Reunion

Chapter One: People Get Ready

People get ready

There's a train a-coming

You don't need no baggage

You just get on board

Finn

He'd never been good with ties. He tried to persuade himself that it was exasperation that was making his hands tremble slightly as he undid the mess at his neck. He knew it wasn't, but it felt better to think that. Besides, there wasn't a cat's chance in hell that she would turn up. She had never turned up before and while this was a special reunion, there was no reason to think she would show up this time. Damn it! Why wouldn't his hands stop shaking? He bit down on his lip in determination and grabbed the ends of the bow tie.

"Night Stalkers don't quit," he muttered to himself as he stubbornly began again.

It was a sign of his distraction that he didn't notice that he was being observed from the door of his bedroom. The tall, beautiful girl smiled faintly as she watched him struggle. She found it hard to believe that this was the same man who piloted helicopters under fire with surgical precision, a talent that had saved numerous lives and earned him a Medal of Honour. Something was up with him and it was driving her crazy that he wouldn't admit it or talk to her about it. Initially, she'd put it down to his retirement, to the restlessness of civilian life, to the boredom of running her grandfather's business after Special Ops. Now, after something her uncle let slip, she had a different theory, one based on his past. His clumsiness was providing interesting support for it. She knocked on the door jamb and walked in.

"Here, Dad, let me do it."

Finn Hudson dropped his hands to his sides in defeat, sighing. He let his eighteen year old daughter take his hand, sit him down on the bed, and start to tackle the job herself. She made quick work of it as she always did and took a step back to examine the result critically. She leaned in to make a minor adjustment before she was satisfied.

"Okay, you're good to go," she declared, leading him back to the mirror to show him. "In fact," she added slyly, "you're looking like you made quite the effort tonight. I'd almost think that you were getting ready for a hot date instead of a high school reunion."

"Glee club reunion," he said, masking his discomfort. "Twenty five years of the Schuster Songsters, 2009 to 2034. It deserves a bit of effort, don't you think?"

"Well, I know Mr. Schu is pretty excited about it." Will Schuster was her godfather but in reference to him at McKinley, he was always Mr. Schu. "He's been looking really smug and he's had us practicing for tonight for months," she complained.

"He's learned something over the last quarter century then," Finn said dryly.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Your club won Nationals with nothing but your raw talent and songs chosen the night before while mine could only win with boot camp training and a campaign worthy of the Commanders-in-Chief. Old record, Dad."

Finn laughed. He and Ray were competitive about their experiences as members of the William McKinley High Glee Club under Will Schuster and their respective achievements. It didn't stop him tearing up with pride when he watched his daughter and the club perform two weeks earlier when they won McKinley's second National Championship.

"Anyway," she continued, "even with a backing troop of tone-deaf monkeys with two left feet, it was a no-brainer that you'd win with Rachel Berry."

Finn's training had given him some control of his emotional responses but mention of Rachel always made his face either blush or lose colour. Tonight it was the latter. Ray noticed and pressed home her advantage.

"Are you dressing up for her? There's a rumour that she's coming tonight and you are making all this effort…."

Finn stared at his daughter in shock, his face now white.

"He was right," she shouted triumphantly, "you did have a relationship with her!"

"Who was right? What are you talking about?"

"It was something Uncle George said that put me on the right track."

"So, it's my brother-in-law with the big mouth, huh?"

"Don't be like that," Ray pouted. "I remembered how you were at the Inauguration last year when she sang and I was telling Uncle George how you couldn't keep your eyes off of her. He said that wasn't surprising since he'd heard the two of you had been inseparable in high school. Why didn't you tell me that you two dated? Have you any idea how much cred that would have gotten me?"

"There's nothing to tell. We dated; we graduated; we went our separate ways. She found fame and fortune, I joined the army. End of story," Finn said tightly.

Ray's teasing response died in her throat as she recognised a rare flash of pain in his eyes. Not only had he kept this from her – and they shared pretty much everything – but it was something that had obviously affected him deeply. She was more curious than ever to know the whole story, but not from him, not now when she could see the effect it was having on him. She'd have to interrogate Kurt later. She kissed Finn's cheek softly.

"You look great, Dad. If she walked away from you, more fool her, and I hope she doesn't come. Love you."

