A/N: Warning - get your tissues ready. This one's not for the faint of heart.
Unfinished
Rachel was riding in the back of a taxi cab, New York's skyscrapers towering above her as the cab wove its way through the mid-afternoon traffic. There were three bags with her in the back and another four in the trunk. It was just a bit sad to think her entire life back in Lima fit into seven bags. Granted, they were all pretty size-able ones.
She sighed audibly, resting her elbow on the window ledge and dropping her chin into her upturned palm. She'd dreamt her entire life about moving to New York. But those dreams were far from her reality. She never would have dreamt it would happen like this.
The cab driver fiddled with the radio and stopped on some station playing old rock. It was the tail end of a Rolling Stones song - maybe "Brown Sugar", she'd never been good at telling them apart without Finn there to tell her what was playing - and as it ended the song led seamlessly into the next. She recognized the opening chord and her stomach clenched.
"Please change the song," she rasped.
"What?"
"The song..."
Just a small town girl
Living in a lonely world
"Change the song!"
She didn't realize how loudly she'd spoken, but the cab driver's wary gaze in the rearview mirror clued her in. She murmured an incoherent apology and he switched the station. The song had been on for less than thirty seconds, but her entire body was in shock. Her palms were sweaty and she could feel the headache she'd been unable to shake for weeks worsen.
"It's only a song," she reminded herself softly. "It's only a song."
But it was more than that. She knew that. It had always been more, but especially now. It had been playing when she got the call.
Flashback - 3 months ago
"Mrs. Hudson?" A voice asked. Rachel had her phone wedged between her ear and shoulder as she made dinner. Behind her, Journey played from an old record player she'd picked up at a flea market. Finn had thought she was ridiculous with them already having two laptops with a boatload of music, but Rachel liked the pure sound of records. Plus, now she had an actual use for all those old Barbra vinyls.
"Yes, this is her."
Streetlights
People
Living just to find emotion
"We're calling about your husband."
Hiding somewhere in the night
She took a hold of the phone, stepping away from the stove as a cold dread settled in her stomach. "Yes? What is it?"
The man paused, and she knew then it was bad. People always paused before bad news. "There's been an accident."
Don't stop believin'
Hold on to that feeling
End Flashback
Rachel wiped at her eyes, her wedding band glinting in the window's reflection. It took the officer telling her three times what happened for her to fully grasp it. He'd been on his way home, pulling onto the expressway, when he was broadsided by a semi-truck. He hadn't been wearing a seatbelt which caused him to be thrown from the car. The officer assured her that he was dead on impact, as if that would make things better. It didn't.
She'd called Carol and Burt immediately, and listened to Finn's mother sob uncontrollably on the phone until Burt told her they'd come over and hung up. Over the next week, the three of them worked on funeral arrangements, all somewhat reluctant to admit that he was really gone. It wasn't until Rachel was packing up Finn's old t-shirts days after she buried him that she saw he was gone and was never coming back. She began to cry and didn't stop for three days.
It had always been Finn who told her she would end up back in New York. After they were married they settled in Lima and he became a choir director at McKinley. Rachel led the musicals and plays at the school while teaching voice lessons on the side. While she never fully gave up on her Broadway dreams, she genuinely felt content in Lima. Finn and her and set up a warm home, and she took pride in her students. All of that changed when he was gone. Her warm home felt cod and barren without him. Even the town had changed. She felt constantly on edge, expecting to see him in the hallways at McKinley or in their apartment, but he was never there. When Kurt suggested she come stay with him and Blaine for a few weeks, she couldn't have been more relieved.
"515 Brookside Lane," the cabdriver said, pulling to a stop.
"Thank you."
She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door, climbing out as she heard Kurt and Blaine come toward the car. They must have been waiting at the front of the building for her. Kurt was at his most nurturing, throwing his arms around her while Blaine worked on getting al her luggage out. It struck her as beautiful how well they complimented each other, and a sob caught in her throat.
"Oh Rach," Kurt said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "You're going to make your mascara run. We don't want raccoon eyes, do we?"
"Seriously Kurt?" Blaine chided lightly, coming up beside the two friends. "You're giving the raccoon eyes lecture now?"
"Grief does not need to be ugly. Or raccoon-ed."
