WE ALL SHINE ON
...
They're thirty-one when they find out.
Rather, she tells him and he finds out that way.
Either way, it hurts. The word 'Leukemia' really freakin' hurts.
But the word 'Leukemia' with the words 'Rachel Berry'? They hurt a million and one times more.
...
He's not sure what breaks his heart more - Rachel telling him she's barely got the energy to move, his kids asking how long of a vacation their mommy's going on once they take a glance at the suitcases on the floor in the mess of a living room or the way his wife manages to curl up her fist in a little ball, pound it into the top of his thigh and whisper that she'll be 'fine'.
He knows she won't be fine, though. Not the way she's hunched over the toilet bowl, her palms pressed into the tile on the floor as she leans even further over the bowl, letting out a small gag.
"You alright?" He hovers with weak eyes and an even weaker stomach, and although he's been getting more and more used to seeing stuff like this the past few weeks, it still hurts to watch.
She jerks her head around almost too quickly for him to catch her glance, wipes at the bottom of her lip with the tip of her sleeve and gives off a small nod. "Sure," she says, "I'm fine."
"No you're not," he says, almost aggravated, even if it's not how he means to sound at all. He crouches down beside her now, holding his arm out so his hand rests on the top of her thigh. "C'mere." Pulling her back gently, he pushes the hair that's practically sticking to her forehead away from her eyes, then lets her take a breather as she leans back into him, her body almost in his lap.
"I can't do it," she says with quivering lips. He's not about to ask her to elaborate; he's not sure he wants to know exactly what she can't do. She's supposed to be strong; she's supposed to believe she can do better and better each day. He looks down to her pale-stricken face, her dry lips and her heavy eyes and tells himself she's not fighting hard enough. He doesn't tell her though because, well, she's already gone through enough. What more can he force her to do?
"Rachel..."
Breathing heavily, she leans further back into him, letting out a sigh. "I wanna grow old." She says it like her plan is to make him cry or something, her voice soft and almost empty, like she's already gone or something. (He tries not to let all that break his heart too much).
"Baby..."
"I wanna be at Chris' graduation," she says. "I wanna watch you walk Lily down the aisle. I - I wanna be there when we'll get to call each other 'grandma' and 'grandpa' for the first time. Finn, I don't wanna miss out on anything." She starts to sob into his chest there and he sits there on the floor like an idiot for about forty seconds before she finally gathers herself up from his hold and lets out a small cough.
If he wasn't crying before, he is now. "Rachel, you... you can't think like that," he says softly, taking his over-sized hand and placing it over her tiny, shaky one, still glued to the tile on the floor.
"It's not like I don't have a reason," she says, shutting her eyelids tightly.
"Rachel..." It's the only word he can say. He's too heartbroken to gather up a few more words to form a complete sentence so he just... doesn't. He gulps a bit now, leans over and plants a kiss to the top of her hair.
"Finn," she breathes, jerking her head once more so she's looking to him. "What happens if I die?"
She says it like it's normal; like it's bound to happen no matter what and no one - not even her or him - has got a say. He can't take it though. He can't take the casualty of the situation; the way Rachel makes it seem like death is her last option. He just takes her trembling hand in his, presses it up to his lips and leaves it there for a minute.
Muttering, she lets out a soft, "I'm sorry."
"Hey," he says with almost a harsh snap, getting her attention. He lets his fingers run through the hair down below by her shoulders, the hair that's almost so thin it should barely even be allowed to be called hair. "Look at me," he says, a little softer now, "you are not at fault for this, alright? No matter what anyone tells you - what you tell yourself - you're not at fault for this."
She tucks her head into his chest now, letting out a cry so small he's not really sure she's even crying. "Why would someone like you wanna be with someone like me when I'm like... this? Look at me."
"I'm lookin'," he says, looking down to her as she lets herself weep in his chest, her eyes tear-filled and heavy. "All I see is some beautiful lady crying for like, no reason," he says with a laugh. "Rachel, just... just live. It's the best advice I can give you at this point."
"Live?"
With a small nod, he looks to her once more, her countenance almost disappointed and heartbroken and everything else bad, too. "Don't worry about how many birthdays or graduations or days of work you've got left," he tells her. "Just live, Rach. You've got me and you've got Chris and Lily. We're your family baby. Just... please." There's almost a desperation in his voice now and even though he wants to feel the least bit desperate, he can't help it every single time he makes contact with his wife's broken glance; like she's given up or like she's already gone or something. She might as well take his heart and every single feeling he's ever felt for her and rip it in half because the way she's so quick to give up on it all kind of breaks him.
(And maybe - just maybe - it feels like she's throwing everything they've ever had out with it, too).
...
