Blue is not your colour

"Take that, gleek."

The ice is so cold.

That's the first thing she notices as some of it slides down her cheeks and falls onto her clavicles. And it stings her eyes, and tears immediately spring free in a wild attempt to clear her eyeballs of the sickly sweet syrup that she can't blink out. She drops her cane to the ground and wipes her face free of some of the ice, only to find her fingers get tangled in her now wet matted hair...

And the laughter is so cruel.

Then a strong, violent shiver courses down her spine, and it's not because of the ice. She feels vulnerable and cold and alone because she can still hear the footballer laughing with his friends at the end of the corridor as everyone else who's there has been spooked into silence. She doesn't really expect any of them to come and help her, the best she's ever been treated in this school is a sort of unaffected indifference, and she is fine with that. Normally, she's fine with that.

Right now she wants someone, anyone, to help her. Because she doesn't know what to do.

"Rachel?" A voice says from behind her, and she lets out a strange noise she never remembers ever making before. It's somewhere between a gasp, a cry and a gurgle.

"Noah?" She asks.

"Yeah." He says angrily, though she can tell it's not directed her. "What happened? Who did this?"

Rachel can only assume that his first question is rhetorical as another clump of ice falls from her shoulder to the floor with a splat. The second question disturbs her more, and her lip begins to wobble. "I don't know." She says weakly.

"This is disgusting." He says, and he gently grabs her elbow. She can feel him lean down and pick up her cane which he places back in her palm. "Here you go, hold onto that. We'll get you cleaned off then figure out who did this."

She can't hear anyone else in the hallway, the culprits having long gone and while she hadn't noticed where Puck had arrived from she could only assume that he'd turned up while she'd been distracted by the ice. She feels strangely lethargic right now, maybe the ice is numbing her emotions as well as her scalp, but her brain just isn't really processing anything very well right now. Instead she focuses on the things that are simple enough for her to retain. The Ice. Puck. The click of his cell phone. The foamy grip of her cane, now sticky with syrup.

"Hey Britt," Puck says abruptly, surprising her a little. "I need you to come to the Spanish hallway right away, it's an emergency... No the Spanish hallway is the one with the trophy cabinet... Can you bring a change of clothes?... Who is that in the background?... Don't bring her... Lie or something..." the anger in his voice hasn't dissipated, it's just been replaced with an odd, business-like determination.

He ends the call without saying goodbye to Brittany and returns his full attentions to her. She feels less exposed with him here, but is no less mortified by the situation.

"Who would do this?" she asks, feeling oddly dumb.

There is an awkward pause before he says: "I only saw you." he says, and there is something in his tone that she can't identify... It's too calm, like he is forcing it for appearance's sake.

A door squeaks open and closed at the end of the hall and light footsteps signal to Rachel the approach of others. She tightens her grip on Puck's bicep.

"Oh!" Brittney says. "Blue is not your colour."

"It's just Brittany and Santana," he murmurs quietly in her ear, then says to the new arrivals: "I told you not to let her come."

"Fuck off, Puckerman, you are not my keeper," the abrasive cheerleader says, and Rachel beneath the almost overwhelming scent of blueberry syrup Rachel notes the distinctive smell of hairspray, antiperspirant and cayenne pepper that follows the Cheerios everywhere. "Who slushied Berry?" Santana asks bluntly.

Rachel shivers again and Puck bites out a snappy: "We don't know. But you and I are going to find out. Britt, can you-" and Rachel feels her elbow being passed along to the taller girl who wastes no time guiding her into the nearest bathroom, leaving Santana and Noah in the hallway. Normally, she'd be cranky at being passed between them like that, but right now she appreciates the contact, that these three people who last year wouldn't have given her the time of day are now shepherding her between them to somewhere she can be safe.

In fact, as soon as she's alone with Brittany in the bathroom, and the cheerleader is using a few wet paper towels to sponge the ice from her face, the tears start to flow, and she doesn't even bother trying to stop them.

Brittany, to her credit, doesn't seem phased and is very understanding, handing her another paper towel to blot away the tears before helping her out of her now ruined cardigan. She then guides her down onto a hard plastic chair that is apparently stored in this bathroom for occasions such as this so that she can wash out Rachel's hair in the sink.

For the most part Brittany works in silence, and Rachel is kind of grateful for it. She's doing her best to get her tears under control and way that Brittany is massaging her scalp to rid it of the icy clumps is soothing.