With that, Ray left him to finish getting ready. Finn watched her go fondly, pushing away his thoughts of Rachel. She wouldn't come, of that he was certain. He looked back in the mirror. He was looking good, he thought. His hair was salted with grey now but otherwise, he was still youthful in a face more lined. His body was better than it had been at eighteen, firmer and harder after years of fitness training that he had continued out of habit. Maybe he could use some female company. All glee club members of the last twenty five years had been invited tonight and he knew from his occasional visits to Will at the school that there had been some real lookers amongst them. He might get lucky. He dated casually, enough to satisfy any carnal needs. He avoided serious entanglement by making it clear from the start that he wasn't interested in the long-term. His marriage to Ray's mom had cured him of any lingering desire for commitment even if the relationship had given him Ray.

Voices downstairs marked the arrival of Kurt and his husband, George. Finn knew they'd make themselves at home and that if he went down now, he'd be tempted to lecture his brother's husband on his inconvenient lack of discretion. They had a little time before they had to leave. He moved instead to the study next to his bedroom to look for his old yearbook. Will owed him a better comment and twenty-two years was more than enough time for him to come up with one.

Quinn and Santana

"What on earth am I doing here? How did I let you convince me to come back to Lima? We never came before."

Quinn glared at her friend who was carefully applying polish to the long talons she sported. Santana waved her hand in the air, drying the nails and dismissing the complaint in one easy motion.

"I can convince anyone of anything, remember? It's my job and I'm very good at it, as your divorce settlement testifies."

Quinn snorted. "Yes, but why did you want to come? You were as happy to see the back of this town as I was."

Santana thought for a moment before rising up from the arm chair in what Lima's finest hotel laughingly called its Presidential Suite.

"I don't know," she pondered, "call it nostalgia. When I heard that New Directions won Nationals, I got all misty-eyed. Hell, it was probably my period but by then I'd filled out the acceptance card. Once I was committed, I reckoned that I shouldn't have to face the horror alone. Besides, I want to see if Schu is still rocking those vests."

Quinn wasn't convinced.

"I know you, Santana Lopez. You've got a reason for dragging us here. Give."

"All right, all right," Santana admitted. "It's true. I wanted to see everybody. It's been twenty-two years and I wanted to check out how accurate my predictions were for the losers we haven't kept up with, like the Asian Nation and Artie McWheels."

Quinn laughed. Years ago, they'd created a drinking game where they made up entire life stories for the people they knew in high school. Each time a tale got funnier or more ridiculous, it was time to drink. As they got older, the game became less malicious and was more fondly played, but with no less hilarious results. The only one they couldn't do it with was Rachel Berry. The whole world knew her life story. So they just bitched about her clothes, her hair, her taste in men and her achievements.

"Besides," Santana added, "Jane's abandoned me. I thought she deserved to think of me gallivanting with my first love."

"She's hardly abandoned you. She's in London for three months on secondment. You could just have flown over for the weekend. As for Brittany, well…," Quinn tailed off.

Santana laughed. "Yes, as for Brittany. God, how did I ever think that was going to work? It's a good thing Jane's never met her. She'd know in a minute how mismatched we were and I'd lose a bargaining chip in the game of chicken we're playing about getting married."

Quinn gazed at her friend quizzically. "Who's stalling now?"

"I am. I don't know. Neither of us wants kids so there's no reason for it. Years as a divorce attorney sours one on that stuff, you know?"

Quinn knew. Her divorce had been brutal and she doubted she would have survived it without Santana, not because Santana was a legal barracuda which she was, but because she'd been a rock for Quinn's crumbling self-confidence. Quinn Westerson née Fabray was still an absolutely stunning beauty. The years and a little help had added to her charms, giving her an aura of untouchable perfection but, as had ever been the case, the woman inside was something of a mess, particularly when her carefully fabricated world came crashing down on her. She's met Roger Westerson of the New York Westersons at Yale. At first sight he'd fallen head over heels in love with her and he wasn't the only one. He had the better bank account, the better connections and the better potential and she'd let herself fall in love with him and the security he offered. They'd had fifteen good years before she discovered that he was having an affair with a blousy waitress that gave him the warmth he later alleged his Ice Queen wife lacked. Quinn ignored the affair at first but once it hit the papers, she acted, petitioning for a divorce. His family, who had never really approved of the favourite son's marriage to a nobody from Ohio, worked hard to turn Quinn into the villain of the piece, not anticipating Santana's ability to bite back hard. Quinn came out of it rich and a little less broken than she might have been, thanks to her lawyer. Now, she lived a quiet life in the Hamptons, doing charity work to stave off boredom. Santana tried to get her to go back to acting, but had so far had little success.

