Fic: You And Me Were The Dream I've Been Saving [2/2]
Title: You And Me Were The Dream I've Been Saving
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Sam/Rachel
Rating: soft R
Length: 11k words
Summary: Sam and Rachel run into each other nearly a decade after high school.
Notes: Written for crayonboxhearts as a pinch hit for the glee_rare_pairs fic exchange.
--
“Favorite part of New York City?”
Before Rachel can answer, he puts a finger up and adds, “Apart from Broadway.”
Her mouth snaps shut on a smile, and she muses for a second. “Central Park then. What about you? The store?”
He shakes his head, laughing.
“What then?”
“You.”
Rachel thinks she must have never been truly loved before because it’s never felt quite as good as this.
--
Sam tries to get her to perform with him on stage at Eli’s, but she always refuses. She’s Rachel Berry and she’s better than amateur hour in a bar that serves $2 pitchers until 4am.
She goes to audition after audition instead. Listens to rejection voicemails, and reads rejection letters and when she ties her apron on at work every day tries to act like she still has hope.
--
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Superman.”
Rachel laughs. “No seriously.”
He looks at her, amused. “We are grown up, babe.”
Rolling her eyes, Rachel flops back down on her bed dramatically. “I refuse to believe that.”
“I know you do.” He moves to hover over her, swiping brown hair off her forehead.
“Question amended,” she states.
“Proceed.”
“Dream job.”
“Own the comic book store,” he says easily. “Or Superman.”
“Your dream job is to own the comic book store?”
“Or be Superman.”
“That’s it?”
“Uh, Superman has x-ray vision, he’s faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than a hundred men-”
She kisses him before she spends the rest of her night hearing all about why Superman is the greatest DC Comics superhero to ever exist.
--
Rachel’s wanted Broadway long before she knew to want anything else. As a kid it was practically all she could see. She knew to want Broadway before she knew that it required wanting New York City.
So, all things considered, it’s the longest relationship she’s ever had, the only one she’s been truly faithful to.
It seems high school’s not over because not only is she falling for the same guys over and over again, but she seems to be making the same mistakes as well.
His name is Aaron and he comes into her restaurant with an air of confidence around him that instantly draws her to his table. Smiling up at her, he orders her favorite meal on the menu and it’s only when she sets it down in front of him that she realizes why he looks so familiar.
“Oh my gosh,” she can’t help but say. “You’re Aaron Burke.”
“The one and only,” he answers.
“Oh my gosh,” is all she can seem to say.
“And you are?”
“I’m sorry, of course.” She extends her hand to him. “Rachel Berry, future star.”
He laughs at that, but it’s not mocking. She smiles. “Nice to meet you Rachel Berry, future star.”
A blush settles in her cheeks. “You too, Mr. Burke.”
“Aaron is fine,” he responds. “Future star?”
“Broadway star. I’ve been destined for the stage since I was in my mother’s womb.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely. It’s where I’m meant to be and I’ll do anything to get there.”
Arching an eyebrow, he smiles up at her. “Tell me, Rachel. Boyfriend?”
The, “No,” is so automatic that she doesn’t realize she’s said it until hours after they exchange numbers and agree to meet for dinner next week.
--
“Best on screen kiss of all time.”
“Spider-man probably.”
She gasps. “But Spider-man is a Marvel superhero! ”
Sam stares at her for a long moment, silent.
“Did I say something wrong?” She asks.
“Do you have any idea how hot it was that you just said that?”
She laughs. “Yeah?”
“Come here and kiss me,” is all he says.
He goes down on her for the next hour, and after she’s able to breathe again she makes a mental note to brush up on more nerd knowledge.
--
She meets Aaron Burke for dinner because she keeps her appointments, but she has the full intention of setting things straight, telling him she has a boyfriend and she shouldn’t have agreed in the first place.
But he takes her to the nicest restaurant she’s ever been too, orders a bottle of wine that costs more than her rent, and orders food like he’s reading poetry. It’s the fantasy she’s had since she was thirteen right across the table from her.
So she keeps her mouth shut, tells herself it’s fine to enjoy the meal as long as she makes it clear to him it’s only a one time thing.
It’s not until he’s kissing her, arm wrapped around her waist and tongue stroking against hers, that she remembers to do so.
“I’m sorry,” she sputters, pushing him away and shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
She puts her arm up for a cab and tries to ignore his confused questioning. “Rachel?”
“I’m so sorry, Aaron, dinner was lovely, thank you so much. I just have to go. I’m sorry.”
When she quietly walks into Sam’s apartment later that night, she finds him already asleep in bed. She strips her clothes off and slides between the sheets, her hand moving over his chest until it’s slipping under the waistband of his boxers and gripping his cock.
He wakes up pretty quickly after that and she smiles a quick hello before ducking her head between his legs.
When he asks her what exactly possessed her to wake him up with a hand job, she gives him a tight smile and fights guilt in her heart. “No reason,” she says quietly, loving the way his hands are moving across the small of her back.
“No complaints from me,” he laughs.
--
She calls Santana and tells her to meet her for drinks the next day, lasts all of five minutes before, “What do you think constitutes cheating?” drops out of her mouth.
Santana, now used to this kind of stuff, just arches an eyebrow and orders two shots from the bartender. “Sam cheating on you?”
“I’m asking you what you think cheating is.”
Santana shrugs. “You fuck someone else when you say you won’t I guess, why?”
“So kissing isn’t cheating?”
“Rach, what’s this about?”
“I’m just curious. I mean you slept around a lot in high school.”
“Nice,” Santana says with a roll of her eyes.
“I just mean, I was wondering what you think counts as cheating.”
Santana looks her dead on. “When you want to be with someone else, and then you do something about it.”
--
“Where do you see yourself ten years from now?”
Rachel takes a sip of her vodka cranberry, curls her foot around Sam’s ankle and smiles. “Star of a Broadway show, signing autographs at the stage door, winning a Tony, etc etc.”
He takes a swig of his beer and laughs. “Room for me there?”
“Of course,” she answers, running her foot up his leg affectionately. “What about you?”
“Ten years from now?”
“Yeah.”
“Running the comic book store, maybe writing my own comic, sitting front row at some Broadway theater watching you awe people, escorting you to awards shows, crazy celebration sex, building a trophy case-”
His words get cut off by her mouth against his. “I love you,” she mumbles.
“I know.”
“Don’t forget, okay?”
“I won’t.”
--
Sam walks into her apartment and before even saying hello to her asks, “Why did Santana just give me the third degree about cheating on you?”
“She what?”
“Santana just paid me a visit and she was all,” Sam screws his face up into a scowl. “If you’re two timing my girl Rachel you better drop that shit now before you hurt her because I will mess you up, you hear? Except with more expletives and graphic threatening.” His face changes to one of confusion. “Do you think I’m cheating on you?”
“No!” She walks up to him, shaking her head vehemently. “No of course not.”
“Then why does your best friend think that?”
“Santana thinks everyone is cheating. She has zero trust in monogamy.”