Rachel gave the a watery smile, throwing her arms around both of them.
"I've missed you guys so much."
"I'm sorry we couldn't make it in for the funeral," Blaine said. "I swear, Kurt even tried to talk to the American consulate to get us on a plane."
"There's no reason for you to apologize," Rachel said. "You two were on your honeymoon. I appreciated the card, though. And the flowers were beautiful."
"It's the least we could do. Come on, let's get you inside." Kurt stepped back her and eyed the pile of luggage. "Rach, no judgement, but did you bring everything you own?"
"No," Rachel said in a small voice. He glanced back at her and she said, "Okay, maybe. I just, I don't know, I started packing and this happened."
"It's completely fine, Rachel," Blaine said, picking up two bags and heading toward the front of the building. Just the two of them then, Kurt looked at Rachel and asked, "How are you doing? Really?"
Rachel considered telling him the truth - how everything hurt, even breathing. She considered telling him about her sleepless nights and how she could still smell Finn on her skin, but she didn't. It was too difficult to tell the truth, so she put on the survivor's smile/grimace she'd perfected over the past three months and told him, "I'm managing."
He paused and for a moment she thought he saw through her act, but then he took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Come on, Rach, I think you need some Barbra."
She nodded, picking up bags and following him as she thought that this was one problem even Barbra couldn't solve.
Blaine and Kurt went to work throughout the week, leaving Rachel at the apartment to do what she pleased. The activities that would have interested her before - watching their vast musical collection or touring the city - didn't appeal to her. The only thing that really called to her was the couch, but she didn't want to succumb to that. The problem was, she didn't know how to be a widow. She figured she already did something wrong by not wearing black. But she didn't own much black clothing, and going shopping after your husband died felt wrong.
She sat on the couch, trying to find something to pass her time. As she sat there, at a loss for how she was supposed to handle any of this, she started to think about her life and how it was supposed to pan out. She was supposed to be with Finn. They were supposed to be happy and have a family, and have the life that they were promised when they took those vows. Instead he had to go on that expressway without his seatbelt and everything was ruined.
She stood up, anger coursing through her. She knew that Finn wasn't there but she yelled at him anyway. All the pent up aggression she'd held in since that phone call came out in a roar. The anger was misplaced, even she knew that, but she didn't know where else to direct it. She didn't know what else to do, so she kept yelling with tears streaming down her face.
"You should have been wearing your seatbelt! I always told you to wear one, and you promised me you would. You promised me you'd wear your seatbelt!"
Logically, Rachel knew a seatbelt wouldn't have saved him, but she couldn't help herself. She was yelling, her throat going raw, and then she was crying because Finn was always the one to talk her down, but he wasn't there anymore. He left her. They were a team, but now she was alone - just like before - and she couldn't forgive him for that.
Kurt came home first and was taken aback by the sobbing heap he found on his couch. Rachel tried to speak, but she couldn't form words, and everything hurt.
"Rachel, talk to me," he pleaded.
"I'm not okay," she let out between sobs, voice thick. "I'm not okay."
The next morning Rachel walked out into the kitchen and found Blaine and Kurt talking quietly. They stopped immediately when they saw her and she frowned. This was how it was back in Lima. All conversation stopped when she appeared, usually because she was the topic of conversation.
"Don't stop talking on account of me," she said, filling a mug with coffee.
"How are you feeling?" Kurt asked gingerly.
Rachel flushed at the memory of her breakdown the day before. "A little better."
There was a pause, Kurt pointedly burying his nose in his paper when Blaine said, "Rachel, I've written down the name and address of a grief counselor."
"Blaine!" Kurt hissed, his head popping up. "I thought we decided-"
"No, you decided," Blaine interrupted irritably. He looked back at Rachel and said, "There's no shame in needing help."
"I appreciate your concern but I don't need help," Rachel said firmly, sitting with them at the table.
"Rachel, Kurt found you crying uncontrollably."
"You told him," Rachel said. It was a statement, not a question.
"We're just worried about you," Kurt said by way of apology. He sighed and added, "While I'm not all for this breakfast shanghai - " he shot Blaine a look, " - you did scare me a bit. And our neighbor said he heard you yelling before?"
Rachel curled her fingers around the edge of the table and squeezed it hard.