Quinn checked the clock.

"We'd better think about moving soon."

Santana preened in front of the mirror in the suite, checking out her still luscious body with satisfaction. She was in a favoured blood red gown that sparkled as she moved. She nodded as they headed for the door.

Mercedes

The mirror wasn't as kind as she'd have liked. Her round face was still smooth but there was no brightness in her eyes. That dimmed when they got the diagnosis and was extinguished the day Justin died. Now, the only light came from unshed tears, held back for the sake of her children and her sanity. It had been ten months and tonight was the first time since then that she was going out on her own. Her parents had persuaded her to return to Lima for a while so they could help her manage a hyperactive five year old and toddler twins. Her life and career were in LA but since her husband had passed away, she hadn't been able to sing a note. Sometimes, she felt that her babies were more upset by the loss of the bedtime treat of her songs than by the loss of their father.

She shook her head and walked over to the bed where her dress was laid out. She didn't bother to check herself again in the mirror, not registering how it showed her slimmer figure to good effect. She'd always been happy in her own skin and would have been as proud of her figure without the weight loss that ten months of grieving had imposed. She did wonder briefly if any of the old club would be there and if they'd recognise her. She'd lost touch with everybody after she moved to LA, finding life as a budding diva too exciting and too exhausting to make time for long-distance friendships. She'd had some success but not enough to get a major deal. Instead, she made her mark as a popular session singer and she had toured with some of the biggest in the business as a back up singer. She was highly regarded and sought after and that eased the irritation of having to admit to herself that she really was the Kelly Rowland to Rachel Berry's Beyoncé.

Rachel had it easy, Mercedes thought ruefully, just as she always did. She'd exploded on Broadway which led to Hollywood which led to the best and most iconic songs and to superstardom. She got the gongs and the trophies and the hot guys she was pictured with every day in the gossip sites and magazines. Mercedes was surprised to find her jealousy reasserting itself after so long.

"Hell to the naw," she murmured. She wasn't going down that path again. Self-pity wasn't doing her any good and her parents were right. She needed to go and make an entrance tonight, remind these people who Mercedes Jones was and would be again when she got her voice back. Mercedes grabbed her bag, her car keys and her dignity, held up her head and strode out into the night.

Mike and Tina

They'd been married twenty years. Tina Chang knew about the seven-year itch. In their seventh year, with two small children, she and Mike were too busy to scratch any itches as they returned to Lima to set up their dance studio. After that, it was all about making the Lima business work and raising their kids, one of each. She missed them, now that they were away in college, and wondered if that was the root of her current state of dissatisfaction. Maybe, she thought, but she was increasingly worried that it wasn't that at all; that instead she was suffering an itch, a twenty-year itch.

"Hon! Where's my shirt?"

Mike's voice drifted out from the bathroom, interrupting Tina's reverie.

"It's on the back of the door," she shouted back.

"Oh, right, thanks," he responded as he started the shower.

Tina returned her attention to applying her makeup, considering making more of an effort than she usually did. She and Mike had attended every reunion for the classes of '12 and '13 since they'd been back in Lima and she wasn't really anticipating that this one would be any different from the norm. She'd see Puck and Brittany, occasionally Artie, Lauren, Finn and Kurt, and she'd seen Sam, Sugar and Joe once each. Tonight was something else though. Tonight it was a special reunion for all the members of the glee club over the last twenty-five years and Will had worked hard to try and contact every single one of them. Tina didn't expect to see anybody from her club outside the usual suspects, but choreographing for Will and his kids since being in Lima made her excited about seeing some of the younger ones again.

The shower stopped and Mike came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. His abs still gave her little shivers and she smiled up at him. He bent down and kissed her cheek before grabbing his trousers and returning to the bathroom.

"Why am I so bored?"

Tina was horrified at the thought. She'd never articulated it before but she knew it was true. She was bored rigid with her life, with Mike, and with taking classes with bratty kids whose parents were the only ones with an interest in their children learning to dance. She looked at herself in the mirror and cursed as a tear ran down her cheek, ruining the mascara she'd just applied. She grabbed a tissue and wiped away the smudged mascara angrily before searching for the waterproof variety. She found it and laid it on the dressing table. She glanced over at the dress she planned to wear and made a decision. She got up and shoved the dress back into the wardrobe. She raced to her daughter's room and searched through what Ally had left behind, praying the dress was there.