"This was really mean." Brittany says when she finally turns the faucet off. "You didn't see, but Puck was really angry. I haven't seen him that angry ever, not even when he loses at football."

Rachel sniffs deeply to clear her head. "I heard." She nods and then Brittany is gently squeezing her hair of the excess moisture. Rachel hears the water circling down the drain. "-In his voice." She clarifies.

"I'm sorry."

Rachel considers telling Brittany that she doesn't need to apologise, but before she can say anything the door to the bathroom squeaks open. "You decent in there?" Noah asks, and Rachel can hear the anger isn't quite gone.

"Yes." Rachel says and sits up, and two sets of footsteps enter into the bathroom. Someone sits a bag down on the bench beside her and she hears the whir of a zip and the gentle rustling of clothes before someone presses a dry towel into her hands. "There," Santana says. "We found you a spare set of clothes too so now you can toss that creepy cat sweater away. It's ruined anyway."

"Thanks." She says, and presses the towel to her face and hair, trying to pat the moisture away.

"We couldn't find them." Noah reports, sounding disappointed. Rachel's stomach rolls nervously, but she's glad that she can hide her face in the towel. She feels dangerously close to tears again. "Could you recognise their voice, smell, anything distinctive?"

"I bet it was that asshole, Karofsky." Santana adds. "His panties have been in a twist since Carrie Davies didn't fuck him at the after party last week."

His questioning is rather predatory, and Santana's comments make her uncomfortable, and honestly while Rachel appreciates the sentiment, she just wants to get home. She shakes her head. "No. I'm sorry."

"Did anyone else see?" Noah asks.

"I don't know..." She says, "I could hear there were other people in the hallway, but..." Her voice wavers again, and she feels another tear slip down her face. She presses the towel back against her useless eyes and hides again. She'd brought this on herself. If she could see, she might've been able to avoid this whole situation altogether, or at least would've been able to identify the culprit. But she can't, and she's overwhelmed with an almost suffocating sense of uselessness and self-loathing.

Rachel feels someone gently take her by the elbow again, this time helping her to stand and corralling her into one of the stalls. "I'll help you change and Puck will drive you home." Brittany says kindly.

The clothes she changes into are clean at least, though they're not her size. From the smell of the laundry detergent, she thinks they belong to Santana, and she wonders if she's been put into a spare Cheerios outfit, but doesn't really feel like asking. Brittany natters quietly as she helps her out of her sodden blouse, filling the silence with little compliments about Glee, and random observations about the bathroom stall and her day, but whether it's designed to distract her or just because it's something to say, Rachel isn't sure. She's not really listening anyway. She does, however, catch snatches of the conversation that Noah and Santana have from the other side of the door, even though they're whispering quietly between themselves:

"I'll figure out who did it." Santana says, "Slushying her is a dick move. Even if you are at the bottom of the food chain, this school has standards."

"Let me know as soon as you do."

"Yeah, yeah."

They don't say much to each other on the drive home. Rachel because she still feels acutely vulnerable and Noah because he doesn't know what to say. He takes a different route home to her place than the one that her fathers usually drive, and his truck is bigger and less comfortable than her Daddy's hybrid. The silence gives her time alone with her thoughts though, and in the time between leaving school and getting home, she's started forming a plan of action for herself to deal with Kurt and his accusation, and the slushy, and everything to do with the problems she's having with Jesse. She isn't going to just stand by and take it anymore. Maybe she has the Cheerios uniform to thank for this new drive and determination. Maybe she's just sick of being humiliated. She's going to take back her control, just like Miss Pillsbury said to do.

She's so caught up in her planning, that when Noah turns into her street and pulls his truck into the driveway she barely even notices until he scares her out of her reverie with a question.

"Where are your dads?" He asks, as soon as he's switched the motor off.

"How do you know they're not home?" She counters.

He unclicks his belt. "No cars in the garage. I have a couple of clients in your street, I pass by here pretty often."

She didn't know that. She wonders if the rumours about him and the lonely housewives of Lima are true, and if they're true in the case of the lonely Mrs Clarkson down the street.

"They're out tonight. Thursday night is date night." She explains, and unclicks her own belt, then feels around the door to let herself out. Puck reaches over and unlocks the door for her, pushing it open.

"Are you gonna be alright by yourself?" He asks, hesitantly.

She is about to answer 'Yes', when it occurs to her that she could probably use his help, at least for now. "Can you come inside? I need a favour."

"Sure." Noah says, and they head inside together. She locks the door behind him, and feels across the wall for the light-switch to illuminate the hall for his benefit, then leads him into the kitchen where she deposits her school things and wet clothes to be dealt with later.