It's midnight when he's home after a double shift. It's pretty lonely after a long day at the station - put out a few fires, kick back at the truck until there's another call, go back to the station and change, make it home before midnight. He's sweaty and he reeks of smoke and dust and his house is almost so quiet he's freaked out by it.
He kicks his shoes off, lets out a breath and makes his way down the hallway, lifting his smoke-stained sleeve to his mouth as he rubs his upper lip.
There's only one light on in the whole entire house and it's coming through his three-year-old daughter's room. Even though he's so drained climbing straight into bed seems like the only viable option, he pushes open the door slowly, walking with light feet across the hardwood floor.
"Sh." It's dark but he hears a whisper from the foot of his daughter's bed. Stunned, he trips over a stuffed animal spread across the floor by the hamper, letting out a chuckle as he picks his body up.
"Rach?"
"Hey," she whispers, lifting her body up from off the floor. "You're home late."
"Double shift," he says slowly, waiting as she comes close to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She's got one of his old sweatshirts on and her hair's tied up in a ponytail so thin it takes him a minute to spot it. She looks like she's feeling a little better, a certain flow of energy flowing through her he hasn't seen in weeks, maybe even months. "You look... well... good."
She only sighs.
He won't tell her she looks better because, well, he's still waiting for that day to come.
...
The day she throws up blood for the first time, he's out getting drinks with Puck and Quinn in celebration of some promotion Quinn's gotten down at the realtor company.
She calls him once he's on his second beer, the bar growing more and more crowded by the minute. First it's just them - him and Puck and Quinn and three beers and some stools. Then it's packs of young teenagers, walking in like a stampede, throwing themselves over the counter and ordering those fruity drinks he knows taste like shit but get people tipsy enough. There's crowds of people now and for some odd reason, it makes Finn smile. Maybe it's being trapped in the house with a sick wife and kids who question when she'll be better when he's the furthest from knowing the answer makes him enjoy the little things like this - the bars and the drinks and the floods of people. Maybe he's just destined for this kind of lifestyle - the bars and the drinks and the floods of people - even if he's almost in the opposite situation. He doesn't over-analyze it though, just sits back and sips his beer almost indifferently to everything around him.
Quinn's boasting about her sales. Puck's kissing her ear. Finn's just digging in his pocket for his buzzing phone, almost spilling his drink all over his lap.
"Rachel?" He practically screams into the phone, his voice drowned out behind all of the background noise. "Is everything okay?"
"As if," is all she says, almost panting into the phone. "I just... where are you?" She sounds as if she's sobbing now, her voice shaky and small. Sure, his wife's got the biggest tendency for being over-dramatic in the most minor of situations, but he dropped that whole thing once she was diagnosed with Leukemia because, well, what the hell gives him the right now? Nothing's worth being called a false alarm or an overreaction or anything now.
"I'm... I'm out with Puck and Quinn," he says. "Promotion."
"Oh," she says, pausing somewhat, causing him to squirm in his seat. "Well..."
"Well," he says, almost with a sigh. He ignores the looks of confusion Puck and Quinn throw over to him, shrugging once Quinn tugs at his arm and mumbles a small 'what?' at him.
"I called your mom," says Rachel, almost irritated. "She picked up the kids fifteen minutes ago."
"And brought them where?"
She sighs, then, "Um, well, they're probably on their way over to Blaine and Kurt's now, but..."
"For the night?"
"I had to."
"Without telling me first?" He's aggravated now because, well, he gets how sick she is and all, sure, but she can't just send his kids away whenever they're inconvenient for her. She just can't.
"I'm telling you now," she says.
"Finn," Quinn interjects, holding onto his wrist with a tight grip as she leans closely into him. "Stop it."
"Quinn," he mumbles, "shut up, alright?" She arches a brow now, shooting a glance of concern back over to Puck. All he can do is shrug, grab Quinn's hand with his and look onto his best friend, stuttering as he presses his cell phone to his ear with the greatest force. "Look," Finn whispers, looking back to Quinn, "I'm sorry. I... I shouldn't have told you to shut up. I'm just mad, alright?"
"I get it," she says understandingly, nodding her head to the beat of the music drowning out almost everything around the three of them. "If you've gotta go, you've gotta go. Rachel needs you more than we do."
Finn nods, pushes the glass in front of him aside with two fingers, barely watching it as it swivels on the tabletop. "Thanks," he says in almost a huff, bending down to Quinn, who's simply nodding.
"Go get 'er," Puck suggests, his eyes narrow as he looks onto Quinn and Finn, her hand latched onto Finn's wrist before he can make a move to get out of there.
Pressing the phone back to his ear, he lets out a small huff. "Rach?" He completely forgets she's on the other line because first Quinn interrupted him and now he doubts he'll make it out of the bar in one piece because the crowd is just insane. "Rach?"
"I'm here," she answers, almost irritated, a certain shake to her voice like she's lost all confidence or something. "It's not necessary you come home," she tells him. "I just wanted you."