Mike took his time with dressing and grooming, so it was a good twenty minutes before he re-emerged from the bathroom.

"Okay, are we ready to g-"

Mike stopped in his tracks as he gazed upon his wife of twenty years.

"Wow," he sputtered.

Brittany

Brittany was delighted with her new wall. She'd taken down the pictures of and notes on the current squad of Cheerios and replaced them with pictures she'd taken from the yearbooks of 2010, 2011, 2012 and 2013. One of the advantages of being the Assistant Cheerleading Coach at McKinley was access to the database that held copies of the yearbooks. She'd been frustrated that the only glee club picture from 2010 was of Rachel Berry and had to go through the yearbook carefully to pick out the rest of the members in other photos, but the later years were better, particularly 2012, the year her club won Nationals.

Now she just had to work out a way to get her bedroom wall to the auditorium.

She was saved from having to ponder this thorny question by the beeps of her phone. Her boss was calling.

"Hey, Sue," she answered in a rush, "I've finished. Look. What do you think? Do I need more kittens?"

She held the phone up so that Sue Sylvester could see the collage in all its glory. She walked closer to the wall, intending to let Sue's eyes linger on each and every picture.

"Brittany," Sue's voice blared from the phone, "Brittany! BRITTANY!"

Brittany returned her attention to the phone.

"Yes, this is Brittany. How may I help you?"

"You could start with a brain transplant." This came out before Sue could stop herself. It wasn't out of fear for hurting Brittany's feelings – that was rarely possible and never a concern to Sue Sylvester, proud gorgon of the cheerleading circuit – it was for the inane conversation that was bound to follow.

"There are brain transplants? That's so cool. Could I have a monkey's?"

"Yes. A definite improvement. In the meantime, perhaps you could explain to me why Will Schuster thinks I'm attending this abomination. I seem to remember telling you to tell him that I'd rather attend my own autopsy than have to watch anyone celebrate glee."

There was enough venom in the last word to bring down an elephant. Brittany, a lover of elephants, was unfazed.

"I know," she explained to Sue, "and I did, but then I heard from Artie."

"What are you talking about?"

"Artie Abrams, remember him? He's coming tonight and he's bringing a cameraman in case Rachel Berry shows up. She won't so Artie will need something else to cover. What would be better than the Cheerios twentieth title in twenty-five years? If you're not there, then Artie will probably do a feature on Will Schuster instead, so…"

Sue knew that Brittany, despite her eccentricities, had two very useful talents. The first was that she was a stunning dancer and choreographer of cheerleading routines. Her ideas were off-the-wall and the reason that Sue Sylvester's squads had returned to their winning – and profitable – ways. The second thing that Brittany could do, and Sue still didn't know after all these years if it was dumb luck or carefully contrived, was manipulate people to get what she wanted. Whenever Sue's bullying nature failed to achieve her demands, she sent in Brittany and nine times out of ten, it worked. Sue recognized that Brittany was manipulating her now. Sue hadn't been on TV in years, despite the squad's successes and it was very tempting.

"Fine," she barked out to Brittany, "just don't expect me to sit through any caterwauling."

Sue cut off the call abruptly as Brittany smiled to herself. It was time to get ready and she had a unicorn horn to polish.

Artie

There was nothing easy about being a PBS station manager. Between the constant hunt for funds and staving off ideological attacks from publicity-hungry politicians, Artie Abrams hated the major part of his job. What he loved was producing regional programming and at PBS, where people had to wear many hats, it was something he could do from time to time. When Will Schuster called him about the reunion and told him of his hopes to get all the original members to attend, he decided to gamble that Schuster might actually do it. Realistically, Artie knew the chances of getting Rachel Berry there were slim, but it was enough to give him the excuse of getting away from the office work and getting his hands dirty again.

Driving down from Toledo had taken little more than ninety minutes and as he pulled into his mom's driveway, he turned to his colleague.

"We're here, Gail. Have you got everything you need?"

Gail Simmonds had joined PBS the previous autumn as a camera operator and Artie was pleased that she'd been available. Her work was incredibly sensitive and innovative and, if nothing else, she'd turn in something special. He also thought she was hot but it had been years since he'd let that sway his professional judgement. He asked for her because she was good and because he wanted the chance to work with her.

