’s family after family, single man after single man, blonde after blonde. Finally the door opens and she looks up, and it has to be her. Has to be.
She’s medium height, thin, and brunette. She has strong features and a square jaw. Her hair is pulled back from her face and held in a bun at the base of her skull and she wears little if any makeup. Her clothes are simple and utilitarian; a short sleeved white shirt and black dress pants. She looks younger than Rachel had thought she would be.
“Rachel?”
“Yes,” Rachel barely keeps the volume of her voice under control. She stands up and throws her arms around the woman, squeezing with all her might. When Rachel pulls back Irene stands still with her arms at her sides, looking stunned.
They stare at one another, Rachel beaming.
_
Rachel sits in her car in the restaurant parking lot later and squeezes the steering wheel even though it burns her palms.
The heat is oppressive, but she doesn’t open the windows. She doesn’t know whether she’s dizzy because of the heat or the shocking emptiness opening up in her chest.
_
She cries herself to sleep that night. Her fathers knock on her door, offering dinner, dessert, movie musical marathons. Finn calls twice before showing up, but she doesn’t let him in.
She lays staring at the ceiling during a lull in the tears, and wishes the roof would open and the sky would swallow her up.
She thinks about stars, and how some of them are burned out but their light takes time to fade, and others are still burning. She wonders if there’s a way to tell the difference from her window in Lima.
_
Part One