Title: An Inevitable Conclusion
Characters/Pairing: Jesse/Rachel
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-"Journey"
Summary: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.
Notes: I know the summary leaves a lot to be desired, but I thought it was the one line that pretty much summed up where the story is headed as a whole. The first half of the series will deal with Jesse and Rachel overcoming their problems and reconciling and will be chock full of angst. The second part, however, will focus on Jesse and Rachel settling into a relationship and maintaining one with Jesse in college and Rachel in her last year of school. It will be a little fluffier, but I want to deal with the lies and misunderstandings that started their relationship and led to their breakup and put them through hell basically before I put them in a happy place. The entire series will be from Jesse's perspective because I want to flush out his character. We'll meet his family and get into his head and see that his cockiness is merely a smokescreen. So I hope you give this fic a chance and like where it leads!

—

01. I'll Take You On

I'm apprehensive about Regionals. Not about the competition itself (Vocal Adrenaline's got it in the bag, after all), but there's Rachel to consider.

Rachel who smiles like her heart isn't breaking. Rachel who thinks my feelings for her were a well-acted lie. Rachel who doesn't know the truth.

The night after the egging, I laid in bed at home (mine, not my uncle's) and wondered how I could have let the feud between the two teams escalate to such a degree, destroying a relationship in the process. It would've ended eventually, but maybe it wouldn't have ended so tragically.

Though it's not fair to lay all the blame at Vocal Adrenaline's door—they weren't entirely to blame. Shelby had aided in the destruction of my relationship with Rachel as if she had been there tossing eggs with everyone else. In a way she was worse—taunting me with a future that I'd never have if I chose New Directions instead of Vocal Adrenaline…if I chose Rachel.

I could've fought harder for Rachel despite Shelby's indifference. I could've fought, period.

I thought about Rachel a lot during the two weeks that lapsed from the egging to the Regionals showdown. I thought about her short skirts and her funny shirts. I thought about the taste of her lips, the smell of her skin. I thought about how to defy Shelby and date her daughter wouldn't get me any closer to my dreams.

When I'd returned to Carmel I had to prove that I wanted to be there and egging Rachel had been my ticket back into the fold.

When Rachel told me to do it—break the egg like I broke her heart—I did it, because standing at the center of my teammates I just couldn't…not. I still don't know how I was able to turn and walk away when my heart was breaking, when all I wanted to do was stay there with Rachel—clean her off, pull her into my arms and tell her how much I love her (present tense, not past like I asserted in front of my teammates).

Somehow I get through "Bohemian Rhapsody," needing the win to proceed to Nationals—losing is not an option, not when I've lost so much already. I spot Rachel in the audience near the end of the performance. I try to resist the urge to look at her, but I do, just as the song nears its conclusion and she disappears out the double doors, looking as forlorn and dejected as I feel.

—

I don't see her again until we all gather onstage for the results. I'd heard that Quinn had gone into labor and the majority of New Directions had been back and forth to the hospital, Rachel included. A forbidden image blinds my vision of Rachel happily swollen with my child, my past sins forgiven, the future ours to make of it what we want. Then, Shelby steps beside me, snatching the vision away.

I catch Rachel's eye as the judges flood the stage, Sue Sylvester waving the results envelope with relish. Rachel flashes me a winsome smile, her confidence disarming in its splendor. It mystifies me for just a split second and I gape at her, pondering silently how I could've fucked up something so good, so badly.

Then Vocal Adrenaline is pronounced the winner and my excitement—my relief—outweighs my regret.

—

I'm standing in the lobby chatting with my teammates Marshall and Wesley (attempting to beg off the celebratory kegger they're planning) when I catch sight of Rachel hurrying by, glittering like a Christmas ornament in her gold dress. My eyes follow her to the door then my feet are in pursuit, moving after her of their own accord.

The warm wind slaps my face as I step outside and call out, "Rachel!"

The moment that she turns to face me, everything changes. Time slows to a crawl and proceeds in a leisurely motion. The rapid beating of my heart picks up speed, the swift tattoo somehow calming my frazzled nerves. I watch Rachel and she watches me, but for long minutes neither of us speaks.