“I find that hard to believe considering she’s been in a monogamous relationship for like ever.”
“I don’t think you’re cheating on me,” she says firmly, her hand running up his chest to wrap around his neck. She leans up on her toes to kiss him.
“I wouldn’t,” he tells her, hands gripping her hips. “I promise.”
Guilt twists in her stomach. “I know you wouldn’t.”
“I love you.”
--
“Did you yell at my boyfriend about cheating on me?”
Santana’s sitting at her kitchen counter spooning cereal into her mouth when Rachel bursts into the apartment.
“Knock much?”
“I have a key,” Rachel snaps. “Why did you yell at Sam?”
“I thought he was cheating on you!”
“So?!”
“Can you lower your voice? I have a hot girlfriend asleep in my bedroom and I’d rather she not wake up to the sound of your screeching.”
“Santana!” Rachel bites out angrily, but softer than before.
Santana drops her spoon into her cereal bowl and shoots Rachel a pointed look. “Look, Smalls, I get that you’re not used to this friend thing or whatever, but I’m not just going to sit around and let you get hurt.”
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
“Do I act like I care whether you need me to or not?”
“He’s not cheating on me,” Rachel says, deflating.
“I know.” Santana’s expression goes dark. “So whatever is going on with you? Figure it out before you do something you regret.”
--
Aaron calls her often. Leaves voicemail after voicemail asking for an explanation, pleading to see her again, telling her that he’d love to talk about some job opportunities.
She tries not to enjoy the way he’s pursuing her after just one date, but she can’t help how flattering it feels. The idea that her dreams are just a returned phone call away get to her - just a few dates with a charming man and she could be on a Broadway stage. For a few dark moments she contemplates the idea of dating him just for that purpose. Sam would understand. These are her dreams. They’re bigger than both of them.
But she hears him making promises to be faithful in her ear, whispering I love you in the dead of night and she knows he’d never understand.
She uses the guilt that swirls in her gut to stamp the feeling down and deletes his voicemails from her phone.
--
“You’re phone is blowing up,” Santana observes dryly. “You gonna answer that?”
Rachel looks over to where her phone is sitting on the table to see a missed call from Aaron. The fifth this afternoon. She hastily swipes her phone off the table and shuts it off, sticking it in her purse before Sam can lean over far enough to see.
“Not important,” she tells both of them.
“Who was it?” Sam asks.
“My boss from the restaurant,” she lies. “Trying to get me to work an extra shift.”
Sam seems to accept that, but Santana narrows her eyes skeptically. “Your boss?”
“Yeah.” She nods.
“You don’t want the extra cash?” Santana asks innocently.
Rachel glares at her, but Sam speaks before she can, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and laughing. “My girl works too hard as it is. If she starts picking up more shifts, I’ll never see her.”
Santana stares at them both, clearly unimpressed, but Rachel just smiles sweetly at her before kissing Sam on the cheek. “Exactly.”
“Exactly,” Sam repeats, imitating her voice.
She rolls her eyes, but he pecks kisses on her lips until she’s laughing and Santana’s making gagging sounds from across the table.
Later, she listens to the voicemail from the safety of the girl’s restroom.
Rachel, it’s Aaron. Look I’m still a little confused about what happened the other night. Just call me. I might have a part from you in a new show my friend is putting on. We could be good for each other, Rachel. Call me.
--
Rachel wakes up to the sound of her phone ringing and has to lean over the bed to the floor of Sam’s room in order to find her purse and pull it out.
“Who keeps calling you?” Sam groans.
“No one,” she says quickly, wincing as she hears it. It’s probably the fifth exchange they’ve had like this. Sam asking who keeps calling her and the same lie slipping out.
“No one, huh?”
She slides back into bed and settles against Sam’s side, her hand running down his abs. “Just go back to sleep.”
Silence falls for a few moments.
“You’re not cheating on me, right?”
Heartbeat picking up, Rachel jerks up in bed and stares down at him incredulously. “No,” she says firmly. “What would even make you think that?”
He shrugs. “You’ve been acting sort of strange lately. A lot of weird phone calls from no one. A guy starts to wonder.”
“Sam,” she whispers.
“Are you?” He asks again.
“No,” she repeats.
He doesn’t look like he believes her, but he wraps his arms around her tightly and pulls her down into his chest. When he tells her he loves her it sounds so much like goodbye that Rachel almost starts crying.
--
They break up with as much drama as Rachel could ever want out of a break up.
It’s pouring rain and they’re standing on the steps leading up to her apartment, both of them with tears in their eyes.
“Are you cheating on me?” Apparently the first twenty phone calls from no one were easy to dismiss. The next twenty made Sam’s suspicion came to a boil.
“For the sixteenth time, no.”
Wet blond hair is falling over his forehead, his grey cotton shirt clinging to his chest. If it were any other time, Rachel would be supremely turned on by the sight. As it is, there’s fear gripping her gut instead of arousal because Sam’s eyes say nothing but disbelief. “Rachel, please don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not cheating on you,” she says vehemently and suddenly more words are spilling out of her mouth. “It was just a kiss.”
He laughs, but the sound is hard and bitter, beats against Rachel’s ears roughly. “So you are cheating on me.”
“I kissed him, Sam. That’s hardly cheating.”
“Interesting definition you got there.”
“Don’t be such a boy,” she snaps.
Jaw clenched, he observes her, blinking against the rain. “Fine,” he finally says, nodding as if deciding something to himself. “That’s fine. Just tell me one thing.”
She crosses her arms over her chest against the chill. “What?”
“Who is he?”
She considers not answering, but honesty comes out in the end. “Aaron Burke.”
“Aaron Burke? The dude on all the posters? That Aaron Burke?”
“Yes.”
“How did you even meet him?”
“He came into the restaurant one day. I waited on his table.”
Sam’s face is shadowed with anger and despair. “What the hell does that guy have that I don’t?”
“Let’s not do this.”
“You fucking owe me this, Rachel,” he demands.
It makes her suddenly angry. “What does he have that you don’t? You couldn’t be more opposite if you tried.”
“Is that so?”
“Your greatest ambition in life is to own the comic book store down the street from your building, Sam. You’re happy getting paid dirt cheap for covering bad 90s songs at a bar that only serves two kinds of wine - red or white. Aaron is on Broadway. He has plans to break into Hollywood, to put his own album out, he wants to go places.”
Sam laughs darkly, interrupting her. “I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“Hey, I should have known.” There’s anger on his face that she’s never seen before, his tone harsh and bitter. “I mean you’d do anything to get ahead, right? Who am I to stand in the way?”
She gasps. “I know you’re not implying what I think you’re implying.”
He shakes his head, laughs at her again and throws his hands up in the air, defeated. “Don’t tell me you think that’s not what this is about.”
“It just happened, okay?” She walks towards him, but he steps backward and puts his hand up. “He’s just, he’s so successful and ambitious and he understands the kinds of things I’m going through, what I want out of my life and it just...it just happened.”
“That’s fine,” Sam says, looking down. “That’s just fine. Hey, it was nice while it lasted.”