"I'm thirsty. Would you like a drink?" She offers, remembering her manners.

"Sure." He says with a shrug, and she can tell that he is watching her closely. It's the first time she's ever had anyone other than Tina or Artie or Finn over her house, and she should be attempting to be a better hostess, showing him around but she doesn't imagine he really cares what the layout of her parents house is. Besides, that's not why she invited him here.

"I've never seen you move around this quickly before." Noah says quietly, as she deftly moves about the kitchen, fetching two clean glasses from the cupboard and the filtered water from the fridge to pour them both a glass. She pushes his glass across the counter in his direction, and sips from her own as she puts the water jug back into the fridge.

"Don't you move around with more confidence in your house?" She asks.

"I suppose."

"I know where everything is here. No one moves things around on me to mess with me, or deliberately tries to make my life more difficult."

It's then that she realises that perhaps she needs to take the opportunity to calm down a little, and stop directing her anger at Noah, who'd been the one who'd found her, and taken care of her, despite the way he may have acted towards her in the past. She takes a big gulp of water and lets out a deep breath.

"I'm sorry." She says awkwardly.

"No." Noah says sharply, and he sets his glass down on the table. "Don't be, you've got every right to be pissed."

"But not at you."

He makes a dismissive noise, and she takes it as a sign to move past it. "What did you need me to do for you?" He asks.

"I need to find something in my father's study." She says, running through the steps of her plan of attack in her mind. "I need to find my adoption papers."

If he's at all phased by the left-field request, he doesn't voice his opinion, and is instead happily led from the kitchen to the study and directed to the filing cabinets in the corner.

"I'd find the files myself," She explains, as he opens the first drawer. "But it would take me a lot longer than if you get them out for me."

"What am I looking for?" Noah asks, and she hears the rustling of paper and clinking of metal as he pushes files back and forth within the filing cabinet.

Rachel hesitates a little. "I'm not sure what their filing system is like, is there anything labelled 'Adoption papers'?"

Noah makes a little negative noise in the back of his throat. "Nothing like that, it's all dates. 'Fall 2000', 'Spring 2007', that sort of thing."

"Well I was born in winter of 1994, so maybe Spring or Summer of the same year." She says, and she hears him flicking through to find those folders.

After a few quiet moments, filled with more clinking and paper rustling he says: "I've got them." and pushes the cabinet drawer closed with his foot once he's pulled out the files they need.

"My parents would have copies of the contracts they signed with my birth mother in there somewhere. Probably medical certificates... Something should have her name on it."

She hears more rustling of papers as Noah begins to skim through them quickly, then he pauses. "Rachel, this kind of makes me uncomfortable. This is private stuff..."

"But it's about me... And I give you permission."

"I thought you were open with your parents, why can't you just ask them?"

"I... I just need to do this for myself... You've done the hard part now though, I'll go get my reader from my bedroom, I can look through it all myself."

"Nah, it'll be quicker if I help." He says. "And this way you owe me."

The flippant way he says the last bit belies that he is joking with her, and it makes her smile a little. "Why does that make me think that being in debt to Noah Puckerman is something I may end up regretting?"

He laughs a little, but doesn't reply. Instead he continues flicking through the files until... "Hey, I think this might be it. It's definitely a contract, signatures and everything. You want me to wait while you get your reader?"

"No. Just read it out, it'll be quicker."

"There are a lot of big words on here..." He says, hesitantly, but begins to read anyway.

DECLARATION OF INTENT

I, Shelby Amanda Corcoran hereby acknowledge that I have agreed to carry and give birth to a child conceived via in vitro fertilization through the union of my ovum/ova and Hiram Jackson Berry's sperm, so that Hiram Jackson Berry may have a child genetically related to them. I waive any and all physical or legal custody or any parental rights or any duties whatsoever with respect to any child born of this gestational surrogacy process. It is my intention that the genetic and intended parents, Hiram Jackson Berry and Leroy James Berry, shall exclusively have such custody and all parental rights and duties.

I further acknowledge that it is in the best interests of any child born of this gestational surrogacy process for Hiram Jackson Berry and Leroy James Berry to have sole custody of the said child. I therefore agree to cooperate fully in allowing them to bond with and take custody of said child from the moment of its birth.

"-And then it's just signatures and stuff, both that Shelby woman and both your dads. And the lawyers, and witnesses." Noah explains.