Gail nodded and opened the passenger door of the specially adapted vehicle. She hesitated.

"Do you need help to get out?"

Artie smiled. "No, I'm fine."

She exited the car and took out her camera, checking its settings. A woman opened the door of the house and Gail started filming, something she did out of habit.

"Artie," the woman cried, running to the driver's side. Artie was descending on the ramp, his wheelchair gliding smoothly off the tracks. The woman hugged her son for what seemed like minutes. Constance Abrams was a widow, Artie's father having died a few years before, and she'd missed her son sorely. She wiped away the tears as she stepped back and gazed down at him lovingly. Artie gestured to Gail, still filming.

"This is Gail, Mom. She's my cameraman."

Gail snorted at the inappropriate nomenclature and held out her hand.

"How do you do, Mrs. Abrams."

"Oh, Connie, please; nice to meet you, Gail. How was your journey? Was it horrible?"

"Mom, Toledo is just up the road. It's not like we scaled Everest," Artie joked.

"Really?" Connie smiled sweetly before offering a loud conspiratorial whisper to Gail, "So why haven't I seen him in six months?"

"Mom," Artie protested, "you know what a mad house I work in."

"Yes, I know, dear. Anyway, I am just glad you're here now. Gail, I've prepared the guest room for you if you want to take your stuff up. It's the second door on the right at the top of the stairs. I've made you a light supper too, in case they're not feeding you. Artie wasn't clear on that."

Artie grinned. "If I know anything about your light suppers, it's a five course meal. You know I only moved to Toledo to keep my sylphlike figure. I was turning into Buddha here."

"That's nonsense. There's nothing wrong with a bit of meat on your bones."

Constance took hold of the handles of Artie's chair, insistent on being allowed to wheel him up to the house. Gail stood back and watched, through her camera as usual, as the pair negotiated their way through the front door.

A couple of hours later and feeling stuffed from the wonderful food that Connie had provided, Artie and Gail set out to attend the reunion.

Matt

Matt Rutherford had left Lima the summer after his sophomore year in high school when his family moved to California. He continued to play football at his new school but he gave up on the singing and dancing. In Sacramento, there was no quarterback to be in the vanguard of guys doing glee and as a newbie, he wasn't up to taking on the challenge himself. By the time he got to college on a football scholarship, his performance days anywhere other than on the field were behind him and his subsequent career as an accountant didn't lend itself to flights of dramatic fancy. He didn't think about his time at McKinley often, although when he did, it was with fondness and a fleeting sense of regret.

The day he turned forty, he ended his four-year relationship with his girlfriend, a relationship that had been over for some time before that day, and moved out of the house they shared. In the two months that followed, he bought a sports car, hit the night clubs to dance until dawn, and generally made an ass of himself with various women in a spurt of male menopause. Waking up in a strange bed with a woman he didn't even remember meeting alerted him to his idiocy and he tried to shake it off, making plans to sell the car. That was when Will Schuster contacted him and told him about the reunion.

Matt's immediate reaction was to blow it off. He'd only been in the glee club for a year and he hadn't been part of the group when they took Nationals. He remembered Rachel Berry, of course, and the football players and Cheerios in the club, but the rest of them were dim memories and he doubted they'd recognise him. That said, it might be interesting and it had been a good time in his life.

"No, it's as ridiculous as buying that expensive machine in my parking space," he told himself. He dismissed the idea with a touch of reluctance and returned his attention to selling the car he had hardly had the chance to enjoy. Then it hit him. He could drive to Lima. The depreciation on the car was going to be a killer anyway; he might as well get some pleasure for it.

He'd taken four days to get to Lima at a leisurely pace, stopping at anything that took his eye on the way. Once in Lima, he'd checked into a motel, planning to stay only long enough to attend the reunion. He used his time until then revisiting some of the landmarks of his youth: his old house, his school, the graves of his grandparents, the mall newly refurbished. He went to McKinley the morning of the reunion and began to have second thoughts about what he was doing. The high school looked so old and worn and it dawned on him that those words could probably be applied to himself and everyone he might see there that he ever knew. If Will Schuster hadn't spotted him, he would have turned around and driven back to Sacramento there and then.