But it is necessary because, well, he wants her, too - he really, really wants her. So he stiffens his posture, throws a wave back to Puck and Quinn and squeezes between two girls who're sipping from the same piña colada and makes his way out of there, the phone still on his ear.
"What happened?" He asks once he can finally talk without practically screaming at her.
"Well," she says, "I don't want to scare you or anything, but I threw up blood about... well... thirty minutes ago."
He pauses and really, he's not scared - he's pretty much speechless at this point. "You what? Rachel... I... I'm coming."
"No," she snaps, "you really don't have to."
But he does have to. That's his wife and she's just his and she's going through this and frankly, he's a mess, even if he'd rather cover that up with a few drinks and pretending like he cares about Quinn's stupid promotion.
"Do you want to like, push all of the good things out of your life or something? Because... well... it seems like that's what you're doing," he says without thinking. He's panting by the time he's done with his sentence, a shaken mess as he stands outside of the bar, finding a bench and sitting down with trembling knees. "Let me help you, Rach. We're... we're married."
"Finn," she breathes, "it's just a reminder how many good things'll be gone."
"What? Are you... are you insane?" He feels his chest tighten but he just can't stop himself. He's not angry at her, really, but he's angry at what she's doing and that she - and only she - has gotta go through all of this shit and yet it feels like she's dragging down everyone else along with her. He doesn't blame her for it, sure, but he can't help but lie in bed some nights and wish things would've gone differently. (One night he even went as far as to think he should've never married her. He doesn't like going back to that, though, and he'll never speak of it - ever).
"I love you," she says with a little hesitation. "I love you," she repeats herself when he goes silent on the other end, leaning on one arm as he grabs the right handle of the bench.
"I know," he says, almost breathily. "I just... don't give up on anything, alright? I know it's hard, baby," he tells her and she starts to weep on the other end. He's not with her, sure, but he knows her so well he knows she's probably on the floor right now, clutching at her mouth as she lets her head hang back, letting her tears fall and fall and fall. "Where are you?" He says almost too quickly, letting his head jerk up as he catches the headlights of a taxi at the corner of his eye.
"On the bathroom floor," she tells him. "You're coming home, aren't you?"
He nods, even though he knows she can't see him. "Yeah," he says in one quick breath. "Yeah, I am."
"I'll be waiting," she says, almost in a sing-song tune. "Not like I've got any other choice, but..."
"Yes you do," he tells her. "Like I said, just live. Just... pretend the cancer's gone."
"Gone?"
"Yes." He kind of spits the word out, but it's nothing but the truth. He wants her to know that. "Just live as if you'e not sick at all," he tells her. "It'll make it all seem easier."
She's the most stubborn person he knows, sure, but even she takes it at this point because, well, she's pretty much running out of hope here. "Alright," she agrees. "Alright."
...
He walks in the bathroom when she's in the shower, the faucet turned on high as she belts out Barbra Streisand's My Man like there's no tomorrow.
"Feeling alright?" He shouts from in front of the curtain, crouched down by the wastebasket beside the toilet. Laughing, he flicks the curtain with his finger and feels her jolt back, her shadow rustling behind.
"Much!" She shouts. "Barbra's soundtrack does me good."
Two minutes later, he's behind the curtain too, his clothes sprawled out across the bathroom floor, his wedding ring the only thing that's not skin on him at this point.
"No," she shakes her head in protest, placing her arms in front of herself like it's something he's never seen before. "Finn, no. Look at me. I'm... I'm hideous."
"Rachel, just... just be quiet," he says, his index finger over her lips as he walks closer toward her, almost tripping over her foot as she backs away from him. "You're beautiful, alright?"
"I'm not," she shakes her head once more.
"If you weren't, I totally wouldn't be in here with you like this," he says with a chuckle, grabbing her hip with his hands as she swivels her body toward his. Bending down to her, he places a small kiss just on her jawline, laughing once they pull away. "I love you, Rach. You know that."
"Not when I look like this," she says, almost disgusted, running her hands over the small purple bruises across the top of her thighs. "I'm a Leukemia patient, not a runway model."
"You're my wife," he says, looking down to her sternly, his hands still on her. "I love you just the same, alright?"
She says not a word more, just stands on her toes and kisses him like suddenly she's got this random burst of energy that wasn't there before.
He likes it. A little too much.
...
"I'm ugly!" She shouts, sprawled across the couch in their living room, her legs exposed from the blanket she's wrapped up in. She runs her shaky hands up and down her calf, moving her fingers slowly over the purple-colored patches. "I'm bruised!" She says, aggravated, looking to Finn, who's got Lily on one leg and Chris on the other, bouncing the both of them on his knee as they lazily look over him, watching some Barney tape he put in for them thirty minutes before.