Shelby Amanda Corcoran. That's her mother's name. Why does it sound so familiar?

"Does that name sound familiar to you?" She asks out loud, not really expecting Noah to know, it just twinges something in the back of her mind.

"No." And after a pause, and more shuffling of paper. "There is a photo in here of her though..." and he lets a soft whistle out between his lips.

"What is it? Do you recognise her?" She asks eagerly, leaning forward to be closer to him and this proof of her mother's existence as a person. "What does she look like?"

"No." Noah says. "No I don't recognise her. But she looks just like you. It's weird. Same hair, same nose... Same eyes. She's beautiful."

She feels a pang in her chest, something deep and powerful, and oddly painful, and she doesn't quite know what to do with the feeling.

"Um." She says, and clears her throat a little, "What else does it say in there?"

"Um." Noah mumbles, and there is more rustling of paper. "Your birth certificate is in here- You were 5 pounds, 2 ounces at birth... Wow. You were small." He says, and to her there is something odd in the tone of his voice when he says that that she can't just let slide past her without comment.

"How do you know what a small baby weighs?" She asks, a little offended.

"My mom is a nurse." He says, but he sounds guilty, like he's intentionally only telling half the story.

"But I thought she worked at the nursing home."

"She does. But nurses talk about those things. And my sister was small too. I remember that. Not as small as you, though. There's also a few letters from some fertility clinic in Cleveland."

Rachel nods, still not sure he's telling her everything, but she decides it's not important. Instead she returns to her mother, wracking her brain to try and remember where she's heard the name 'Shelby Corcoran' before. Maybe her parents had mentioned her in passing as an old family friend, though it doesn't seem likely. They've always been open with her about everything, except her maternity, which has honestly never been an issue before for them. She's sure that if she'd ever asked them outright about her mother they would've produced the very same file that Noah is now flicking through and answered all of her questions and more.

Part of her feels a little guilty about doing this behind her fathers' back, but another part of her likes the feeling of independence it gives her, knowing that she has discovered this information for herself at her own behest- even if she's used someone else to do so.

No, her mother's name doesn't really feel contextualised by her fathers. But it does slot somewhere else in her life. Maybe she heard her name on the news? No. Somewhere else...

"Rachel." Noah says gently, distracting her from her train of thought and bringing her back into the present. "Why do you need to know all this now?" He asks, and he sets a gentle hand on her shoulder, twisting her to face in his direction.

Again, she hesitates, not sure what she wants to tell him and what she wants to keep to herself, and she spends a few moments flip-flopping between her options before deciding that after his help this afternoon, both at school and now here at home, she should probably return the favour, and trust him a little in return.

"I've recently been made aware of a treatment option that might help me get some of my vision back." She explains quietly, acutely aware that she'd told him only a few months ago that treatment wasn't an option for her.

"And your mother can help you with that? Some sort of donor deal?" He asks.

"Sort of. I'd need stem cells from a compatible source for the process, and I know my parents have other embryos in cryogenic storage at a clinic they haven't used... But I'd need her permission to use them. I think. There's probably a contract somewhere in there that details it all."

She reaches out to him, reaching for the folder he holds in his hands, and he passes it to her. "Well. If you need any more help or whatever. You've got my number."

"You've been more than helpful enough, thank you Noah." She says with a smile, because she is genuinely grateful for his help. "And thank you for driving me home, and for helping me at school."

"Don't mention it." He says gruffly, and he brushes his hand against her elbow, taking her hand and fitting it around his arm. "It won't happen again, though." He promises.

She doesn't know what to say to that, and she doesn't really want him to elaborate just at this moment. Instead she changes tact. "Did we have a glee meeting this afternoon? Kurt mentioned something about it."

"No." Noah says, and she hears his frown. "I thought that was Tuesdays."

"It is. He said it was a special one they called because of my relationship with Jesse St James." She explains.

"What, that Vocal Adrenaline guy?"

"Yes." She nods. "Apparently they're concerned that since I'm dating the competition, I'm a threat to the group."

"Who the fuck cares who you're dating? As long as he's not being a dick to you, I don't care."

She instantly feels a little better, knowing that Kurt was exaggerating his claims, and that there is still one person who hasn't turned on her.

Sorry for the delay, major writers block and I'm honestly a little bored of this story. I know how I want to end it, it's the getting there that's tedious. I have got a few other ideas I'm working on though and I've signed up for the Glee Big Bang on LJ, and have something in mind for that though!

Please leave reviews, they really do boost me up and I've had a pretty shitty day!