“Sam,” she pleads. “Don’t do this.”
“Someday you’ll get that my dreams are just as good as yours even if they’re not as big. I hope he’s worth it.”
“Sam,” Rachel whispers, but he’s already walking down the street.
--
She shows up at Santana’s apartment a sopping wet mess, her mascara running down her face from rain and tears.
“What the fuck?” Santana ushers her inside, and grabs a towel from the bathroom, wrapping it around Rachel’s shoulders before moving to turn the coffee maker on.
When Rachel’s finally wrapping her hands around a warm mug and Santana’s sitting down on the couch next to her, she takes a deep breath to try and stop her crying.
“Who do I have to kill?” Santana asks. The question is harsh, but it warms Rachel’s heart.
She shakes her head. “Sam and I broke up.”
“Why?”
“He...,” Rachel starts, but the words choke in her throat. “I cheated on him,” she whispers.
Santana’s silent, eyes narrowed, but face otherwise neutral. “You cheated on him.”
Rachel nods.
“That dude from the restaurant. The Broadway guy.”
Another nod.
“You’re such a dumb bitch,” Santana laughs out and Rachel gasps in indignation.
“That’s hardly the appropriate thing to say.” Tears are welling in her eyes again.
“Why can’t you just be happy with what you have?”
Rachel lets out a choked sob. “I don’t know.”
Shaking her head, Santana looks at her sadly before pulling Rachel into a hug. “I’m sorry you guys broke up.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah you did,” Santana laughs, continues before Rachel can protest. “You didn’t mean to break up with him, but don’t say dumb shit like ‘I didn’t mean to kiss another dude’ when it’s not like anyone forced you to do it. You didn’t trip and land on his lips. Take some fucking ownership here.”
Rachel’s silent for a few seconds. “What’s wrong with me?”
Santana laughs. “If I knew that, my life would be a lot easier.”
--
He comes by a few days later to drop off a box of her stuff. She tells him she’ll bring him his stuff next week.
“I just want my guitar,” he says softly, pushing past her into the apartment to walk back into the bedroom.
Guitar in hand, he reemerges and gives her a soft smile. “I’ll see you around, Rach,” he says quietly. There’s a moment of hesitant silence between them before he crosses over to her and presses a warm kiss to her cheek.
When he’s gone, she pulls his favorite shirt out of her closet and curls up on her bed. Listens to the Evita soundtrack because it always comforted her, and cries against blue cotton for the next hour.
--
She never calls Aaron back. Deletes his number instead and hates that it feels a little bit like her dream is slipping away. She wonders if she’ll ever start getting any of this right.
--
It’s another four months before she gets her big break, but get it she does. A Broadway play, her first. It’s not a big part, but Rachel doesn’t care because it’s her dream and she’s finally achieving it.
The first person she calls is Sam. Doesn’t even think about it until the number is already dialed and he’s answering with a concerned sounding, “Rachel?”
A lump forms in her throat, her heartbeat picking up as she flushes in embarrassment. “Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah...I just...” Her throat closes again and she’s sure she’s going to cry. It’s been so long since she heard his voice.
“Rach?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“You’re not.”
“I got a part today. On a Broadway show.”
A beat.
“That’s great.” The happiness is genuine, if muted.
“I just, sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”
“I’m really happy for you, Rach. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “It is.”
“You’re finally achieving your dreams. Be proud.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
“Look, I’ve got to go. Good luck.”
He hangs up without another word. Rachel spends the next few hours crying instead of celebrating.
--
“You need to date someone else, get over Sam,” Santana suggests.
“What if I don’t want to get over him?”
“Then fuck someone else just to stop you from being this unattractive mopey mess you are right now.”
Rachel picks her head up from the bartop and glares at Santana who just laughs. “You’re a mess right now. Sorry, Smalls.”
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“How did you do it?”
Santana slides a shot of tequila towards her. “Do what?”
“How did you get over Brittany back in high school.”
Santana goes still, her face full of amused confusion. “I dated Sam.”
“I meant aside from that, you ass,” Rachel laughs, shoving Santana in the shoulder playfully.
Santana laughs loudly. “I didn’t get over Brittany. Obviously. You don’t get over a love like that. It’s why you gotta fight so hard to keep them because when it finally works out...” Santana grins wider than Rachel’s ever seen her, this light in her eyes that makes Rachel’s heart twist.
“I could have had that with Sam.”
“Yeah well, you screwed the pooch on that one.”
“Santana,” Rachel whines.
“Look, you made a choice. Either correct it or live with it.” Santana looks at her pointedly. “Now shut up and take your shot.”
--
She dates the male lead in the show she’s in and part of her thinks that things are finally looking up. His name is David - he’s tall, dark haired and so many things Sam isn’t. She tries not to make the comparisons, but it’s hard.
It’s everything she always imagined she’d have. David is the leading man she always assumed she’d be dating at this point and it puts her one step closer to her dream of becoming one half of a Broadway power couple.
She tries not think about how much that dream has gone fuzzy around the edges - the tall dark and handsome leading man giving way to a well muscled blond dork that smiles at her like she’s his whole world.
Achieving stardom is all about sacrifice. And sacrifice is something Rachel’s always been willing to do. Even if it’s happiness that’s being offered up for slaughter.
--
The show goes well, but it doesn’t go great. It’s exhilarating to be a part of her first production, but it’s not the whirlwind of fame she thought it’d be. She makes next to no money and hears but you’re getting great experience so many times that she might punch the next person that utters it.
It ends, as all things are apt to do, and Rachel’s back to where she started.
The last day of the show, she catches David sleeping with one of the dancers in the costume closet. Strangely, she doesn’t cry about it.
“You’re just too...intense,” he tells her. “I’m sorry. We would have never worked out anyway. We’re headed different places. It had to end sometime.”
She doesn’t cry, but she does slap him. The drama of it makes her feel grounded.
--
“Why do I always destroy everything good in my life?”
Santana chokes on her wine, barely catching herself from spilling over the white table cloth. “What?”
“Every time I’m happy, I destroy it.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
“Davey-boy fucking that chick had nothing to do with something you did.”
Rachel swallows thickly. “I’m not talking about David.”
Santana stares at her for a moment. “Sam?”
All Rachel can do is nod, heat spiking in the back of her eyes.
Santana shrugs. “Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Why do I make so many of them?”
“You love the drama.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
Rachel sighs, bites her lower lip. “I don’t know what to do at this point. I’m so lost.”
“Smalls,” Santana coos, reaching over and grabbing Rachel’s hand. “You’re doing fine. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Not as epically as I do.”
Santana laughs. “Of course you’d think you make bigger mistakes than anyone else in this world.”
Rachel gives her a pointed look, but breaks into a chuckle a second later. “What’s the matter with me?”
“It’s not the falling down that matters,” Santana says, and it’s probably the most serious Rachel has ever seen the other girl. “It’s how you get up afterward. Nothing is wrong with you. Learn from this stuff and move on.”
“I’m still in love with him,” Rachel says softly, swirling her wine around in her glass.