Finn opens his mouth to say something - to tell her it'll be alright and that she's beautiful no matter how many stupid purple marks she's got on her legs. But not before Chris can point his little finger over to a shaking Rachel, sit up on Finn's leg and ask, "Why'd you hit mommy?"
Finn just ducks his head into his daughter's shoulder almost unnoticeably and pray his kids don't see him crying because, well, how much of a hypocrite would he be then? He's supposed to be the strong one in this family.
"Chris," Rachel speaks once Lily turns around and places her little hands over Finn's hair, tugging at a few strands. "Your daddy loves me, alright? He'd never... he'd never hit me, alright?"
It hurts her to even say it, her voice unsteady as Finn looks up, watching her drape the blanket back over her entire body.
"Mommy's sick," she adds, almost heartbroken. "Really sick. I don't know what's gonna happen, baby," she says before Finn can stop her.
He knows she catches his warning, his head jerking up and mouthing the word 'no' to her as she looks onto him with broken eyes.
"But I love you," she continues, looking to Chris and Lily, almost too young to even comprehend a word of what she's saying. "I love the both of you two so much. And if daddy ever finds a new mommy to you two, I want you two to know she'll never love you the way I do. I... I'm your mommy." With that, she tucks herself into the blanket once more, shutting her eyelids tightly.
Chris is still. Lily takes her hands and continues running them through Finn's hair, playfully tugging at the strands. Rachel's silent, leaning her head back into the couch. Finn's speechless because, well, Rachel might as well've told the kids she's given up.
He wishes she'd feel differently about this - strong and willing. But then he thinks about what he'd do if he were her and in the same situation. He thinks about how weak he'd probably be and then about how strong Rachel's actually being.
He cries some more, but not for Rachel. He only cries because he's an asshole.
...
She's crying at the bathroom counter. Her mascara's running down her whitened face, her hands trembling as she clutches the ends of the sink.
Lily's on the lid of the toilet, sitting cross-legged with a hairbrush in her hands. When Finn walks in, all he can wonder is how the hell his three-year-old can sit there and watch Rachel cry the way she is, almost indifferently.
"Baby?" He asks, both Lily and Rachel looking up to him. "What's going on?" He says, walking over to Lily, crouching down as she pats the top of his hair with the hairbrush she's holding.
"Mommy was crying," Lily says with a nod, peering her head over his shoulder and looking onto Rachel, who's still leaned over the sink, letting out a little sob. "I was singing her a song. You know, that one about smiling. She sang it to me once."
Pressing his lips together, he only lets off a nod.
"So you know it?" Lily asks, enthusiasm in her eyes. "Smile though your heart is aching, smile even though it's breaking..." She starts to sing, her voice small yet squeaky and yet so devoted - just like her mother.
He nods, a smile peering from his lips. "I know it, baby girl."
Rachel only lets out a sniffle from the sink, but he knows she's listening so he lifts his body up off from the floor, rests his hands on Lily's kneecap and then walks over to Rachel, placing his hands to her hips.
"Don't cry," he tells her as she turns around to him, drenched eyes and all. "Rachel," he says, jolting her chin up with his hand, "look at me. Baby, what happened? You... you were fine this morning when I left."
"Chris," she says, clutching at her throat with her right hand.
Arching an eyebrow, he looks over to her, pulling her hand away from her neck and taking it into his own. "What about Chris?"
"He asked me where you go when you're gone," she tells him, letting another tear fall. "What the hell am I supposed to tell him, Finn?" She pushes herself away from Finn now, walking over to Lily, who's fiddling with a hairbrush, still sitting indifferently on the toilet seat. Taking her hands, Rachel covers both of Lily's ears and whispers, "I can't tell him I'm dying of cancer. I can't."
Walking over to the both of them, Finn scoops up Lily in one arm and drapes the other across Rachel's shoulders. Kissing the top of her head, he looks to Rachel with a half-smile, even if he doesn't really mean to. "Rachel," he says, "we'll make it, alright?"
"And you won't break up with me?" She asks with narrow eyes, undressing pulling her body out from Finn's grip.
Lily starts to cry now. "You and mommy are breaking up?"
Shaking his head and shushing her, Finn only mutters the word 'never'.
He only hopes Rachel knows just how much he means it.
...
She's weary on the day of her first radiation treatment. She holds Finn's hand the whole car ride over, Puck and Quinn groggily mumbling something Finn's too tired to understand.
"Finn?" Rachel, with restless eyes, looks up to him. "Promise me you'll stay."
"No," he says, running his hand absent-mindedly over her torso. "Promise me you'll stay."
Puck jerks his head back for a moment and clutches onto Quinn's hand. Quinn just lets her jaw quiver, looking onto the both of them as Rachel glances over to Finn with heavy eyes and a half-smile.
"Okay," she says. "I won't leave you."
