A/N: Hey, guys. So... the reason for this story... for once I wanted to write a Finchel fic that didn't make me want to chew on the business end of a shotgun.
I've written two Faberry fics, and both times gave Rachel and Quinn a happy ending. I've written two Finchel fics, and both made me long for therapy.
And that's just not right for a Finchel fan.
So, this fic... It's a series of untold moments from Rachel and Finn's first meeting, to, I guess, where we left off at the end of season 3. I've tried to make it light, and funny, and sweet.
Let me know if I got it right.
Glee
.
The Gulfs Will Wash Us Down
.
.
.
.
.
It may be, the gulfs will wash us down.
It may be, we shall touch the happy isles.
And though we are not now that strength,
Which, in old days, moved earth and heaven,
That which we are, we are…
Made weak by time and fate,
But strong in will.
To strive, to seek, to find,
And not to yield.
.
.
.
.
.
1. The gulfs will wash us down.
.
.
.
September 03, 2009 – Astronomy Club – 15:45
.
.
.
"This is stupid!"
Rachel Berry fought to quell her rage. Keep it inside and resist the urge to smack those ridiculous bottle-bottom glasses off Marcia O'Grady's face.
"Just give it a chance," said Rachel, "If you look to the left, you'll see Ursa Major. Most people call it the Big Dipper. But–"
"How can we have Astronomy Club in the middle of the afternoon?" Marcia persisted, "This is kinda lame."
Other dissenting voices soon joined in the chorus;
"I think the picture's skew."
"My back hurts."
"That one over there kinda looks like my Uncle Ralph taking a hit from his bong."
"If you guys aren't going to take this seriously, then we aren't going to do it at all!" Rachel's shrill, and naturally powerful voice, cut through the clamour. Everyone shut up. Rachel turned her attention back to the ceiling.
The William McKinley High Astronomy Club – all of 5 members – were laying on the floor of the (mostly disused) choir room. Rachel had set up a projector hooked up to her laptop, and tilted it on its end so it pointed at the ceiling. She considered it one of her brighter ideas – and by her estimation, that was really saying something. With the lights off, the Discovery Channel's special on the movement of the constellations simulated the night sky, and with a little bit of imagination, it was like they were actually outside on a cloudless night.
As president of the Club, Rachel had thought it would be a fun break from building models of the solar system – or in Barry, the Perv, Grossman's case, building models of his own genitalia.
She should have banked on Marcia O'Grady having a problem with it. Marcia had a problem with everything.
"Now people always make that common mistake…" Rachel went on, "The Big Dipper isn't a–"
"You could at least have brought some pillows, or something," Marcia piped up.
Rachel bit her lip. "Did Galileo complain because his neck was sore?" she demanded, "Did Copernicus?"
"Who are they?" asked little Michael McNeil, "Teachers? I try to watch when they write their names on the board, but I always fall asleep before they finish."
"Oh, dear God…" Rachel muttered.
"No, dumbass!" said Regan Lebronski, a severely ginger kid with an acne problem, "They're the drummer and bassist for Kiss."
"What's Kiss?"
"A pop group. Like the Spice Girls."
"They are not!" Rachel had to step in and stop this defilement of Rock & Roll history.
"Grossman, take off your jacket," said Marcia, "I can rest my head on it."
"But I'll get cold!"
"I don't care."
"I prepared a whole lesson," said Rachel, "And none of you are going anywhere until I've finished it!"
"Hey, you're not a teacher!" said Michael.
"Yeah, you can't make us stay here!" said Marcia.
"Oh, really?" Rachel's voice started dripping honey. The Club knew her well enough to read this as a danger sign, "Need I remind you that participation in this Club – as defined by it's president, yours truly, counts as extra credit toward your Science grade?"
Now they shut up for real. Rachel smiled to herself, and looked at the fake stars again.
"Where was I?" she said, "Oh yes, people think the Big Dipper is the constellation, but it's not. It's actually an asterism, which is a distinctive group of stars inside the constellation of Ursa Major itself. Now-"
"Wait, really? The Big Dipper's an asteroid?"
Rachel frowned. That was a boy's voice, but not Michael's, or Barry's, or Regan's. She lifted her head from her prone position on the floor and squinted into the semi-darkness. The door was open, and she saw a tall silhouette filling it. Really tall.
She sat up. The silhouette took another step into the room, and she made out the distinctive colour of a McKinley High letterman jacket.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Finn Hudson."
He came even closer, and now that she saw his face, the question was rendered moot. Everybody knew the captain of the football team. Even as a sophomore, he was bigger than any of the seniors, and sucked the least when it came to chucking pigskin around on a field.
"Actually, er…" Rachel stumbled for a second, "It's not an asteroid it's an asterism."
"What's the difference?"
"Nobody writes disaster movies about stars that couldn't possibly be on a collision course with earth."
"Oh, right," Finn nodded, "Cool. How do you know so much about this stuff?"
"I'm the president of this Club," said Rachel.
"More like dictator," Marsha chimed in.
Rachel shot her a venomous look. For a second there she'd forgotten the others were even in the room.
"Are you interested in joining?" she asked Finn.
The handsome athlete shuffled his feet. "Uh, no," he said, "I saw the light underneath the door, and then I heard your voices, and I just wanted to see what was going on."
"Oh," Rachel felt a stab of disappointment deep in her stomach.
For some bizarre reason, it felt the same as that recurring nightmare she'd been having, where she was up for a Tony Award for Best Actress in a Broadway Musical, and Hugh Jackman won it instead, and then did his acceptance speech wearing Wolverine's yellow spandex tights from the X-Men cartoons.
"You can stay for the rest of the lesson," she tried one more shot.
"Thanks," said Finn, backing away, "I'd love to, but I got football practice. Coach Tenaka makes us do squats if we're late."
"Oh, okay."
"But it was nice meeting you," he said, then, drawing out the name, "Rachel."
"You too… Finn."
He left the room, politely closing the door behind him.
Rachel shut her eyes for a second, trying to regain the breath that had suddenly fled her.
She was snapped back to reality when Barry said, "My God, that was one good-looking man!"
"What?"
"What?"
"What?"
"Er…" Barry pretended to be studying the stars.
Rachel looked back at the door where Finn had just left. She found herself hoping he'd change his mind and come back. She waited for the moment.
It didn't come.
"Let's get on with this," said Marcia, "My shift at the Shop 'n Save starts in an hour, and I have to set up the Valentine's Day display."
"Valentine's Day?" said Rachel.
She'd completely forgotten about the upcoming 'Most Romantic Night Of The Year, brought to you by Hallmark and Pottery Barn' quasi-holiday.
"It's next Tuesday," said Michael, "Don't you have a date to the dance?"
"No," Rachel shook her head, "I wasn't planning on going. I have to update my blog and finish my Phantom of the Opera collage for Craftmaker's Club."
"If you change your mind," said Regan, with a twisted smile, "We could maybe go together and–"
"Dammit, can we just do this!"
For once, Rachel was glad for Marcia's intervention. Rejecting Regan would have been awkward, since they had to see each other every week.
"Actually, you can all go," she said.
"What?" said Barry.
"Yeah, just… go. We'll do the lesson another time."
They didn't need a second invitation. Marcia was first out the door, followed closely by everyone else.
Rachel lay back down. Above her, the miniscule pixels that made up the stars of her fake night sky twinkled prettily at her, and she smiled. Because suddenly she was lost in them.
Only, she wasn't seeing Ursa Major, or Leo Minor, or Hydra, or Antlia…
No.
All she saw, was Finn Hudson's smiling face.
.
.
.