Letting go of Rachel’s hand, Santana leans back and laughs, picking her wine glass up. “No shit.”
“What do I do?”
“Get up,” Santana says plainly.
Rachel rolls her eyes. “I meant more practically.”
Santana laughs. “I’m serious. He’s playing at Eli’s tonight. Get up and go.”
Wide eyed, Rachel stares at Santana’s amused face. “Are you serious?”
“Come on, you fucking live for this shit. Can you imagine how dramatic it will be when you fucking bust through the doors and stare at him across the room all I want you back like?”
Santana’s mocking her, but Rachel can’t deny that part of her thrums with excitement at the very image.
“You think I should?”
“No I’m just saying you should because I love talking. Get the fuck out of that seat and go.”
--
The thrill of a dramatic entrance buzzes over the surface of her skin as she closes her hand around the dirty handle of Eli’s front door. Slowly, she pushes it open and steps into the warm air of the bar, her eyes darting straight for the stage across the room to see Sam setting up with his guitar.
Years later, Rachel will talk about how this moment is just like the movies. How Sam’s movement halts completely, his guitar strap half over his shoulder as his eyes connect with hers.
She stands in the back, her feet crunching on peanut shells that litter the floor as she stares pleadingly at Sam. It’s not long before he’s setting his guitar down, mumbling a quick apology to the crowd and jumping off stage to walk towards her.
The first thing out of his mouth when he reaches her side is a concerned, “Is everything okay?”
She swallows thickly, kicks herself for not scripting a speech before she showed up. “Every thing’s fine. Sort of. It will be.”
His eyebrows shoot upward. “Rach.”
She steps towards him, closer than she’s been to him in a long time and looks up into his eyes. “Sam, I love you.”
He swallows audibly, jerks back a little and looks at her warningly. “What are you doing?”
“My show ended,” she explains.
“I know.”
She blinks up at him, surprised. “What do you mean you know?”
He sighs. “Why are you here?”
“I got this part in this show, and it’s over and I...”
“Want me back now that you don’t have that,” Sam finishes for her.
“No,” she says vehemently.
“Yes. I ain’t dumb, Rachel. I know you pretty well.”
“No,” she repeats.
“Then what?”
She swallows thickly before speaking. “I got everything I always thought I wanted and it didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel good because...” she reaches out to run a hand down Sam’s arm, fingers pulling lightly against the fabric of his sleeve. “It didn’t feel good because you weren’t there.”
Sam’s not speaking, but his expression has softened, so she continues. “I always felt like I needed Broadway. Like if I didn’t have it I’d die, but Sam. I don’t. I swear to you I don’t anymore.”
“Rachel,” Sam croaks out, his eyes looking glossier by the second.
“I need you, Sam. Broadway will come and it will go, and I need to stop acting like it’s any different. I need you, Sam.”
“You don’t need anybody,” Sam corrects, smiling sadly. “You’re Rachel Berry.”
“Maybe so,” she concedes, shrugging a shoulder. She looks up at him. “But I want you. More than anything else.”
“I’m happy you feel that way, Rach, but...”
It’s the worst word to hear and her stomach plummets.
“Sam, don’t.” It’s so reminiscent of their breakup that it’s almost funny.
“I can’t, Rach. I’m really happy for you, but I can’t do it again. You feel this way now, but a few months from now...”
Hot tears fall over her cheeks, her eyes pleading with him to change his mind. “Sam, no. We can do this. I can do this now.”
“I can’t,” he repeats, voice barely above a whisper. He presses a warm kiss to her lips, the taste of their tears mingling between them. “I’m sorry.”
He breaks away, picks his guitar up, and walks past her.
--
“This is good,” Santana is saying over the phone. “Now you can truly move on and leave his sorry ass behind.”
“I don’t want to move on,” she whines, sniffling against a tissue. Sam’s favorite Sean Connery film is playing on her television and she’s a sobbing mess on her couch, half a bottle of wine on her coffee table and tissues everywhere.
“I’m going to need you to stop crying, Smalls.”
“I can’t,” she sobs. “It was supposed to work!”
“Yeah, well, sometimes life isn’t exactly like the movies.”
“It should be!”
Santana laughs. “Hey, look. Do you want me to come over? I’ll bring that crappy vegan ice cream you like and we can get drunk.”
Rachel considers it, but shakes her head and sighs. “No, that’s fine. I’m going to go to bed. The sun will come out tomorrow, right?”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay well text me if you change your mind.”
“I will.”
“Love you, bitch.”
Rachel chuckles, swiping tears from under her eyes. “You too.”
They hang up, and Rachel throws her cell phone onto the table, pushing back into the cushions and focusing on the television across from her to see Sean Connery talking to Nicolas Cage. She hates this movie. Hates it. But it was Sam’s favorite, and she’s seen it probably fifteen times. For a second she fantasizes breaking the DVD when she’s done with it, but before she can put thought into action the doorbell is ringing.
Laughing, she gets up and pads to the door, amused curiosity on her face. “Santana, I told you I was fine-”
Her words choke in her throat as the door swings open to revel not Santana, but Sam. His hands are in the pockets of his dark jeans, and he’s wearing a different shirt than earlier - this grey cotton t-shirt that she loves on him. Black rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, and just as always it makes her stomach flutter in attraction. He smiles at her like he didn’t just break her heart little over an hour ago and rocks back and forth on his feet.
“Hey,” he says.
Hastily, she wipes her hands over her cheeks and rearranges her hair. She’s sure she looks like a complete mess.
“What are you doing here?”
Sam shrugs, looks down the hallway to his right before looking back at her, a soft expression on his face. “I want to be over you,” he says. “I really, really, really want it.”
Tears brim in her eyes again, and she runs her fingers over them quickly, stomping her foot a little in frustration at her emotions as she looks down at the ground. “We already went over this, Sam. Honestly. I get it.”
“I want it, but I’m not.”
Her head whips up to look at him. “What?”
“So, I’m still in love with you. Like epic Han Solo Princess Leia love and I just...”
A cautious grin spreads over her face.
“You’ve broken my heart twice now, and I don’t want it to be a third, but I...” He shrugs, laughs a little. “I’m still in love with you. And I’m never going to be that Broadway dreamboat you always wanted, and we probably won’t be your perfect Broadway power couple or whatever, but I-”
Rachel shakes her head, curls her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t need that,” she says firmly. “I just need Clark Kent,” she jokes, bringing up a finger to touch his glasses.
He smiles joyfully, wraps an arm around her waist and brings their bodies together. He brings his other hand up to whip his glasses off and stares down at her. “How about Superman?”
Picking her up, he kisses her and carries her into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. She laughs against his mouth the entire way to the bedroom.
--
In the morning, Sam sits naked on the edge of her bed, pulls his guitar over his lap and sings Danny’s Song to her with a smile on his face. She wants to tell him that this song is about a girl getting pregnant, but she doesn’t. He’s grinning, and singing to her, and she’s impossibly in love with him.
“Even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with you, honey,” he sings, winking at her.
