A/N: Could not stop writing this. Hope you can't stop reading :D

A Sleepover Gone Awry

She doesn't remember who first suggested it. Maybe it was Kurt. Or Mercedes. Maybe it had even been her brilliant idea.

And it was brilliant. Just a few sips and the room changed, the colors brighter, the jokes funnier. Yes, it was brilliant and she decides right then and there, dancing in front of her vanity, that she should raid her parent's liquor more often. She doesn't know if Belvedere is a good vodka, but it seems to do its job impeccably. She would give it high marks; only a few sips and the room was spinning.

"What's this?" Mercedes asks, pulling out a piece of sheet music wedged tightly behind the back panel of Rachel's desk. Rachel staggers forward, ripping the music from Mercede's hand. She had nearly forgotten it was there. "Secret Lionel Richie fan?" Mercedes teases lightly.

Rachel runs her fingers over the title.


It was the first and only thing Rachel had ever stolen. After Jesse had left, her stomach in an unsalvageable mess of knots, she stuffed the music into her bag hastily and left. She had shoved it behind the panel of her desk after they had broken up, too angry to look at it but still sentimental enough to keep it.

"Kurt," Rachel says loudly, tossing the music at him. "Put that under my pillow."

He nods, all businesslike, and shoves it under her pillow. "Good," she sniffs. "Now I can't see it."

"You don't like Lionel Richie?" Mercedes asks, the first in a rapid fire sequence of questions. "Why do you have it then? And why was it behind that panel? Do you usually keep things behind panels?" She plants her hands on her hips and decides, "A little weird, Rachel, even for you."

"It has memories," Rachel says darkly. "Boy memories."


Rachel shakes her head and Mercedes and Kurt fall silent. They both know who it is then. It is that one. The one they didn't talk about. Mercedes decides to breach the topic, though, partially because she is curious and partially because the Belvedere removes the fear she usually holds that Rachel would attack her. "Have you heard from him?"

Rachel crosses her arms over her chest. "Nope."

"Do you want to?"

"Nope." A moment later she changes her tune and admits, "Yes. I mean-no. He is a bad person and I surely do not want to speak to him."

It is a good speech, but rings false.

"You're still hung up on him," Kurt fills in, frowning. "I mean, I get why but-"

"No," Rachel interrupts. "I am not hung up on him. I just never got to give him a proper piece of my mind. I had things to say. Oh-did I have things to say! But I never said them." She shakes her head, picking angrily at her comforter. "I never did because I couldn't talk to him with those eyes and that perfect hair. And that mouth." She trails off, her thoughts being pulled back to all things Jesse St James. It's an unhappy place, despite her visiting often.

Mercedes picks up Rachel's phone from the bed and holds it out toward Rachel. "Call him," she orders.

"I shouldn't."

"You can finally tell him all those things you wanted to say!" Mercedes presses. "No distractions. No hair."

"I was always so distracted by the hair," Rachel mumbles.

"No hair, Rachel!" Kurt pipes in. "No hair, so call him!"


"Call him! Call him! Call him!" The two yell this at Rachel, wearing down her defenses until she snatches the phone from Mercedes and snaps, "Fine, I'm calling!" She dials the number quickly and as the phone begins to ring, she looks at Kurt with wide eyes and breathes out, "I'm calling!"

"Yes, yes, put it on speaker!" he enthuses, hitting her arm excitedly. He exchanges a look with Mercedes, and both smile in anticipation. Rachel puts the phone on speaker and drops it on the bed. It seems like an eternity before a voice sounds on the other end. "Hello?"

He sounds like he had just woken up and it occurs to her that it is late. Very late. He was probably sleeping and she feels a pang of guilt until she remembers all the eggs and stolen trophies, and then she feels perfectly fine. Content even, vindictive, and regains her voice as she confidently answers, "Jesse St James, I have a few things to say to you."


"Jesse St James," she continues loudly. She doesn't know why she keeps repeating his full name, but it feels right. "Jesse St James, you are sort of an ass."

"Do you know what time it is?"

"I can read a clock," she huffs. "So yes, I know what time it is. What I don't know is what that has to do with you being an ass. I'll tell you. Nothing!"

"It's two in the morning, Rach."

"You hurt me," she says, bowling over his words. "You were an ass. You were a big, stupid ass and I don't like you."

He doesn't say anything and she shifts uncomfortably on the bed. She needs him to say something so that she can rail more. The moment of silence passes and she hears him laugh. It starts out slow and then builds, culminating with Jesse gasping for breath as he says, "I don't believe it!"

"Believe what?" she snaps.

