A/N: Hello! I've been working on this fic for a few months now and finally decided to post it. I've always felt that Finn's death would have had a greater emotional impact on Rachel, considering how they were engaged in Season 3. Anyway, it explores Rachel and Kurt's relationship and how tragedy can sometimes bring two people closer together. It's set after The Quarterback and runs till the end of Season 5, in an alternate reality where Santana doesn't live with Kurt and Rachel, because let's face it she was kind of redundant. Any reviews or comments will be greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Awake

The cheers from the crowd were deafening. The strange high of disbelief and joy seemed to go on for hours. The roar feels like a rush in her ears, rising to a crescendo before imploding into nothing. There is a moment of silence when her eyes meet his; the meters between stretching out like the Atlantic.

Nationals were over. They had won. She feels a pang of nostalgia for the moment, the last win in their three-year long run on the club. It was strange; each milestone crossed in the competition seemed to have symbolized a different point in their relationship. She had to tell him that she couldn't go through with the wedding. It just didn't feel right somehow. It scared her sometimes, when she looked at him, only to see nothing but a complete stranger looking back. The love and affection that she so desperately craved from him seemed to become more elusive by the day. But she also couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was another reason, something she just couldn't reach…

She takes a step forward to him, and crumbles to the floor. The fluorescent lights and cheers intensify, shutting out her senses. The red of her dress bleeds into the wooden stage floor and her arms and legs are numb. She is falling, black clouding her vision, somewhere she hears him calling her name.

Rachel woke up with a jolt. Her heart was pounding, palms slick with sweat. Third dream this week. Real life always seemed duller at the edges, compared to the sharp radiance of her dreams. They always felt so real, even though it took her awhile to recall the content of the dream. She usually just wakes to a feeling, dregs of pain or pleasure leftover from slumber. She reached across the bed for her phone to check if she had missed any of his texts.

Then it hit her. The little details were important, but she was only truly convinced that she had woken up when she remembered. The bliss of ignorance faded along with the last drops of alcohol in her veins and the cavity in her chest started to dig into her lungs. She stared blankly at her inbox. At the last message he had ever sent her.

Heading into rehearsal now. Kids are doing great. Love ya.

She ran her fingers over the screen for good luck. It had become something of a habit and it felt strange to stop now.

She stayed in bed for just a while longer, trying to summon the energy to get up. Lethargy still hung around her like a shadow, even though she was positive that she got at least five hours of sleep, an improvement from the previous night. She read that insomnia was a common side effect of post-traumatic stress, which was what her previous therapist had diagnosed her with. She used to have three sessions scheduled each week, but they became infrequent before stopping completely when she lost the motivation to go. It just felt ridiculous and futile to spend so much time talking about someone that wasn't coming back.

Kurt was calling for her from the kitchen. She screwed her eyes shut and buried her face into the pillow. Mornings were always the hardest, overwhelming almost, with the weight of possibility. She couldn't fathom how she was able to get up at six every morning back in high school, when getting out of bed to go to shower or get dressed seemed like such a tedious effort now.

She tried recalling better mornings, as an attempt to coax herself out of bed. In her mind's eye, she saw herself drawing open the curtains and stepping out into the dining area, shielding her eyes from the sunlight as Kurt smiled sleepily and asked if she'd like a croque madame, because eggs and bacon were too basic. She had declined then, because she had brunch plans with Finn later in the day, after her dance class. It had been an ordinary day, nothing memorable. It hurts to remember how much she took him for granted.

Breakfast with Kurt every morning was a part of her new routine that she had begun to rely on more than she should. It was something that only belonged to them, where they could sit in silence and draw on the strength of the other when words won't enough.

"She lives." Kurt shot her sidelong grin when she entered the kitchen, robe wrapped tight around her. As usual, he was already fully dressed in a navy button up and black leather pants, hair styled to perfection. "I was beginning to think that you were having one of those self-induced comas."

"I had another dream." She said, avoiding his eyes and busying herself with the coffee machine. "This one was…particularly vivid."

Kurt didn't respond, and after several heartbeats, she forced herself to look at him. He had his back to her; but the effect of her words was undeniable. The chirpy sound of stirring had stopped and his shoulders were tense, white knuckles tightening on the edge of the counter in a death grip.

It broke her heart to see him like this. Grieving for his brother silently, to spare her pain, only to have his momentary progress constantly shattered by her over sharing.

"I've made an appointment with another therapist this afternoon. Some new clinic two blocks away." She blurted. She wasn't sure what possessed her to lie, especially since she been adamant that visiting another shrink would be the ultimate last resort, despite Kurt's encouragement.

He turned to look at her, eyes alight with something akin to hope. "That's great. Wow. Let me know how it goes." He grabbed the spatula, and began humming while he stirred. The shift in the atmosphere was palpable; she could almost taste in the air. She bit her lip to conceal a smile as she watched him glide about, the happiest he'd been in days.

The smell of sizzling bacon was starting to make her stomach growl, which was strange considering her lack of appetite. He seemed to sense that and grabbed her a plate.

"Well, eat up. Some of us actually have class to attend." He set the plate in front of her and grabbed a juice for himself, moving to put on his coat. "See you tonight."

He kissed her on the cheek before running out of the apartment, taking the steps two at a time. She listened to his retreating footsteps, waiting for them to fade completely before getting up and dumping her breakfast into the trash.