"Matt Rutherford! My God, what a pleasure to see you."

Matt was startled that Schuster recognized him so quickly.

"Hello, Mr. Schu."

"I think you're old enough to call me Will," the man pumping his hand said cheerfully. Will Schuster had gained a little weight and a lot of grey in his hair over the intervening years but he was still as enthusiastic as Matt remembered.

"So," Schuster said, "you're here for the reunion. Do you want to see the auditorium? You're not supposed to until tonight but given how far you've come, I think we can break that rule."

"No, no, it's okay. I just came to have a look at the school, see what has changed," Matt replied. "Surprisingly, nothing has changed."

Will laughed.

"McKinley is and will always be the poor relation in this town, I'm afraid. Anyway, I'm really glad you've come. I told Finn and Puck that you were going to be here and they're really looking forward to seeing you again."

Matt shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "I'm surprised they remember me," he said quietly.

"Of course they do," Schu protested, "you're one of the originals and we've all wondered what happened to you. I look forward to hearing all about it tonight, but for now, you'll have to excuse me. I've got to get into the auditorium with these balloons or Emma will kill me."

Schuster shook the large bag he was carrying and grinned. He waved with the bag and hurried away, heading for the auditorium. Matt watched him go and sighed. It would have been churlish to skip it now he'd been spotted.

So that is how, a few hours later, Matt Rutherford found himself sitting in his flashy automobile outside William McKinley High School, willing himself to get out of the car and go inside.

Kurt

Kurt let himself into Finn's house, holding the phone to his ear as he closed the door behind him.

"Now you're being ridiculous," he complained. He paused as he listened to the response, frowning at the lint on his jacket sleeve. He brushed it away crossly. "I never read the fine print, you know that! That's why I have you!"

Ray Hudson raced up to her uncle, giving him the sort of bear hug that glued his arms to his sides, a habit she learned from her father. Kurt coughed with exaggeration, until she released him and he swatted at her with his free hand. She laughed and skipped out of reach. She put up her fists, boxed the air and mouthed at her uncle.

"Are you two quarrelling again?"

Kurt shrugged and returned his attention to his husband. "All right, all right, all right; one Armani suit and a pair of Tatsun's loafers, although why you want loafers is beyond me. See you in ten. Love you."

Kurt switched off his phone and grinned ruefully at his niece.

"So, I thought George was coming with you. Isn't he ready yet," she enquired.

"He is not coming. He found the actual invitation and read the bit about there not being enough room for partners, friends or family."

"Whoops," Ray chuckled. "So, he's not too happy about being dragged from New York to Lima for an event he's not invited to? That's unreasonable of him."

"Exactly," Kurt agreed. They laughed and hugged again, this time with Kurt giving the extra squeeze.

"Hey, hey," Ray protested, "I've got to sing later."

Kurt let her go and followed her into the lounge.

"What are you singing?"

"It's a surprise," she teased.

"Oh, sure," said Kurt. "Will Schuster is as original as a MacDonald's French Fry. If 'Don't Stop Believing' isn't on the bill, I'll give you a month's allowance. Where's your dad, anyway?"

Kurt moved to the bottom of the stairs. "Finn," he shouted, "whatever are you doing up there, all the products in the world aren't going to make those wrinkles disappear."

Ray followed him. "He's making a special effort," Ray whispered.

Kurt glanced at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Ray led her uncle back to the lounge, talking in a low voice. "Rachel Berry," she said, with some satisfaction. Kurt looked at her quizzically.

"Rachel won't be there," he said slowly, "and anyway, why would he care."

"Stop it, Uncle Kurt. Stop pretending that Dad never cared about Rachel Berry," she stated firmly.

Kurt's eyes widened in surprise and he shot a quick glance at the stairs. He grabbed her arm and took her into the kitchen.

"Okay, so what do you know?"

"Only that they dated in high school and that Dad looked like a ghost when I mentioned the rumour that she would be coming. Why has this been kept from me?"

Kurt sighed. He wasn't sure what to say.

"It wasn't about keeping it from you, honey. It was about not bringing it up around your dad. He's never really gotten over it. Finn and Rachel were… well, let's just say that at the time, everybody thought they'd be together forever. They were even engaged, asinine though that was in high school, and they got as far as the courthouse once. But they were too young and Rachel was so ambitious… he let her go to follow her dreams. I think he always thought they'd get back together, but after she stopped responding to his calls, he had to accept it was over. That's when he met your mom and you know the rest."