If he doesn’t finish the song it’s because she’s too happy to wait until the end to kiss him.
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Sam/Rachel
Rating: soft R
Length: 11k words
Summary: Sam and Rachel run into each other nearly a decade after high school.
Notes: Written for crayonboxhearts as a pinch hit for the glee_rare_pairs fic exchange.
--
“Favorite part of New York City?”
Before Rachel can answer, he puts a finger up and adds, “Apart from Broadway.”
Her mouth snaps shut on a smile, and she muses for a second. “Central Park then. What about you? The store?”
He shakes his head, laughing.
“What then?”
“You.”
Rachel thinks she must have never been truly loved before because it’s never felt quite as good as this.
--
Sam tries to get her to perform with him on stage at Eli’s, but she always refuses. She’s Rachel Berry and she’s better than amateur hour in a bar that serves $2 pitchers until 4am.
She goes to audition after audition instead. Listens to rejection voicemails, and reads rejection letters and when she ties her apron on at work every day tries to act like she still has hope.
--
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Superman.”
Rachel laughs. “No seriously.”
He looks at her, amused. “We are grown up, babe.”
Rolling her eyes, Rachel flops back down on her bed dramatically. “I refuse to believe that.”
“I know you do.” He moves to hover over her, swiping brown hair off her forehead.
“Question amended,” she states.
“Proceed.”
“Dream job.”
“Own the comic book store,” he says easily. “Or Superman.”
“Your dream job is to own the comic book store?”
“Or be Superman.”
“That’s it?”
“Uh, Superman has x-ray vision, he’s faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than a hundred men-”
She kisses him before she spends the rest of her night hearing all about why Superman is the greatest DC Comics superhero to ever exist.
--
Rachel’s wanted Broadway long before she knew to want anything else. As a kid it was practically all she could see. She knew to want Broadway before she knew that it required wanting New York City.
So, all things considered, it’s the longest relationship she’s ever had, the only one she’s been truly faithful to.
It seems high school’s not over because not only is she falling for the same guys over and over again, but she seems to be making the same mistakes as well.
His name is Aaron and he comes into her restaurant with an air of confidence around him that instantly draws her to his table. Smiling up at her, he orders her favorite meal on the menu and it’s only when she sets it down in front of him that she realizes why he looks so familiar.
“Oh my gosh,” she can’t help but say. “You’re Aaron Burke.”
“The one and only,” he answers.
“Oh my gosh,” is all she can seem to say.
“And you are?”
“I’m sorry, of course.” She extends her hand to him. “Rachel Berry, future star.”
He laughs at that, but it’s not mocking. She smiles. “Nice to meet you Rachel Berry, future star.”
A blush settles in her cheeks. “You too, Mr. Burke.”
“Aaron is fine,” he responds. “Future star?”
“Broadway star. I’ve been destined for the stage since I was in my mother’s womb.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely. It’s where I’m meant to be and I’ll do anything to get there.”
Arching an eyebrow, he smiles up at her. “Tell me, Rachel. Boyfriend?”
The, “No,” is so automatic that she doesn’t realize she’s said it until hours after they exchange numbers and agree to meet for dinner next week.
--
“Best on screen kiss of all time.”
“Spider-man probably.”
She gasps. “But Spider-man is a Marvel superhero! ”
Sam stares at her for a long moment, silent.
“Did I say something wrong?” She asks.
“Do you have any idea how hot it was that you just said that?”
She laughs. “Yeah?”
“Come here and kiss me,” is all he says.
He goes down on her for the next hour, and after she’s able to breathe again she makes a mental note to brush up on more nerd knowledge.
--
She meets Aaron Burke for dinner because she keeps her appointments, but she has the full intention of setting things straight, telling him she has a boyfriend and she shouldn’t have agreed in the first place.
But he takes her to the nicest restaurant she’s ever been too, orders a bottle of wine that costs more than her rent, and orders food like he’s reading poetry. It’s the fantasy she’s had since she was thirteen right across the table from her.
So she keeps her mouth shut, tells herself it’s fine to enjoy the meal as long as she makes it clear to him it’s only a one time thing.
It’s not until he’s kissing her, arm wrapped around her waist and tongue stroking against hers, that she remembers to do so.
“I’m sorry,” she sputters, pushing him away and shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
She puts her arm up for a cab and tries to ignore his confused questioning. “Rachel?”
“I’m so sorry, Aaron, dinner was lovely, thank you so much. I just have to go. I’m sorry.”
When she quietly walks into Sam’s apartment later that night, she finds him already asleep in bed. She strips her clothes off and slides between the sheets, her hand moving over his chest until it’s slipping under the waistband of his boxers and gripping his cock.
He wakes up pretty quickly after that and she smiles a quick hello before ducking her head between his legs.
When he asks her what exactly possessed her to wake him up with a hand job, she gives him a tight smile and fights guilt in her heart. “No reason,” she says quietly, loving the way his hands are moving across the small of her back.
“No complaints from me,” he laughs.
--
She calls Santana and tells her to meet her for drinks the next day, lasts all of five minutes before, “What do you think constitutes cheating?” drops out of her mouth.
Santana, now used to this kind of stuff, just arches an eyebrow and orders two shots from the bartender. “Sam cheating on you?”
“I’m asking you what you think cheating is.”
Santana shrugs. “You fuck someone else when you say you won’t I guess, why?”
“So kissing isn’t cheating?”
“Rach, what’s this about?”
“I’m just curious. I mean you slept around a lot in high school.”
“Nice,” Santana says with a roll of her eyes.
“I just mean, I was wondering what you think counts as cheating.”
Santana looks her dead on. “When you want to be with someone else, and then you do something about it.”
--
“Where do you see yourself ten years from now?”
Rachel takes a sip of her vodka cranberry, curls her foot around Sam’s ankle and smiles. “Star of a Broadway show, signing autographs at the stage door, winning a Tony, etc etc.”
He takes a swig of his beer and laughs. “Room for me there?”
“Of course,” she answers, running her foot up his leg affectionately. “What about you?”
“Ten years from now?”
“Yeah.”
“Running the comic book store, maybe writing my own comic, sitting front row at some Broadway theater watching you awe people, escorting you to awards shows, crazy celebration sex, building a trophy case-”
His words get cut off by her mouth against his. “I love you,” she mumbles.
“I know.”
“Don’t forget, okay?”
“I won’t.”
--
Sam walks into her apartment and before even saying hello to her asks, “Why did Santana just give me the third degree about cheating on you?”
“She what?”
“Santana just paid me a visit and she was all,” Sam screws his face up into a scowl. “If you’re two timing my girl Rachel you better drop that shit now before you hurt her because I will mess you up, you hear? Except with more expletives and graphic threatening.” His face changes to one of confusion. “Do you think I’m cheating on you?”
“No!” She walks up to him, shaking her head vehemently. “No of course not.”
“Then why does your best friend think that?”
“Santana thinks everyone is cheating. She has zero trust in monogamy.”
“I find that hard to believe considering she’s been in a monogamous relationship for like ever.”