He takes that as a promise.
...
She celebrates her thirty-second birthday in the hospital.
Her present? A new bandana to cover her almost-bald head.
"I love it." She says, almost like she's putting on an act or something. "I really love it." She starts to run her fingers over the fabric, her eyes looking down to the material like it's golden.
Finn can only look on with a gulp and a tear. "It's the only color they had," he tells her. "Well, aside from black and you hate black."
Rachel only lets out a laugh and Finn grabs her hand with his, running his fingers over her stiffened knuckles almost as gently as he would a newborn.
Finn nods his head as if to signal everyone else in the room should leave. Puck leans down and grabs Lily's hand in his, while Quinn grabs Chris from off of the stool beside Rachel's bed and boosts him up on her side.
"Love you, Rach!" Quinn calls out, boosting Chris up even higher on her side, letting him plant his head on her shoulder.
"Yeah," Lily adds, "I love you, mommy!"
Rachel weakly lifts her hand to her mouth, blowing the four of them a kiss, still holding onto Finn's hand with her other.
"Hey," she turns to Finn like he hasn't been beside her all afternoon. Taking her hands, she runs them across every contour of his almost-stern face. He isn't upset, sure, but he's just content - never happy, just content.
Rachel's been in the hospital for two weeks now, in and out of radiation treatment and spewing every single thing she tries to get down back up before she's ever got time to digest it. She's lost all her hair, almost all ability to move and the only time she ever feels like doing anything is when Chris brings over one of his coloring books and a pack of crayons, and even that's been less and less frequent lately. (He only thinks Chris has given up because Rachel has - maybe. He doesn't like to revisit that whole 'giving up' though often).
"Happy birthday," is the first thing he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her cooled cheek. "You're cold."
"Always," she tells him.
He only stares past her and out to the window of the hospital lobby - crying babies, a pregnant lady in a wheelchair (also crying), a toddler wailing at the sight of the oversized needle a nurse is holding.
"What if this birthday is my last?" Rachel asks him after a moment of pure silence, her voice trembling and her hand shaking as she keeps it in his.
"Well then," he says, "I guess there's nothin' we can do about it."
Rachel starts to cry then, shifting her body so she's facing away from him, letting her tears fall onto the side of the pillow she's leaning into.
Finn doesn't even feel guilty. He's so tired of being the enforcer of all things positive when she's letting him down like this. It sucks - it sucks, it sucks, it sucks and yet there's nothing anyone's ever gonna do about it.
...
"You'll miss me, right?"
"You're not leavin'."
Rachel ignores Puck's comment, just sits down on the couch beside him, watching him as he's got a sleeping Lily draped across his body. "Don't give Quinn any trouble. She loves you, you know," she tells him. "And they love you," she's looking to Lily in Puck's lap one minute, then to Chris sprawled across Finn's lap on the armchair. "Take care of them," she whispers, leaning into Puck now. "Help Finn take care of them, please."
"Alright mom," he spits sarcastically, hoisting Lily further up on his body as she lets out a little moan. "But you're not goin' anywhere."
"Noah, please," she scoffs, "just please. It's not much of me to ask. Just... just visit them once in awhile. Tell them they've still got all of you even if they won't have me anymore." She pauses, then whispers into his ear now, Finn feeling out of the loop. "I can't ask him to do all of this. It's too hard."
"He's your husband," Puck says, almost harshly.
She starts to sob now, reaching across Puck and grabbing onto Lily's calf gently, letting her head fall back into the cushion of the couch. "Noah," she says with a tear-filled whisper, "I can't do this anymore."
Finn watches with a sigh because, well, this surely isn't the first time she's said that.
Yet, he hopes it isn't the last.
...
She's feeling better on a Sunday morning after Burt and Carole come pick up the kids for the day. It's just her and Finn in the house, Rachel draped across the couch in the living room as she lets the news play softly in the background.
"Hey," he walks over to her, watching her slowly open her eyelids and jerk her head up, lifting the blanket she's covered in off of her body.
"Hi," she says sleepily, giving him a soft wave as she fiddles with the knot on the end of the bandana she's wearing. "Come here."
He walks over to the spot on the couch she's patting with her hand, sits down lightly and rubs the end of her calf with a smile. "You're feeling better, huh?"
"A little," she says with a giggle. "So," she moans, pulling him by the end of the shirt into her reach, fiddling with his collar. Pressing her lips together, she lets out a small chuckle, then, "Please."
"Hm?"
"I wanna do it," she's almost so enthused she sings the words. "I wanna make love to you one last time, Finn. Before it's too late."
He doesn't even bother telling her to stop talking like that. It's useless now, he thinks, because, well, it's not like anything's looking up from here anymore. Letting out a gulp, he nods, taking her tiny hand into his large one. "Are you sure?"