Then Rachel starts to shake her head, the look on her face pleading, desperate. Her expression is so somber that I'm tempted to leave her alone and give her the space that she desires. But I can't. I just can't. "I need to talk to you. I need to…explain. Please, Rachel. Five minutes, that's all I'm asking for."

"No," she says softly.

"No?"

"No," she says again, this time more forcefully, her face a flurry of emotions. "You beat us, Jesse. You got everything you wanted. The trophy. My mother. And my heart…which I always knew you'd break. Just…just take it all and leave me the hell alone."

It's there on the tip of my tongue, another plea…but I just can't do it. Not after seeing the disillusioned look on her face, the hopelessness in her eyes.

I watch her walk away and, in that moment, realize all that I've lost.

—

Los Angeles is a new start for me. I like being someplace where absolutely no one knows me, where nothing and no one is a constant reminder of the greatest mistake of my life.

I throw myself into my studies, into theatre, into the job I get working in an off-campus café. I don't date for awhile, but when I start, unfortunately, I see facets of Rachel in every girl I meet. The constant reminder of her is torturous, but after a time instead of trying so hard to move past her, I'm even more determined to find her in the girls I date, girls that know nothing of the lie that morphed into love.

—

I return to Lima for the summer, not sure whether I'm back for me or for Rachel. I do know that if it's Rachel I've come home for, it's gonna take a hell of a lot of groveling for her to even contemplate taking my sorry ass back. By the time I make it home, I've resolved not to return to UCLA without at least giving it a shot.

The first time I run into Rachel it's in the coffee shop where she's working. She makes it clear that she's moved past me, delighting in her proclamation that she's dating Finn Hudson now. She flashes me a triumphant smile and storms away, refusing to serve me.

As another waitress comes to take my order, apologizing for Rachel's theatrics, I cannot take my eyes off of her. I note that her happiness is a cheap imitation—if not a total fabrication—for my benefit, her beatific smile having already fallen from her face as she rounds the counter to fill her orders. I wonder why—why the pretense? Is she not happy with Finn? And if she's not, why lie about it?

Regardless, her smile isn't as genuine as it was when we were together.

As I sit at my table and sip my coffee, I can't help but watch her, wondering if Finn believes in her talent as fervently as I did…as I still do. Because even though we are no longer together, I know that Rachel is going to be a star, it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does.

—

For a week I loiter at the coffee shop during Rachel's shifts. I go to pick up coffee…and then I just don't leave—I can't leave. Somehow I endure the scowls, the mumbled name-calling and her smacking me callously with her tray in passing. It's a small price to pay just to be in the same room with her.

I blatantly flirt with whichever waitress is serving me, striking Rachel's ire, but rather enjoying her spiteful glares. Knowing that I can still get under her skin gives me hope that she's not as impervious to me as she would like me to believe.

—

With her purse draped over her shoulder and a pinched look on her face, Rachel stops at my table one afternoon, demanding, "What do you think you are doing, Jesse?"

I continue to leaf through my newspaper, taking a keen interest in the want ads—that is, until she snatches the paper away, deftly dodging my attempts to retrieve it, tucking it under her arm, out of my reach. Finally I declare defeat that I'm not getting my paper back and snap, "I was reading the paper. I'll have you know you're interfering with my job search."

She eyes me skeptically. "I don't believe you."

"That's your prerogative," I say, though she's got every right to question everything I say. Though, I'm not technically looking to acquire a job, she doesn't know that. It may come to that if I decide to stick around Lima longer than the summer.

"What do you want, Jesse?"

"I don't want anything. I mean, except for the coffee," I say, scooping up my cup to prove my point, frowning upon finding it empty. I set it back down on the table and push it aside, glancing around for Elizabeth, my attentive waitress. Unfortunately, she's nowhere to be found.

As if at a loss for words, she blurts out, "I'm dating Finn," as if feeling the need to stab the fact into my brain. I may possess a litany of characters flaws, but being short of memory isn't one of them.

"Yes, so you've told me," I say, annoyed with the edge I hear in my own voice.

"Besides we're over."

I smirk up at her. She's standing awfully close for someone she's claimed to be over. I keep that little notion to myself—after all, she's close enough that if she were to get physical, it would hurt like a motherfucker. "Are we, Rachel? Are we really?"