"This is nothing I can't handle," she insisted. "Am I okay? No. I lost my husband. The love of my life. I'm...I'm not okay. But I will be. I just need some time."
"It could help to be around people going through the same thing as you," Blaine pressed.
"I don't-"
"To be surrounded by people who understand what's going on in your head," Blaine continued. He was so damn earnest, and she knew he only meant well, but she didn't want the help.
"I don't need other people," Rachel said stubbornly.
"Yes, you do," Kurt said, voice hard. She was surprised by the edge in his voice, and she remembered then that Kurt hadn't only lost a friend in Finn - he'd lost a brother, too. "Do you really think Finn would want you to go through this alone? Because if you do, you're crazy."
Rachel looked to the side, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. She heard both of them get up from the table, and Blaine told her, "The name and address will be on the fridge."
She stared forlornly at the post-it note on the refrigerator. Who were they to tell her how to grieve when she didn't know how herself? Besides, weren't there those five stages of grief of whatever? Anger and despair were definitely on the list. What she was going through was normal. But then she got a text from kurt.
You know we both love you. We just don't want to see your hurting.
In her grief, it was easy to forget how her situation impacted everyone else. She was a wife grieving her husband. Kurt and Blaine were two men grieving a brother and friend respectively, and simultaneously worrying about whether or not she'd go off the deep end.
So, she went. Not because she thought it would help, but because she felt she owed it to Kurt and Blaine. They opened their home to her without a second thought. Their only flaw was caring too much - and she could hardly blame them for that. The grief counselor's name was Henry Talbot, and when she arrived at his office she suddenly wondered whether or not she should have made an appointment first.
His office took up about half of the building's second floor, and when she spoke to the receptionist she pointed her over to Henry Talbot's personal office.
"Hello," he said, peering at her from behind thick black-rimmed glasses. "Did we have an appointment?"
"No," she said quickly, cheeks coloring. She knew she should have called. "I just...I'm Rachel Hummel. I lost my husband three months ago, and my friends gave me your name. I can come back-"
"Nonsense, Rachel, you're just in time," he said. He stood up and said, "My weekly group counseling meeting is at five."
"Group meeting?" she stammered. "Oh, I don't know-"
"Relax," he said with a soothing smile. "I don't make the first-timers talk. You can just sit and observe. See if it's a good fit for you."
He made it sound so sensible that Rachel couldn't help but nod and follow him out of his office and into a side room. It wasn't much larger than his office with chairs arranged in a circle.
"I thought they only do that in movies."
Harry smirked. "The arrangement is very conducive to an open dialogue."
"Oh, right," Rachel said, nodding. "That makes sense."
There were a few people already there and Harry greeted them while Rachel took a seat. She glanced around and though, All these people lost someone. She found that realization more sad than comforting. More people trickled in and Rachel listened to the casual chatter. She wondered how many of these people were regulars. Were there any new faces like her? Another person walked in and Rachel looked toward him, her eyes widening when she recognized him.
"Jesse?"
His eyes widened. "Rachel?"
It would have been a comical scene if they were anywhere but grief counseling. He sat next to her and said, "Well, I can honestly say I didn't want to see you here."
She smiled sadly. "I could say the same thing."
Both were silent, the obvious unasked question between them. Jesse bypassed it entirely, much to her relief and said, "Word of wise - avoid the cookies. They look good, but I swear they're toxic."
Rachel nodded. "I will avoid the cookies."
"The coffee's not bad. It's not five star or anything, but it's palatable."
"I think you may expect too much from these refreshments," she told him.
Jesse smiled a bit and shrugged. "When you come here every week you can't help but judge the food."
Rachel digested that bit of information and then asked, "How long have you been coming here?"
"About six months," he said. "And believe me, I was just about as happy to be here the first time as you are."
"What? I-"
"Rachel, you never had much of a poker face."
She sighed, gathering her hair to the side and pushing it over one shoulder. "Kurt and Blaine asked me to go."
"They were worried about you?"
Rachel nodded, but then said, "I'm fine, though."
"Of course you are," Jesse said, his words ringing as false as hers did.
Harry took his seat and then the meeting started. He began by everyone going around and introducing themselves. He didn't skip over Rachel for this, and she suddenly was concerned with if she'd be expected to share further.