"More than sure," she tells him. "I love you."
"Rach, I... I know," he says, closing his eyelids tightly for a minute, still grabbing onto her hand. He knows she loves him, sure, but she doesn't have to hurt herself to prove it to him. With everything else going on, he almost forgets sex has been absent from his life since just about forever ago. It's just not a big deal anymore. Rachel is, though, so he lets his fingers stroke circles onto her palm as she leans forward and presses her lips against his almost roughly.
"You know," she says once he's running his hand over her head lightly, "this was more fun when I had hair."
"It's always fun," he says, leaving a small kiss just on her jawline. "I love Rachel, hair or no hair."
Pulling back, she lets out a small sigh, then starts to go into hysterics (ever the drama queen), something he doesn't really understand. "I want you to remarry," she says. "I do."
"I wouldn't," he says breathily, letting his hand drape across her neckline loosely, rubbing his fingers up and down her soft-yet-bruised skin. "You're the only one for me."
"When I'm gone," she says, "your thoughts won't be the same. Trust me."
He wants to trust her, he does, but it's just hard - so, so hard. Especially now, when one night she tells him she's leaving him, that she can't do this thing anymore because she's so broken even moving hurts, and the next she's up and about in the kitchen, planting kisses to his neck as she suggests they should all cook together as a family or something. She's not a liar, of course, but he just wishes there was some way he could tell what'll happen; some way that Rachel could tell what'll happen.
But there isn't.
So once they're done making love and she's too drained to even sit up anymore, he sits on the end of the couch, takes her calves and drapes them across his knees and just cries. He doesn't even bother being quiet about it anymore.
...
When he walks in from work on a Thursday night, she's sitting at the kitchen table, a blanket over her tiny body, her hands in her daughters' as a book sits between them.
"Hi baby," she turns around to Finn, letting her hand fidget with the zipper on his jacket. "We couldn't sleep."
"Yeah," he says, leaning down to Rachel as he kisses the top of her head. "It's pretty hard."
"It won't be soon," she says slowly.
"Don't talk like that!" He snaps even though he doesn't mean to, his tone making even Lily cringe, placing her head in her hands as she watches almost too innocently at the kitchen table.
"I'm sorry," Rachel says, ducking her head. "But it's the truth."
"I hate it when you talk like that," he says quietly.
Rachel, lifting her body from the chair she's sitting in, only pats Lily's head once, then grabs the blanket she's got over her and throws it to the ground. "And I hate living like this!" She snaps. She finally snaps after all of those months of living like this - living with Leukemia and still moving along. He knows it now; he knows how strong she was this whole time even if she seemingly gave up hope. No matter what she did - no matter how many times she complained or struggled - she still pulled herself through. Will she make it out alright? He doesn't know; there's no way he can now. But he's got the strongest wife ever. That, he knows.
"I'm not gonna fight you on it," he tells her. "Lil," he says, head nodding over to a pouting Lily, "you can sleep with daddy on the couch if you want to."
"Wait," Rachel pauses, turning herself so she's facing the two of them, Finn with a restless Lily in his arms. "Let's all sleep on the couch."
He doesn't even question it. "I'll go get Chris," he says, setting Lily down on the floor.
They fall asleep pretty quickly that night, even if it's squished and Rachel and Chris and Lily are practically on top of him by the time they're all settled on the couch.
"Hey," he says, taking his hand and placing it onto Rachel's cheek. "You're burning up."
"It's alright," she whispers, one of her hands stroking Lily's back and the other grabbing onto Finn's wrist. "I'll live."
They're two of the best words she's said through all of this.
...
She's admitted back to the hospital on a Tuesday, but only because she's throwing up blood again and her temperature's escalated. It's not a big deal, the doctors say, but Finn's worried so he thinks it's a good thing she's there, even if it's not so good at all.
He visits her whenever he can. Sometimes he brings the kids, sometimes they stand outside, their hands in Puck and Quinn's because seeing their mommy is just 'too scary'.
She's covered in bruises now, even her face blotchy and purple. It should scare him, really, but it doesn't.
She's sleeping when he walks up to her hospital bed, plants a kiss on the side of her cheek and whispers a small, "Love you."
"Mmm," she moans, turning on her side as she bats her eyelashes twice, looking up to him lazily. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you for taking care of me." Her words are slowed and almost too low to understand, but he hears them - he hears every word.
All he can do is reach out, stroke one of her cheeks with his hand and tell her to stay strong.
All she can do is reach out her shaky hand to him, rub the top of his arm and tell him she's done trying.
He's not sure what it means exactly, and he's way too tired to analyze it, so he just kisses her head and tells her to get some sleep.
...
And sleep she does.
Forty-three hours pass and she still won't wake up.
"She has a pulse," the nurse tells him, her eyes on the clipboard stacked with papers she's got in her hands rather than on him and his kids.