I slide out of my booth abruptly, making Rachel retreat a couple of steps. I drop a couple bills on the table for Elizabeth, then give Rachel one last lingering look before I leave the coffee shop, feeling her eyes follow me all the way to my car.

—

To take my mind off of Rachel, I accept an invitation to hang out with some of the guys I graduated with, a couple of them who were my teammates on Vocal Adrenaline. After dinner and bowling, we wind up in a club downtown that now hosts karaoke on Saturdays.

The last thing I want to do is sing, but we all sign up anyway. As I'm sifting through the catalog of music, a familiar voice fills my ears. For a moment I think I'm hearing things, that my mind is playing tricks on me, but when my eyes snap to the stage, sure enough, there is Rachel, amid a single spotlight, her voice sifting through the darkened room like a lover's caress.

She's singing "Time Heals Everything" from Mack & Mabel and I wonder at her choice of song, if our relationship prompted this selection.

I watch her throughout the song and, likewise, feel my friends watching me. Marshall is the only one I've confided in about my lingering feelings for Rachel. He doesn't understand why I would want to date just one girl, but then again he's never tried to be monogamous. I suddenly wish I'd had the chance to introduce him to Rachel; she would've taken him down a peg or two. I smile to myself, imagining the set down Rachel would have given him, how much she would object to his carefree lifestyle. Maybe there's still a chance for that to happen.

As the last lyrics fall from her lips—time heals everything but loving you—our eyes meet in the crowd. I keep my eyes trained on her as she bows through a roundhouse of applause and hurries from the stage, glancing back at me from over her shoulder as she rejoins a group of girls, none of whom I recognize.

I can't help but laugh as Marshall bellows, "How are we supposed to go on after that? We're gonna get booed off the stage!" I can't believe that a former member of Vocal Adrenaline can be so pessimistic; then again we were always leery of Rachel's talent, her being the offspring of our own choir director.

As the other guys assure Marshall that they can still carry a tune, I search the crowd for Rachel, but find that she, along with the group of girls, are gone.

—

In an effort to escape my harridan of a mother (who's on a quest to set me up with her tennis instructor's daughter) I take refuge on the back porch with my coffee, completely forgoing breakfast. My parents aren't especially attentive, but when they show me any attention whatsoever it's to a smothering degree. Besides trying to ingratiate myself back into Rachel's good graces is enough of a chore without trying to date, too.

When my phone rings I pull it out of my pocket, expecting it to be my Uncle Patrick (who's been yearning for my company since my return from school) or Marshall even, so I'm pleasantly surprised to see Rachel's name illuminating the screen. I nearly answer it, but send the call to voice mail instead and make her wait for once. "Let's see how you like it," I mutter aloud, listening to the ring quiet, with no beep to alert me of an awaiting message.

She calls back twice more and I feel compelled to answer, knowing how relentless Rachel can be. But I'm also curious as to why she's calling. Why now. "Hi, Rachel," I answer with apprehension.

"You didn't call me back," she says, by way of greeting.

"To be fair, you didn't give me the chance." I pause, adding, "You didn't give me the chance for a lot of things."

"Jesse, I don't understand any of this. Do you relish breaking me or something? Because that's what you did—you broke me."

Hearing her say it so bluntly…I'm not prepared for it. It was a confirmation that I didn't need, but received anyway—and it gives me the chance for repentance. "I'm sorry," I manage with a heartfelt whisper that is anything but manufactured. "I'm so sorry, Rach, I never wanted to break you. That was never my intention."

For a long moment she's quiet and I can hear her trying to keep her sniffles quiet, but I hear them anyway. Knowing that she's crying over me, over the pain and misery that I caused her makes me feel like a world class jerk. But at least I'm a jerk that wants to right my wrong. I'm trying.

"Can I ask you a question? Something's been bugging me a long time and I'd like an answer."

"You can ask me anything, Rachel."

She pauses for a long moment before she asks, "Why did you say it?"

I know she's referring to the three little words that I said prior to pelting her with the egg. I still don't know why I chose that particular moment to disclose my feelings—they had simply just come pouring out, surprising my teammates as well as myself.