"I always knew he met my mother on the rebound and that they were a disaster together. I just never knew any of the details leading up to it. Wow," she said slowly, "poor Dad. Glad to say, I've never really liked Rachel Berry anyway."

"You don't know her," Kurt said sharply. He sighed. "Rachel is great; she just had this desperate drive to perform. It overwhelmed every else, including your father, despite their best intentions. I don't blame Rachel for it, just like I don't blame my brother. Their worlds were too far apart. Anyway, there's no way she'll turn up. She's probably filming in Capri or singing for the Dalai Lama in Tibet or something, not that I'm jealous or anything."

They were silent for a moment as they indulged in their own thoughts, so much so that they both jumped when Finn came into the kitchen.

"What are you two up to?"

"Nothing," Ray said innocently. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," Finn replied, looking around. "Where's George?"

"I'm pretty sure George is trying to contact his lawyer so he can divorce me," said Kurt with a pout.

"Sure he is. You two will split up when the Cleveland Browns win the Super Bowl," Finn teased, for neither was ever going to happen.

"Well, he's not coming tonight, anyway. I forgot to mention that we weren't supposed to bring partners but Puck let the cat out of the bag."

"Puck? You've seen Puck already?"

"Yeah, in fact, we have to swing by the house to pick him up. He arrived looking like a gorilla covered in grease as I was leaving." Kurt wrinkled his nose in distaste at the memory.

"Okay, well, we'd better get a move on then," said Ray. She ushered the men out of the kitchen, keeping a particularly close eye on her father. If Rachel Berry did turn up, she was going to give her a piece of her mind.

Puck

"What do you think, Mrs. H?"

Noah Puckerman stood proudly in his tux, waiting for Carole Hudson-Hummel to compliment his style. Instead, he blinked at her gasp of horror.

"What is that on your head?"

Puck raised his hand to the side of his newly shaved head, leaving the trademark Mohawk that he had borne through high school.

"I thought I'd go all the way, reliving my glory days," he explained.

"Estelle is going to kill you."

Estelle was Puck's wife, also known as "Number Four." Puck had proven to be less adept at keeping wives than he was at keeping jobs, having joined Burt Hummel at the garage since leaving high school. He'd threaten to leave, to make his way out of Lima, every couple of weeks until he married "Number One," a woman twenty years older than he was. That marriage lasted two years which was a year longer than the one with "Number Two." "Number Three" was annulled after a week. Estelle had survived five years as Mrs. Noah Puckerman but Carole was fairly sure she would be gone soon. Puck had taken to spending more and more nights at the Hudson-Hummels to avoid the supposed long drive home after a busy day's work. Carole recognised the return of Puck's restlessness and roving eye, and her heart sank for him.

Despite his waywardness with women, Puck was genuinely content with his life. He loved his kids, all six of them, and he enjoyed his work. Since Finn had taken over running the place as Burt scaled back his working time on the way to retiring, Puck had loved it even more, re-bonding with his former best friend. Puck was fine with Finn being in charge. He was too casual to ever be a boss man. The only thing he had to be careful about was not trying to take advantage of Finn. He learned quickly that the army had given Finn an uncomfortable taste for discipline and order.

"Oh. My. God." George Hutchinson entered the room as Puck was preening. "Did something die on your head?"

Puck laughed. "You're just jealous, New York Boy, as all the hairs you have left couldn't make up an inch of this baby."

Puck was right about the hair count, wrong about the jealousy. George was determined to go bald gracefully and it was certainly true that it did not detract from his good looks.

Puck became more serious as he noticed George's sweater and jeans.

"George, Kurt's right. Schuster will let you in. You should come with us."

"To be honest, I'm grateful for an excuse not to go. It gives me a chance to spend the evening with this beautiful woman," George responded, reaching out to put his arm around Carole's waist and pulling her close.

"I thought guys weren't supposed to like their mother-in-law," she said, giggling.

"That's the joy of being gay," George replied, "you can avoid being a guy when it suits you." He looked up at Puck, who was still looking a little concerned.

"Puck, it's fine, really. I'm not angry at Kurt and I want him to go."

"That's not what it sounded like," insisted Puck. "You seemed to be pretty mad."

"Ah, well, spice is always welcome in a marriage. It keeps things interesting."