"How much longer?" He asks, not even going out of his way to cover Chris' or Lily's ears this time, too drained to even think straight. He's been in and out of the hospital almost all weekend, only leaving when one of the kids is hungry or tired or feels like going to their grandma and grandpa's house for a little while - it's not too often, at least.
The nurse shrugs, looks up to him with almost indifferent eyes, then leans closer to him, almost whispering in his ear. "She's pretty strong," she says. "Your wife... she's pretty strong."
"I know," Finn says, his lips curling as he rubs Lily, who's fidgeting sleepily in his arms, on the forearm as if to tell her everything'll be okay after the constant "where's mommy?" she lets out every five minutes or so.
"Daddy?" Chris, on one of the stools in the lobby, tugs at Finn's sleeve with almost restless eyes, shifting his little body uncontrollably as he calls for Finn. "You know," he whispers once Finn's crouched down so he's within his reach, "if mommy gets really sick, the angels'll take care of her. She told me that once."
Finn can't help but let out a sniffle then, reaching his arm out so he's touching his son on his kneecap. "She's strong, buddy," he says. But he isn't gonna stand there and lie to his son - he can't cover anything up anymore. So, with a gulp, he stiffens his posture, lets out a sigh and plants his palm even harder on Chris' knee, almost as if he's holding himself up now. "We'll all be fine," he says as softly as he can. "And mommy loves you. Mommy loves you two so much."
Shaking his head, Chris only lets out a little giggle. "Mommy loves you more," he says. "She says you two are like... soul mates or something. One of those can't-eat, can't-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over- the-fence, world-series kinds of things." He finishes with a little laugh, his hand running over Finn's.
"Who taught you that?"
"Mommy," he says, nodding.
"You know too much for a five-year-old," Finn says, shaking his head.
"Blame mommy," Chris tells him, fidgeting in his seat so one of his hand is on Finn's shoulder and the other's resting by Lily's backside.
"Smart woman," Finn says without even thinking about it. "Smart woman."
...
Some of the first words he says to her once she's finally up are, "can't-eat, can't-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over- the-fence, world-series" because he's in awe of his son and of her and of everything else.
She weakly nods, taking her fragile hand in his, a forced smile upon her face. "He's smart," she says, nestling her head even further into the pillow she's lying on. "He's so smart."
"Yeah."
"Take care of him," she tells him, clutching onto his wrist with the last bit of strength she's got. "Take care of Lil, too, alright? I mean, we all know the kids'll be fine. They're... they're strong. And beautiful - so beautiful."
"They look like you," he says, lips pressed together as he squeezes her bony hand.
Pretending like he hadn't just intruded, she continues. It's the one thing that hasn't changed - Rachel still loves to ramble on and on and on and frankly, he could listen to it all day. "Most importantly, take care of yourself. I love and trust you enough to know that you will. You... you're so strong, baby."
"That's you," he says, giving her hand another tiny squeeze.
"Soon I won't have to be."
"Don't leave me yet," is all he says, leaning his head down into the empty spot on the pillow next to her.
"You're not supposed to cry," she says, taking her hand and stroking the top of his hair. "Things'll get better, I promise."
"I'm supposed to be telling you that," he says with a snap, lifting his head up.
"No, baby, sh," she says, taking her hands to his hair once more, making small, small strokes just by his hairline as she lets out a small whisper.
"Rachel," he says with quivering lips, "this wasn't supposed to happen."
"But it did," she answers. "And there's nothing any of us can do about it."
"Would you change it if you could?"
"With all my heart," she says, gripping his hand tightly as it shakes in her hold. "Finn?" She says once the room goes silent, his head leaned back into the pillow they're practically sharing. "We'll still be a family. And I'll still wait for you, you know."
"Yeah," he breathes. "I'll wait for you too."
"I'd understand if you had to move on," she says, tugging at her lip with her teeth, almost like she really wishes she shouldn't have to say these words at all.
"But I wouldn't."
"Finn, look at me. Look at this - at us. You never know what'll happen."
"I guess, but," he stutters, making strokes in her tiny hand with his own, "I'll love you. Always. Nothing'll change that, okay?"
"I believe you," she says, shutting her eyelids as she lets out a restless yawn, falling into her pillow.
All he can do is pretend to fall asleep beside her and wait now.
...
The kids are asleep on both Burt and Carole when Finn walks into the lobby. Puck and Quinn are beside them, hand-in-hand as they rest close in two of the chairs.
"So...?" Carole asks, lifting her head up as she still holds Lily tight to her chest.
Finn can say nothing. He simply walks over to Carole, ducks down next to her and lets his head fall - right to his daughter and his mom without even thinking. "She'll be happier there," he says, his voice trembling. Carole looks up to him with heartbroken eyes and immediately lets out a sob, clutching one hand to her mouth. "Don't... don't cry mom. Don't cry." He feels like such a fucking hypocrite but he doesn't even stop himself because his emotions are almost so messed up he feels like a bottomless nothing by now.
