Chapter Text
She got the message on a Monday.
Apparently it was left Thursday afternoon, but it was just one of the many many messages that her fans left for her every day and it took a while to get through all of them. After last year, when she finally got her break-out role of Belle in an off-Broadway production of Beauty and the Beast, she was, well, maybe not exactly famous, but certainly well-known enough to be recognizable. This year she starred in her very own Tony-winning musical, getting some positive reviews, and was dubbed the Broadway discovery of the year. She still wasn’t used to how popular she became and the fan-mail was just one of the many things she had never really considered when she planned her road to Broadway stardom. Her mail was always screened by her agent and the people working for her agent: love letters, hate letters, perv letters and downright creepy letters - most of them never really got to her.
She may not read all her letters, but her mail was monitored and someone read the message on a Friday and decided to pass it on, it could actually be important. But her agent Tom never dealt with anything non-urgent on the weekends - with how hectic life on Broadway could be everyone needed rules like that to keep some semblance of a work-life balance - and didn’t get to it until Monday, when he forwarded to his client a short e-mail from one Shelby Corcoran:
“Hi, Rachel. I have no idea if this will ever reach you, but I’m trying. I don’t have you current phone number, or Puck’s, but I promised, so I’m doing my best.
Beth’s school has a Father’s Day celebration next Saturday. I’m not getting her hopes up, I have no idea if you could reach him on time, or if he would be interested, but just so that you know, I think she’d love for him to come. Call me if you find him.”
She stared at the message for a moment, not really getting why her biological mother would contact her after years of complete radio-silence to tell her about her other daughter, the one who had replaced her, having a father ’s day celebration.
And then it clicked and Rachel reached for her phone.
Getting on the glee vine was actually nice, if not very effective. Through time, distance, new friendships and the new lives they built - they’ve grown apart. She kept more or less in touch with a few of them, but even that was usually limited to a couple of phone-calls a year, for birthdays, major holidays and such.
So when she reached for her phone Monday afternoon she learned that Kurt and Blaine finally adopted a boy, and were currently completely cut off from social life by an impenetrable wall of nappies and formulas. She promised to visit them soon to meet little Jimmy. Mike and Tina were still touring Europe with Mike’s dance group. She’d known Artie was making progress as an up-and-coming young director, shamelessly milking the discapable card for all it was worth, but she had no idea he just got engaged to a nice girl he met on set. Santana and Britt were living in Philadelphia, where San was a cutthroat lawyer fighting work-place discrimination. Britt was a housewife, even though she still couldn’t really cook anything without putting the house on fire. It didn’t matter though, because they could afford any kind of fancy take-out they wanted, and her wife loved her anyway.
Catching up with all of her high school friends was fun, if more than a little nostalgic, but no one had any idea how to contact Puck. Sam was the closest to giving her a lead, when she called him late on Tuesday afternoon (she got his number from Mike, who she was able to contact thanks to Tina), he told her of a bar in LA where Noah found a job bartending straight after leaving the army.
She called immediately and a grumpy voice picked up after the fourth ring only to inform her that no, Noah Puckerman does not work there anymore, which is a shame, ‘cause he always got the ladies to visit and a bar where a lot of chicks is known to get drinks can’t help but do well. But Puckerman still steps by from time to time, sings and plays and such, live music is good for business. No, he doesn't have a phone number, what does she think he is, a phonebook?
Rachel stared at her phone, out of ideas who to call next. She felt like a failure, what was it worth that she got her birth-mother to make this promise, if she, Rachel, completely failed as a friend and allowed them to lose contact so completely she couldn’t reach him if she tried? And she tried , she tried everyone.
It got her thinking about the time she called Shelby to get this promise, and what brought her to do it. How he looked that morning on her doorstep, his eyes pleading, and how he looked when he left many hours later - how she imagined he could look many years later. Would she even recognize him now, after six years? She may have created a stage make-up version of aged-up Noah - one she was really proud of - but she had no way to know if it was accurate. Not to mention he was still many years away from the daddy-like version she turned him into that afternoon.
It got her thinking - there was one more link she hadn’t tried yet. Actually, that was pretty stupid of her, it should have been the first place she called. She reached for the phone and dialed the number she had memorized since she was seven years old - the landline of the Puckerman household.
- Speak for the Puckerladies - she heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line. Bekah sounded older, obviously, but there was something so very Bekah about her that Rachel could feel her heart clenching. She almost forgot how much she missed her borrowed little sister.
- Hi, Bekah, it’s Rachel. How are you doing?
- Racheeeee - Bekah scream was on the border of discernable for human ear. - I thought you forgot me!
- You know I would never! I missed you! I’m just so busy all the time, I haven’t been home in forever !
- Don’t bullshit me, Rachee, I know there’s just nothing for you in Lima anymore. I understand. Just thought you could have called from time to time.
- I could have and I should have. I am really sorry Bekah. But I promise I’ll be better about keeping in touch.
- Good. I was kind of afraid that it was because of my jerk-off of an older brother.
- Bekah, language!
- Noah taught me those words, so I it’s only fair I use them for him. It’s called karma, Rachee.
- I’m not quite sure that’s how karma works. Speaking of which, did you hear from you brother?
- Jake’s in Chicago, he was doing okay last I heard.
- Not the brother I meant and you know it.
- What’s it to you? I thought Noah broke all contact with you guys?
- He did, and that’s why I’m calling you - part of why I’m calling you, I really missed you, Bekah. But I’ve got a message for Noah and nobody knows how to reach him.
There was a bit of silence before Bekah answered with a sigh:
- I may know how to contact him. But he asked me not to give this number to anyone, he wants to be left alone.
- I really think he might want to hear what I have to say - Rachel argued, but she could tell the younger girl was not convinced. - Bekah, it’s about Beth.
- Did something happen?
- No, no, don’t worry. But you know that Noah always wanted to be a part of her life.
- It was supposed to be for emergencies, you know. But I guess everything to do with Beth counts as emergency with my idiot of a brother. Do you have something to write down the number?
Which is how on a Tuesday evening Rachel Berry, the rising star of Broadway, found herself sitting in her shoebox apartment, staring at a piece of paper, trying to find the courage to actually call the number it took her two days to get.