"You're-you're drunk!"

He continues to laugh and her temper flares. She doesn't see why this is all so damn funny. "So?"

When he regains his breath he asks, "So where are you? A party?"

"No," she answers hotly. "And I don't see why my location is any of your business."

"What are you drinking?"

"He is much too curious," Kurt says aloud. He forgets that Jesse is on speakerphone and swears when Mercedes slaps his arm. "What? I-" he eyes grown wide. "Oh."

"I'm on speakerphone, aren't I?"

"We're here for moral support," Kurt shoots back.

"Alright Kurt, in response to what you said-yes, I am curious. So, what is it? Beer? Wine coolers?"

"Vodka," Rachel answers. "From Daddy's stash."

"The one he keeps in the freezer?" Mercedes and Kurt shoot her a look as she answers, "Yes."

"They know about this little drunken escapade of yours?"

"No," she answers simply. "They're away for the night. I'm going to fill the bottle back up with water."

Jesse chuckles and she screws her mouth into a frown. He is laughing at her way too much during this phone call and she doesn't like it. "I wouldn't do that, Rach."

"Why not?"

"Um, because the water will freeze."

"Will not."

"Yes, it will."

"I don't believe you," Rachel huffs.

"Call me in the morning and then I will brag about how right I am."

"I will have no reason to call you," Rachel answers. "I won't want to. The only reason I am calling is to yell at you."

"Which you have sufficiently done," he says easily. "Now, go to bed. Take a few aspirin with a big glass of water and you only will feel 70 percent like death tomorrow morning."

"I am going to feel fine tomorrow morning," Rachel answers confidently. "Even finer because I got to yell at you!"

Jesse laughs again and she finds herself becoming increasingly infuriated because he should not be laughing after her yelling at him. And she had yelled at him. She had let him have it. She had given him a piece of her mind!

"Why are you laughing?" Rachel stammers. "I yelled at you! You-you should be crying. Or something."

He continues to laugh and says, "Alright, Rachel. I promise to cry after I hang up. Try to get some sleep now."


"Good night, Rachel. Mercedes, Kurt, a pleasure as always."

"Jesse St James," Rachel says sternly, feeling the control that she is starting to believe she never truly had, slip away. "Don't you hang up on me! I'm-I'm not finished with you!"

He hangs up and a dial tone fills the silence of the bedroom. Rachel reaches forward and presses the end call button. Sniffing self-righteously she says, "Well, I told him."

"I thought that would be funny," Kurt says slowly, leaning back against the wall. "But it was actually sort of pathetic."

Rachel rubs the back of her neck uncomfortably and says, "I didn't really tell him off, did I?"

"Not really," Mercedes fills in, stretching out her legs. Rachel frowns, crossing her arms agitatedly over her chest. Kurt looks over at her and smiles sympathetically while he pats his shoulder. Rachel lays her head on his shoulder and sighs, "The room is spinning."

"I know."

Pulling her knees into her chest she asks, "You think the water will really freeze?"

Her parents come home and notice the drawn look of her eyes and the heavy bags beneath them. She tells them that it is a touch of the flu and they send her straight to the couch with a glass of 7 Up and several Barbra movies. They dote and fuss, entirely unaware of the true culprit of their daughter's indisposition. With Barbra serenading her from the television, she thinks back on her conversation with Jesse. It had been a relatively pleasant chat, even if she was supposed to be telling him off and he was mocking her. It was nice to hear his voice again. She thinks of what he had said about the vodka and she sits up, looking back at the freezer. Her parents are seated at the kitchen table and they catch her glancing at the freezer. Blood running cold, she ducks back down, only to have her Dad call out, "Rachel, sweetie, I saw you looking at the freezer."

"Oh, um I…"

"Your appetite must be back."

She swallows hard and replies, "Yeah, that's it. My appetite is back."

"How about we pick you up some of your favorite Coconut Crusted Tempeh?" She feels moderately guilty that her fake illness is reaping such benefits (first Barbra and then tempeh) but she is powerless to deny them. She sits back up and looks back toward them and says, "That sounds good. Thank you."

When they leave the house, she sneaks over to the freezer. Her pocket vibrates and she reaches in and pulls out her phone. The message is from Jesse and reads:

Ready for my bragging?

"Not so fast, St James," she says aloud.

Her fingers curled around the slender neck of the bottle, she pulls it out of the freezer. She glances at the Vodka, peeking behind the chateau design and laughs. Seems he was right.

The vodka-water mixture is frozen.

A/N: Yes, this is a big ol' fluff ball. And I loved every minute of it :D Hope you all feel the same!