"Baby," Carole says so low she almost mouths it, "she will be happier, right?"
Finn only nods. His heart's too busy breaking, he thinks.
"I'm sorry son," Burt says lowly, his hand to Finn's shoulder. "We'll always love her. All of us."
Puck and Quinn, after sobbing quietly to one another as they sit together at the two chairs farthest in the corner, agree with a small nod.
"It was a long time coming," Puck tells Finn. "And Rach was a trooper, man. Your wife was a fucking trooper and she was the best woman you'll ever get the pleasure to know."
Agreeing, Quinn lets go of Puck's hand and walks over to Finn. Bending down to where he's sitting, she leans into him with a whisper. "I couldn't be any happier it was you and her, you know," she says, her lips trembling. "In high school I would've never thought it would've been you and her. But... but she made you happy. She made you so happy."
"She still will," Puck adds, Finn not knowing he was even capable of hearing their conversation. Jerking his head over to him, Finn gives the best smile he's got (which is hardly any by this point) over to Puck. "She gave you those two munchkins," Puck tells him, nodding his head over to a sleeping Chris and Lily. "Best things you've got."
"Jesus," Finn moans. "Jesus fucking Christ. Chris and Lily."
"They'll be alright," his mom tells him, rubbing her hand up and down his shoulder a few times. "They know their mommy's in a better place. Rachel'll be watching them all of the time. And you - she'll be watching you too."
He shuts his eyelids now because, well, he can only hope for that to be true.
...
It's raining the day they visit Rachel's grave. It's a Sunday morning and he's got Lily in one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other. Why flowers? He doesn't get it either. Flowers are for birthdays and anniversaries and first dates and Valentine's Day and all of those other good things. So why when you die? He doesn't know, but he just goes with the flow anyway, and once his kids pick out a bouquet of those pink flowers (he still doesn't know the name) Rachel always used to talk about planting in the front yard, he can't say no.
"Tell her," Chris says, crouching down next to the grave, letting the raindrops hit his hair. "Tell her you waited for her."
"You mean waiting," Finn corrects him, leaning down beside him, letting Lily fall to the floor, her tiny legs roaming around the site of the grave. "I'll continue waiting for her, you know."
"You loved her," Chris tells him, grabbing the flowers out from Finn's grip and into his own. "Mommy knows that, though."
"Yeah," Finn breathes, "yeah she does."
Lily and Chris, hand-in-hand, toddle around the site of the grave, Lily bending down fiddling with grass pickings and Chris flicking her hand away from the wet ground.
All Finn can do is crouch down to the grave, bent down at the place where millions of tiny little flowers were thrown just weeks ago.
"Hi Rach," he says, almost unsteadily. "Hi baby. Okay, you know I'm not good with words but... but I'm trying. I've got Chris here. And Lil. They're both with me because frankly, I'm not sure I could do this alone. But yeah... you're here and we're here and it feels weird because you're not really here. But it feels like you're here, baby. It... it really does. I can't explain it because, well, again, I'm not good with words, but... but you're here."
Lily, walking up behind him, places her arms on his back and lets herself lean into him, her tiny head resting up on his body.
"I know you," he starts. "I know you'll wait for me because I asked you too. We'll... we'll pick up where we left off. I promise. And I love you. I know you know that too because you just... you just know. I love you so freakin' much and these kids... they love you too. We're still a family, y'know. Just because you're not here or we're not there - whichever one it is - we're still a family. Us Hudson's gotta stick together or something, right? I mean, we never really promised that or anything because we never really had to. But I'm making it official."
When he starts to cry, only the feel of the both of his kids beside him makes him let out the smallest of smiles.
Lily, enthused by the site of the flowers and the graveyard and even the rain, walks up to the headstone now, placing her small little palm just on the word 'Rachel'.
"Lil," Finn says, jumping up from his spot on the ground and grabbing his daughter. "Are you... are you serious? Chris, c'mere!"
The sun's not fully out now, sure, but it's still peering from behind the clouds and the rain's come to a halt and everything's just happening before his eyes and he's horrible at analyzing so he doesn't bother.
Lily, thumb in her mouth, looks down to him with a shrug. "S'cause mommy's here," she speaks. "She knows."
...
A/N: The last part? Actually something that I witnessed years and years ago. During a visit to my late grandmother's grave, my little sister (three-years-old at the time) touched the tip of her grave during a rain storm and the sun came out and the rain came to a halt. It was almost like a little miracle. Anyway... I hope this wasn't too dark and stormy for you. I'm not too good with tragic situations but I tried my hand at it due to boredom/experimentation. Thoughts?