“I don’t think you’re cheating on me,” she says firmly, her hand running up his chest to wrap around his neck. She leans up on her toes to kiss him.
“I wouldn’t,” he tells her, hands gripping her hips. “I promise.”
Guilt twists in her stomach. “I know you wouldn’t.”
“I love you.”
--
“Did you yell at my boyfriend about cheating on me?”
Santana’s sitting at her kitchen counter spooning cereal into her mouth when Rachel bursts into the apartment.
“Knock much?”
“I have a key,” Rachel snaps. “Why did you yell at Sam?”
“I thought he was cheating on you!”
“So?!”
“Can you lower your voice? I have a hot girlfriend asleep in my bedroom and I’d rather she not wake up to the sound of your screeching.”
“Santana!” Rachel bites out angrily, but softer than before.
Santana drops her spoon into her cereal bowl and shoots Rachel a pointed look. “Look, Smalls, I get that you’re not used to this friend thing or whatever, but I’m not just going to sit around and let you get hurt.”
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
“Do I act like I care whether you need me to or not?”
“He’s not cheating on me,” Rachel says, deflating.
“I know.” Santana’s expression goes dark. “So whatever is going on with you? Figure it out before you do something you regret.”
--
Aaron calls her often. Leaves voicemail after voicemail asking for an explanation, pleading to see her again, telling her that he’d love to talk about some job opportunities.
She tries not to enjoy the way he’s pursuing her after just one date, but she can’t help how flattering it feels. The idea that her dreams are just a returned phone call away get to her - just a few dates with a charming man and she could be on a Broadway stage. For a few dark moments she contemplates the idea of dating him just for that purpose. Sam would understand. These are her dreams. They’re bigger than both of them.
But she hears him making promises to be faithful in her ear, whispering I love you in the dead of night and she knows he’d never understand.
She uses the guilt that swirls in her gut to stamp the feeling down and deletes his voicemails from her phone.
--
“You’re phone is blowing up,” Santana observes dryly. “You gonna answer that?”
Rachel looks over to where her phone is sitting on the table to see a missed call from Aaron. The fifth this afternoon. She hastily swipes her phone off the table and shuts it off, sticking it in her purse before Sam can lean over far enough to see.
“Not important,” she tells both of them.
“Who was it?” Sam asks.
“My boss from the restaurant,” she lies. “Trying to get me to work an extra shift.”
Sam seems to accept that, but Santana narrows her eyes skeptically. “Your boss?”
“Yeah.” She nods.
“You don’t want the extra cash?” Santana asks innocently.
Rachel glares at her, but Sam speaks before she can, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and laughing. “My girl works too hard as it is. If she starts picking up more shifts, I’ll never see her.”
Santana stares at them both, clearly unimpressed, but Rachel just smiles sweetly at her before kissing Sam on the cheek. “Exactly.”
“Exactly,” Sam repeats, imitating her voice.
She rolls her eyes, but he pecks kisses on her lips until she’s laughing and Santana’s making gagging sounds from across the table.
Later, she listens to the voicemail from the safety of the girl’s restroom.
Rachel, it’s Aaron. Look I’m still a little confused about what happened the other night. Just call me. I might have a part from you in a new show my friend is putting on. We could be good for each other, Rachel. Call me.
--
Rachel wakes up to the sound of her phone ringing and has to lean over the bed to the floor of Sam’s room in order to find her purse and pull it out.
“Who keeps calling you?” Sam groans.
“No one,” she says quickly, wincing as she hears it. It’s probably the fifth exchange they’ve had like this. Sam asking who keeps calling her and the same lie slipping out.
“No one, huh?”
She slides back into bed and settles against Sam’s side, her hand running down his abs. “Just go back to sleep.”
Silence falls for a few moments.
“You’re not cheating on me, right?”
Heartbeat picking up, Rachel jerks up in bed and stares down at him incredulously. “No,” she says firmly. “What would even make you think that?”
He shrugs. “You’ve been acting sort of strange lately. A lot of weird phone calls from no one. A guy starts to wonder.”
“Sam,” she whispers.
“Are you?” He asks again.
“No,” she repeats.
He doesn’t look like he believes her, but he wraps his arms around her tightly and pulls her down into his chest. When he tells her he loves her it sounds so much like goodbye that Rachel almost starts crying.
--
They break up with as much drama as Rachel could ever want out of a break up.
It’s pouring rain and they’re standing on the steps leading up to her apartment, both of them with tears in their eyes.
“Are you cheating on me?” Apparently the first twenty phone calls from no one were easy to dismiss. The next twenty made Sam’s suspicion came to a boil.
“For the sixteenth time, no.”
Wet blond hair is falling over his forehead, his grey cotton shirt clinging to his chest. If it were any other time, Rachel would be supremely turned on by the sight. As it is, there’s fear gripping her gut instead of arousal because Sam’s eyes say nothing but disbelief. “Rachel, please don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not cheating on you,” she says vehemently and suddenly more words are spilling out of her mouth. “It was just a kiss.”
He laughs, but the sound is hard and bitter, beats against Rachel’s ears roughly. “So you are cheating on me.”
“I kissed him, Sam. That’s hardly cheating.”
“Interesting definition you got there.”
“Don’t be such a boy,” she snaps.
Jaw clenched, he observes her, blinking against the rain. “Fine,” he finally says, nodding as if deciding something to himself. “That’s fine. Just tell me one thing.”
She crosses her arms over her chest against the chill. “What?”
“Who is he?”
She considers not answering, but honesty comes out in the end. “Aaron Burke.”
“Aaron Burke? The dude on all the posters? That Aaron Burke?”
“Yes.”
“How did you even meet him?”
“He came into the restaurant one day. I waited on his table.”
Sam’s face is shadowed with anger and despair. “What the hell does that guy have that I don’t?”
“Let’s not do this.”
“You fucking owe me this, Rachel,” he demands.
It makes her suddenly angry. “What does he have that you don’t? You couldn’t be more opposite if you tried.”
“Is that so?”
“Your greatest ambition in life is to own the comic book store down the street from your building, Sam. You’re happy getting paid dirt cheap for covering bad 90s songs at a bar that only serves two kinds of wine - red or white. Aaron is on Broadway. He has plans to break into Hollywood, to put his own album out, he wants to go places.”
Sam laughs darkly, interrupting her. “I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“Hey, I should have known.” There’s anger on his face that she’s never seen before, his tone harsh and bitter. “I mean you’d do anything to get ahead, right? Who am I to stand in the way?”
She gasps. “I know you’re not implying what I think you’re implying.”
He shakes his head, laughs at her again and throws his hands up in the air, defeated. “Don’t tell me you think that’s not what this is about.”
“It just happened, okay?” She walks towards him, but he steps backward and puts his hand up. “He’s just, he’s so successful and ambitious and he understands the kinds of things I’m going through, what I want out of my life and it just...it just happened.”
“That’s fine,” Sam says, looking down. “That’s just fine. Hey, it was nice while it lasted.”
“Sam,” she pleads. “Don’t do this.”