Sometimes, I thought the reason I wanted Rachel as strongly as did was because Shelby told me that I couldn't have her. I had been denied the one thing I didn't even know I wanted until I was told I couldn't have it—that fucks with the psyche. But I quickly dispelled that as nonsense.

Over the past few months I've examined my feelings for Rachel and they run far deeper than a simple desire to have something I was previously told wasn't mine to have. I want her and my heart is determined to have her.

"Rachel, you have to know that what I said…I meant those words. They weren't meant to be vindictive or cause you pain. I did love you." I do love you. The words are on the tip end of my tongue to say, but I bite them back, knowing that Rachel no longer feels the same way. What's more, I don't think I can bear to say them again without her responding in kind.

"That doesn't help at all, Jesse," she cries.

I can't listen to her cry. If I have to listen to her sobs, I'll do something stupid, or worse…say something stupid, something that I can't take back. "Rach, can I see you? Can we talk in person?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

She is right, of course, but I can't have this conversation over the phone. I have to see her face when she tells me that she can't ever forgive me, that there's no hope for us. "C'mon, Rach. Please."

She sighs, a breathy little sound that I remember well. The noise would vibrate in my ears just before she asked me to kiss her, hold her, touch her. God. I don't know if I'm strong enough for this. I don't know if I can handle her rejection.

"I'm in my car outside," she says after a long, silent minute.

"Outside my house?" I ask stupidly.

"Yes."

"Hold on, I'm coming." I end the call and set my empty coffee cup on the table, nearly sprinting in my haste to get to Rachel. I walk to the gate and push it open, spotting her car in the horseshoe driveway. Her eyes are trained on the front door so she doesn't see me coming from the opposite direction—she lets out a screech when I rap on the window.

"You scared me," she declares as she steps out of the car.

"Sorry. I was out back," I explain, slamming her car door for her as I take in her appearance, the pencil skirt and flouncy pink blouse. She looks good, conservative. Fancy. "You look nice."

She looks down at herself, then up at me, smiling faintly. "Thank you. I had an interview."

"For what?" I ask, interested.

She doesn't answer me directly, instead snapping, "Please don't pretend like you care."

I'm somewhat disconcerted by the bite to her words, the insinuation that I don't care. "I do care," I insist, though the words are hollow in light of my past actions, my previous string of lies.

"That's even worse than pretending that you do," Rachel says, astounding me with her reasoning. She walks a few steps away, squinting against the bright late morning sun. I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she weighs her next words, keeping her back to me as she begins to speak. "Everything was so simple before you came back, you know. Most of the time I didn't even think about you. I could go to the library, sit at the piano and not remember how we were. I could pretend that it didn't hurt anymore…that I was happy. And now…"

"And now?" I prod breathlessly on the heels of her implication that I've sent her life into a tailspin with my reappearance, with my renewed interest.

"Now everything's so…muddled."

Rachel looks back at me and I avert my eyes so that she doesn't know I was watching her with so much intent as she spoke, gauging her every nuance, each flutter of her hands. I don't look away quickly enough and notice there are tears in her eyes, her makeup a veritable mess on her face. "What are you saying, Rachel?" I ask, reaching forward to smooth away a tear with a brush of my thumb against her cheek.

"That you being here—back in town—it's confusing, Jesse. I still don't understand what happened between us, what went so wrong…"

"There are things I need to tell you, Rach...things I should've told you a long time ago..."

"Not today. Not now. I can't do it."

"Okay," I say because I don't know what else there is to say. I don't know what this means and I can see how tenuous the situation is not to question it too forcefully.

"I hated you for a very long time, Jesse. Part of me still does. But I still…it's hard for me to tell you to get out of my life forever."

I expected different words, an entirely different outcome than the one that has just played out…but this I'll take without argument. "I never wanted things to end the way they did, Rachel. I want you to believe that."

She smiles and nods. "I've wanted to believe that."

"So why can't you?"

"Because how can I trust anything you say? For all I know I'm merely an amusement for you, a toy for you to roll out when nothing else interests you."

I take two steps backward, distancing myself from her. "Do you really believe that?" I ask, mildly irritated that she thinks that I can treat her so carelessly again.

"Honestly, Jesse, I don't know what to believe."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know," I say, turning on my heel and returning to the house, leaving Rachel standing in my driveway with her confusion and disbelief.