"Alright, why don't we go around and talk about some progress we've made this week. It can be anything - just tell me something good about your week."
"I walked into my daughter's room today," the first woman said, voice soft and gentle. "And I stood in there for a few minutes without needing to leave. I thought it would be hard - it always was before - but this week felt different. It was different."
"That's wonderful," Harry said. "And how did that make you feel?"
The woman paused and then said, "Like I made peace with myself. The guilt, the belief that I could have done more, it went away. Not entirely. But I didn't feel as consumed by it."
Her voice wavered and the man next to her took her hand. Rachel saw quickly that they were husband and wife, and she was hit with such longing that she nearly gasped. The next few people went, some of the stories just as personal, others less so. It came to be Rachel's turn and she hesitated.
"Rachel's new to our crew," Harry filled in. "She'll just be listening today."
She let out a shaky breath.
The meeting continued, and then it was Jesse's turn to speak.
"I stopped recording Chopped," he said simply. The rest of the room stared at him, waiting for some elaboration. When Jesse didn't give any, Harry tentatively asked, "And how does that make you feel?"
"Good," Jesse said with a wry grin. "I hated that show."
The circle laughed a it, but Rachel couldn't tell if it was out of discomfort or they actually found humor in what Jesse said.
"I don't know why it took me so long to stop recording a show I hate," Jesse continued, face more serious. "I guess I thought part of her was still with me if I kept doing the little things. Recording her shows. Keeping the refrigerator organized."
Something about that struck a chord in Rachel, and without thinking she said, "I still change the station when a song Finn hated comes on."
Jesse looked at her in surprise, and she caught the reaction before he could smooth his face of expression. She didn't know if she should have interrupted and for a moment the silence made her think she had acted inappropriately.
"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I-"
"There's no need to apologize, Rachel," Harry said. "We're glad you're sharing."
Rachel smiled slightly and settled back into her seat.
When the meeting was over the group mingled over the sub-par cookies and coffee. Jesse came over to Rachel, who was the outlier of the group. Usually chatty, Rachel didn't know how to bond over grief. If she were being honest, she didn't know if she wanted to learn.
"So, Finn, huh?" Jesse asked without any introduction. She choked a bit on her coffee and nodded.
"Yeah."
"Well, shit," he breathed out, shaking his head. "I'm really sorry, Rachel."
"Thank you."
He glanced at her ring and asked, "You two were married?"
"For two years," she said. It occurred to her then that they would never have a three year anniversary. Jesse read into her silence and said, "They get better. The realizations that your life is forever changed. That might not be possible."
"Not when you put it that way," she grumbled.
"It does get better, though," he said with some finality.
"Thanks," Rachel said weakly. She felt twenty years older than when she walked into that room - her limbs heavy and muscles tired. "What about you?" she asked after a moment. "Who did you lose?"
"My fiancee," Jesse said, taking a sip of coffee. Rachel noticed his hand shook.
"I'm so sorry," Rachel said, wondering how both of them ended up in this awful situation. "Was it sudden?"
"Thankfully no," he said. "It was breast cancer. It didn't give us long, but enough time to say goodbye."
"That's nice," Rachel said wistfully, thinking of the last thing she'd said to Finn. It had taken her a long time to figure out exactly what it was, and when she did figure it out she was disappointed. The last thing she'd said to Finn was to pick up milk on his way home.
"And Finn?" Jesse asked, although Rachel could tell by his tone that he already knew the answer.
"Car accident," Rachel said, voice toneless. "He died instantly. No pain, or at least that's what they told me."
"I'm really sorry," Jesse said, imagining what it must have been like for Rachel to get that call. At least he had time to digest the information with Hannah. What Rachel went through was almost incomprehensible.
"It's fine," Rachel said, taking a deep breath. "It...it happened. I can't change that."
He studied her face, watching as she tried desperately to hold herself together. "So, you think you'll be coming back next week?"
Rachel turned her watery gaze to his. Even on the verge of tears, she still looked strong and determined. "I think I will."
A/N: This was sort of depressing. Sorry about that. I wanted to write a more serious St. Berry story, and this seemed to fit the bill. If you want more chapters (I have plans for more) please leave feedback and let me know.