Further debate about the relative merits of pretending in marriage was postponed as Kurt, Finn and Ray arrived. Finn was delighted to see Puck's Mohawk again and gave him a high five. Kurt was horrified and Ray just shook her head. George, to ease Puck's concerns, planted a big kiss on his surprised husband with the words, "I forgive you. Go with God and have a good time."

Rachel Berry

The last time Rachel Berry–

She was always Rachel Berry these days or Ms. Berry, even when people just used her first name. The rest was always implied.

The last time Rachel Berry was in Lima was in 2016. It was after she'd finally persuaded her dads to move to New York to be closer to her. She'd found them a great apartment in her building on Fifth Avenue and, as her killer blow, told her dads that Nate Berkus had agreed to decorate it. Job done, she turned up out of the blue to spend their last day with them. That day, she vowed never to return.

So it was inexplicable that she was here now. It was inexplicable that she was alone, without minders, without bodyguards, without agents or makeup people or hairdressers or anyone. She felt like somebody on the run. She was driving in the streets of a Lima made vaguely unfamiliar by progress in a car rented in the name of Barbra Summers, a nom de plume she used when she wanted to get away from everything. She finally found the motel and pulled up outside Room 16. She'd prearranged the motel room, paying in advance online so she didn't have to check in personally, just use the code on the lock of the door which would register her arrival. She checked the area. There was no one in sight. She pulled the baseball cap down further over her head and donned her sunglasses. She hurried out of the car, grabbing her travel bag, and made it to the door. She punched in the memorised numbers and breathed a sigh of relief as it opened and allowed her to escape any sharp-eyed observers.

She glanced around the room, reminding herself of what ordinary life used to look like. There was no fully stocked bar, no Jacuzzi, no separate rooms. It was a single room with a double bed against the wall, a couple of bedside tables on each side, a small desk with a mirror above it against another wall and a chest of drawers on which sat a television that was modern in 2010. There was a small alcove with two inner doors, one to the hanging space and one to the tiny shower-only bathroom. She caught herself checking for cockroaches before realising how ridiculous and pampered she was being.

Throwing her bag on the desk and herself on the bed, Rachel contemplated her actions over the last week. It started when her movie wrapped and she skipped the party. That was unlike her; she was usually the belle of the ball on those occasions, throwing in some special treats, like flights to Hawaii or diamond watches and tie pins. This time, it had been different. She had never been more relieved to have finished a project before and she couldn't face putting in an appearance. They all thought she was a bitch anyway, so it wouldn't have dampened anyone else's fun. She had been a bitch, too, for the duration of the shoot, finding fault with everyone and everything. She'd put it down to an indifferent script, lousy locations, boredom with film work, wanting to go back to Broadway, whatever. In her heart though, she knew it wasn't to do with anything external; it was about her. She hadn't had sex in six months since she threw out her last in a long line of lovers and she was definitely starting to miss that. More than that, she just couldn't get excited. She had been offered her pick of Broadway roles and she didn't care. Maybe it was time to retire.

This was her mood when by pure chance she learned about a call from Will Schuster. Rachel had had gatekeepers between her and the rest of the world for so long now that she had forgotten that sometimes people just picked up a phone. The message was already consigned to a pile that she would never normally see and it was only the fluke of her PA having food poisoning and the temp's nervousness that led her to it. Seeing his name brought memories rushing back.

Rachel dismissed the thought of calling him back, until she realised that for the first time in months, she was actually experiencing strong emotions. They weren't all good, that was for sure, but they were something and to a person feeling numb, they were like beacons in the night. So a day after she saw the message, she sat down and called her old glee club director.

Four days later, and here she was, seriously considering gate-crashing her own glee club reunion. She'd told Will that she probably couldn't come, that the paparazzi would ruin it, that she had commitments, but that was not why she thought of herself as a gate-crasher. It was more that she was such an outsider to these people now. Truthfully, she'd always been the outsider, the loser in the gang of losers. Her success didn't change anything. Yet, there was a time in her life when the glee club was her salvation and if ever she needed saving, it was now. Maybe this was a good idea after all. Maybe she was ready to face them now, all of them.

Rachel rose from the bed and went to her bag. She pulled out the dress she'd brought with her, hung it in the wardrobe and disappeared into the bathroom, hoping against hope that the shower would be hot and gushing.

Yes, she was ready to face him now.