“Someday you’ll get that my dreams are just as good as yours even if they’re not as big. I hope he’s worth it.”
“Sam,” Rachel whispers, but he’s already walking down the street.
--
She shows up at Santana’s apartment a sopping wet mess, her mascara running down her face from rain and tears.
“What the fuck?” Santana ushers her inside, and grabs a towel from the bathroom, wrapping it around Rachel’s shoulders before moving to turn the coffee maker on.
When Rachel’s finally wrapping her hands around a warm mug and Santana’s sitting down on the couch next to her, she takes a deep breath to try and stop her crying.
“Who do I have to kill?” Santana asks. The question is harsh, but it warms Rachel’s heart.
She shakes her head. “Sam and I broke up.”
“Why?”
“He...,” Rachel starts, but the words choke in her throat. “I cheated on him,” she whispers.
Santana’s silent, eyes narrowed, but face otherwise neutral. “You cheated on him.”
Rachel nods.
“That dude from the restaurant. The Broadway guy.”
Another nod.
“You’re such a dumb bitch,” Santana laughs out and Rachel gasps in indignation.
“That’s hardly the appropriate thing to say.” Tears are welling in her eyes again.
“Why can’t you just be happy with what you have?”
Rachel lets out a choked sob. “I don’t know.”
Shaking her head, Santana looks at her sadly before pulling Rachel into a hug. “I’m sorry you guys broke up.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah you did,” Santana laughs, continues before Rachel can protest. “You didn’t mean to break up with him, but don’t say dumb shit like ‘I didn’t mean to kiss another dude’ when it’s not like anyone forced you to do it. You didn’t trip and land on his lips. Take some fucking ownership here.”
Rachel’s silent for a few seconds. “What’s wrong with me?”
Santana laughs. “If I knew that, my life would be a lot easier.”
--
He comes by a few days later to drop off a box of her stuff. She tells him she’ll bring him his stuff next week.
“I just want my guitar,” he says softly, pushing past her into the apartment to walk back into the bedroom.
Guitar in hand, he reemerges and gives her a soft smile. “I’ll see you around, Rach,” he says quietly. There’s a moment of hesitant silence between them before he crosses over to her and presses a warm kiss to her cheek.
When he’s gone, she pulls his favorite shirt out of her closet and curls up on her bed. Listens to the Evita soundtrack because it always comforted her, and cries against blue cotton for the next hour.
--
She never calls Aaron back. Deletes his number instead and hates that it feels a little bit like her dream is slipping away. She wonders if she’ll ever start getting any of this right.
--
It’s another four months before she gets her big break, but get it she does. A Broadway play, her first. It’s not a big part, but Rachel doesn’t care because it’s her dream and she’s finally achieving it.
The first person she calls is Sam. Doesn’t even think about it until the number is already dialed and he’s answering with a concerned sounding, “Rachel?”
A lump forms in her throat, her heartbeat picking up as she flushes in embarrassment. “Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah...I just...” Her throat closes again and she’s sure she’s going to cry. It’s been so long since she heard his voice.
“Rach?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“You’re not.”
“I got a part today. On a Broadway show.”
A beat.
“That’s great.” The happiness is genuine, if muted.
“I just, sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”
“I’m really happy for you, Rach. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “It is.”
“You’re finally achieving your dreams. Be proud.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
“Look, I’ve got to go. Good luck.”
He hangs up without another word. Rachel spends the next few hours crying instead of celebrating.
--
“You need to date someone else, get over Sam,” Santana suggests.
“What if I don’t want to get over him?”
“Then fuck someone else just to stop you from being this unattractive mopey mess you are right now.”
Rachel picks her head up from the bartop and glares at Santana who just laughs. “You’re a mess right now. Sorry, Smalls.”
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“How did you do it?”
Santana slides a shot of tequila towards her. “Do what?”
“How did you get over Brittany back in high school.”
Santana goes still, her face full of amused confusion. “I dated Sam.”
“I meant aside from that, you ass,” Rachel laughs, shoving Santana in the shoulder playfully.
Santana laughs loudly. “I didn’t get over Brittany. Obviously. You don’t get over a love like that. It’s why you gotta fight so hard to keep them because when it finally works out...” Santana grins wider than Rachel’s ever seen her, this light in her eyes that makes Rachel’s heart twist.
“I could have had that with Sam.”
“Yeah well, you screwed the pooch on that one.”
“Santana,” Rachel whines.
“Look, you made a choice. Either correct it or live with it.” Santana looks at her pointedly. “Now shut up and take your shot.”
--
She dates the male lead in the show she’s in and part of her thinks that things are finally looking up. His name is David - he’s tall, dark haired and so many things Sam isn’t. She tries not to make the comparisons, but it’s hard.
It’s everything she always imagined she’d have. David is the leading man she always assumed she’d be dating at this point and it puts her one step closer to her dream of becoming one half of a Broadway power couple.
She tries not think about how much that dream has gone fuzzy around the edges - the tall dark and handsome leading man giving way to a well muscled blond dork that smiles at her like she’s his whole world.
Achieving stardom is all about sacrifice. And sacrifice is something Rachel’s always been willing to do. Even if it’s happiness that’s being offered up for slaughter.
--
The show goes well, but it doesn’t go great. It’s exhilarating to be a part of her first production, but it’s not the whirlwind of fame she thought it’d be. She makes next to no money and hears but you’re getting great experience so many times that she might punch the next person that utters it.
It ends, as all things are apt to do, and Rachel’s back to where she started.
The last day of the show, she catches David sleeping with one of the dancers in the costume closet. Strangely, she doesn’t cry about it.
“You’re just too...intense,” he tells her. “I’m sorry. We would have never worked out anyway. We’re headed different places. It had to end sometime.”
She doesn’t cry, but she does slap him. The drama of it makes her feel grounded.
--
“Why do I always destroy everything good in my life?”
Santana chokes on her wine, barely catching herself from spilling over the white table cloth. “What?”
“Every time I’m happy, I destroy it.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
“Davey-boy fucking that chick had nothing to do with something you did.”
Rachel swallows thickly. “I’m not talking about David.”
Santana stares at her for a moment. “Sam?”
All Rachel can do is nod, heat spiking in the back of her eyes.
Santana shrugs. “Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Why do I make so many of them?”
“You love the drama.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
Rachel sighs, bites her lower lip. “I don’t know what to do at this point. I’m so lost.”
“Smalls,” Santana coos, reaching over and grabbing Rachel’s hand. “You’re doing fine. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Not as epically as I do.”
Santana laughs. “Of course you’d think you make bigger mistakes than anyone else in this world.”
Rachel gives her a pointed look, but breaks into a chuckle a second later. “What’s the matter with me?”
“It’s not the falling down that matters,” Santana says, and it’s probably the most serious Rachel has ever seen the other girl. “It’s how you get up afterward. Nothing is wrong with you. Learn from this stuff and move on.”
“I’m still in love with him,” Rachel says softly, swirling her wine around in her glass.
Letting go of Rachel’s hand, Santana leans back and laughs, picking her wine glass up. “No shit.”
“What do I do?”
“Get up,” Santana says plainly.
Rachel rolls her eyes. “I meant more practically.”
Santana laughs. “I’m serious. He’s playing at Eli’s tonight. Get up and go.”
Wide eyed, Rachel stares at Santana’s amused face. “Are you serious?”
“Come on, you fucking live for this shit. Can you imagine how dramatic it will be when you fucking bust through the doors and stare at him across the room all I want you back like?”
Santana’s mocking her, but Rachel can’t deny that part of her thrums with excitement at the very image.
“You think I should?”
“No I’m just saying you should because I love talking. Get the fuck out of that seat and go.”
--
The thrill of a dramatic entrance buzzes over the surface of her skin as she closes her hand around the dirty handle of Eli’s front door. Slowly, she pushes it open and steps into the warm air of the bar, her eyes darting straight for the stage across the room to see Sam setting up with his guitar.
Years later, Rachel will talk about how this moment is just like the movies. How Sam’s movement halts completely, his guitar strap half over his shoulder as his eyes connect with hers.
She stands in the back, her feet crunching on peanut shells that litter the floor as she stares pleadingly at Sam. It’s not long before he’s setting his guitar down, mumbling a quick apology to the crowd and jumping off stage to walk towards her.
The first thing out of his mouth when he reaches her side is a concerned, “Is everything okay?”
She swallows thickly, kicks herself for not scripting a speech before she showed up. “Every thing’s fine. Sort of. It will be.”
His eyebrows shoot upward. “Rach.”
She steps towards him, closer than she’s been to him in a long time and looks up into his eyes. “Sam, I love you.”
He swallows audibly, jerks back a little and looks at her warningly. “What are you doing?”
“My show ended,” she explains.
“I know.”
She blinks up at him, surprised. “What do you mean you know?”
He sighs. “Why are you here?”
“I got this part in this show, and it’s over and I...”
“Want me back now that you don’t have that,” Sam finishes for her.
“No,” she says vehemently.
“Yes. I ain’t dumb, Rachel. I know you pretty well.”
“No,” she repeats.
“Then what?”
She swallows thickly before speaking. “I got everything I always thought I wanted and it didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel good because...” she reaches out to run a hand down Sam’s arm, fingers pulling lightly against the fabric of his sleeve. “It didn’t feel good because you weren’t there.”
Sam’s not speaking, but his expression has softened, so she continues. “I always felt like I needed Broadway. Like if I didn’t have it I’d die, but Sam. I don’t. I swear to you I don’t anymore.”
“Rachel,” Sam croaks out, his eyes looking glossier by the second.
“I need you, Sam. Broadway will come and it will go, and I need to stop acting like it’s any different. I need you, Sam.”
“You don’t need anybody,” Sam corrects, smiling sadly. “You’re Rachel Berry.”
“Maybe so,” she concedes, shrugging a shoulder. She looks up at him. “But I want you. More than anything else.”
“I’m happy you feel that way, Rach, but...”
It’s the worst word to hear and her stomach plummets.
“Sam, don’t.” It’s so reminiscent of their breakup that it’s almost funny.
“I can’t, Rach. I’m really happy for you, but I can’t do it again. You feel this way now, but a few months from now...”
Hot tears fall over her cheeks, her eyes pleading with him to change his mind. “Sam, no. We can do this. I can do this now.”
“I can’t,” he repeats, voice barely above a whisper. He presses a warm kiss to her lips, the taste of their tears mingling between them. “I’m sorry.”
He breaks away, picks his guitar up, and walks past her.
--
“This is good,” Santana is saying over the phone. “Now you can truly move on and leave his sorry ass behind.”
“I don’t want to move on,” she whines, sniffling against a tissue. Sam’s favorite Sean Connery film is playing on her television and she’s a sobbing mess on her couch, half a bottle of wine on her coffee table and tissues everywhere.
“I’m going to need you to stop crying, Smalls.”
“I can’t,” she sobs. “It was supposed to work!”
“Yeah, well, sometimes life isn’t exactly like the movies.”
“It should be!”
Santana laughs. “Hey, look. Do you want me to come over? I’ll bring that crappy vegan ice cream you like and we can get drunk.”
Rachel considers it, but shakes her head and sighs. “No, that’s fine. I’m going to go to bed. The sun will come out tomorrow, right?”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay well text me if you change your mind.”
“I will.”
“Love you, bitch.”
Rachel chuckles, swiping tears from under her eyes. “You too.”
They hang up, and Rachel throws her cell phone onto the table, pushing back into the cushions and focusing on the television across from her to see Sean Connery talking to Nicolas Cage. She hates this movie. Hates it. But it was Sam’s favorite, and she’s seen it probably fifteen times. For a second she fantasizes breaking the DVD when she’s done with it, but before she can put thought into action the doorbell is ringing.
Laughing, she gets up and pads to the door, amused curiosity on her face. “Santana, I told you I was fine-”
Her words choke in her throat as the door swings open to revel not Santana, but Sam. His hands are in the pockets of his dark jeans, and he’s wearing a different shirt than earlier - this grey cotton t-shirt that she loves on him. Black rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, and just as always it makes her stomach flutter in attraction. He smiles at her like he didn’t just break her heart little over an hour ago and rocks back and forth on his feet.
“Hey,” he says.
Hastily, she wipes her hands over her cheeks and rearranges her hair. She’s sure she looks like a complete mess.
“What are you doing here?”
Sam shrugs, looks down the hallway to his right before looking back at her, a soft expression on his face. “I want to be over you,” he says. “I really, really, really want it.”
Tears brim in her eyes again, and she runs her fingers over them quickly, stomping her foot a little in frustration at her emotions as she looks down at the ground. “We already went over this, Sam. Honestly. I get it.”
“I want it, but I’m not.”
Her head whips up to look at him. “What?”
“So, I’m still in love with you. Like epic Han Solo Princess Leia love and I just...”
A cautious grin spreads over her face.
“You’ve broken my heart twice now, and I don’t want it to be a third, but I...” He shrugs, laughs a little. “I’m still in love with you. And I’m never going to be that Broadway dreamboat you always wanted, and we probably won’t be your perfect Broadway power couple or whatever, but I-”
Rachel shakes her head, curls her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t need that,” she says firmly. “I just need Clark Kent,” she jokes, bringing up a finger to touch his glasses.
He smiles joyfully, wraps an arm around her waist and brings their bodies together. He brings his other hand up to whip his glasses off and stares down at her. “How about Superman?”
Picking her up, he kisses her and carries her into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. She laughs against his mouth the entire way to the bedroom.
--
In the morning, Sam sits naked on the edge of her bed, pulls his guitar over his lap and sings Danny’s Song to her with a smile on his face. She wants to tell him that this song is about a girl getting pregnant, but she doesn’t. He’s grinning, and singing to her, and she’s impossibly in love with him.
“Even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with you, honey,” he sings, winking at her.
If he doesn’t finish the song it’s because she’s too happy to wait until the end to kiss him.