Disclaimer: The characters are all property of Ryan Murphy's show "Glee" on FOX. I just add little bits.
Additional Notes: Another one-shot – I'll get on with "Separate Ways" at some point, that one's just not flowing the way I want right now because there's too much else in my heart and on my mind. This one follows right after the last scene of "Journey".
The song in this story is "Falling Free" by David Gray. You should really listen to it, it's beautiful and inspired me to write this – I've been really down lately, listening to a lot of sad songs (as one's wont to do at such a time) and this song found its way into my playlist by accident. When I heard it I just had to think of Finn's smile when Rachel leaned her head onto his shoulder, and it resulted in this little story.
Hope you like it!
. . .
All of my senses overthrown See how the sky is made of sapphire
By the might of your skin
And the lamplight on your cheek bone
Drawing me further in
No sentence I can speak
For the wonder so unique
Breaking like a wave upon the shore
Mercy me, I'm falling free
Since you opened up the door
The colors flowing through our hands
The moon is fire in your hair
A million miles beyond what science understands
Smell that mountain heather
Although I don't remember ever
Feeling like this before
Mercy me, I'm falling free
Since you opened up the door
. . .
"Rach?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the breathy vocals of the song that played from his cellphone lying in the grass next to their heads. Her fingers were entwined with his on his chest as her head lay in the crook of his elbow, her petite body comfortably stretched out beside him. When he'd stolen a glance at her moments ago, her eyes had been closed and so he'd closed his again, too. She'd been running her thumb up and down his index finger, lightly, tenderly, for what had seemed like hours.
Gradually he'd felt her body let go of some of the tension. He'd been worried about her – she was so high-strung, so tense, she'd been such a bundle of nerves even after Mr Schue had told them the good news that he'd simply remained sitting there with her, her head on his shoulder, her hands holding onto his with all their might, long after the others had filed out. They'd all left, silently, nodding at him, grinning at them both – but there'd been no ridicule behind it, no mocking eyes for once; their ordeal had brought all of them closer together, not just Rachel and him. Even Kurt had seemed happy to see them like this. If it hadn't been for the pincer-like grip on his hand he wouldn't have known there was anything amiss – outwardly Rachel had looked fine, almost blissful from what he could make out looking down at her face.
Rachel was scared. He couldn't have said how he knew, but he simply did. She was terrified. Probably as much as he was. He was terrified of messing this up, of making the wrong move again. Of saying something that would hurt her – again.
When he'd pulled her out of their seats, finally, he'd realised that he needed to get her out of this setting, out of the school. They both needed to get away from this place that held too many memories for them right now – far too many bad memories at the moment. So he'd taken her here, to the park. And then had to realise that it was next to impossible to get Rachel to relax. It was almost comical – she'd gone from scared passiveness to frenzied activity within seconds of being told that all he wanted her to do was lie down and do nothing. And even when he'd gotten her to lie down, it didn't take but a minute before she'd wanted to jump up again and do stuff, talk about songs she thought they should sing, show him the steps to some choreography she could see them all do for one of the songs – it'd been hard work to get her to lie down again. But when she had, he'd felt the tension return to her body, and had realised it'd never left – just manifested itself in her frenzied need to stay active.
In the end it'd only been her thumb moving along his finger as he held her. And then even that had stopped. He wondered if she was asleep. It was so peaceful, just lying there, with her in his arm; the sharp smell of grass and flowers and earth beneath them, the sound of nothing but the slow music and chirping birds above them…
. . .
And if every window pane should shatter Mercy me, I'm falling free
If every wall should fall apart
Well it might hurt a bit
But wouldn't it matter
With this diamond in my heart
There's no need to nail it to the ground
There's no need to smother it with sense
Just listen to the rhythm of your heart
That pounds and trust it all to chance
'Cause we're standing face to face
With the Angel of Grace
And don't it just taste so pure
Mercy me, I'm falling free
Mercy me, I'm falling free
Since you opened up the door
. . .
"…yes?" came her voice, after a long moment. She sounded hesitant.
He needed to find some way to get her to relax. But he had no idea how, past leaning over and kissing her – and he was afraid that would just make things worse at the moment.
"I thought you'd fallen asleep."
At that, he felt her shift against his body. Turning his head, he watched as she propped her elbow up and leant her head onto it, her face now level with his. There was a blade of grass entangled in her hair, just above her forehead.
"No…. I was just thinking."
She was uncharacteristically quiet now. He wasn't sure what that meant – the bubbly Rachel was almost completely gone now, replaced by a much quieter, much more serious, much more mature version of her self. When he looked into her eyes all he could see was her vulnerability, and it stunned him. She was like an open book before him now, and he was almost afraid to read what was written inside it for him.
He swallowed, nervously, and broke their eye contact.
"What were you thinking about?"
At that she let go of his hand that she'd still been holding until then. The loss of contact felt painful; he was still too afraid she'd change her mind again and leave him lying there by himself. If nothing else he would have been content to lie there in the grass with her, holding her, until the end of days.
"This. Us."
Her eyes were cast down onto the little bit of ground between them. With her free hand, she began to pull out whole bushels of grass. Her nervousness only helped to increase his.
She kissed you. She kissed you – and then she had this smile on her face after you told her. It's gotta count for something. She rushed into your arms when you were done singing. And she took your hand and held it, and put her head on your shoulder. It's got to mean something.
She hadn't said anything back, though. Not for once, in all the time they'd had – and there had been time, they weren't always with the others. He'd hoped she'd talk to him on the bus ride home, but they'd all just plopped themselves down on a seat, too drained from everything that'd happened that day. And too miserable, considering what they'd thought was going to await them at home.
"Yeah?" he finally managed to say, after what seemed a painfully long silence. This was it – what he'd been dreading and yet at the same time hoping for.
She stared at the small pile of grass she'd ripped out of the ground as if she had no memory of how it got there. "I used to think it was love…" she started, then her voice trailed off.
Used to…? Was…?
His heart froze.
She must have felt him tense underneath her, since she was still partly lying on his arm. Her eyes came up to meet his as he stared at her, desperation already tingeing his eyes. And then something changed in hers: the sorrow he'd seen in them mere seconds ago turned into amusement that spread all over her face.
"… with Jesse. I used to think it was love I felt. He knew me just well enough to feed me the kind of lies that made me believe it."
Amusement turned into seriousness, and as she said the last words he found a hint of sadness in her eyes that he wished he could take from her. But it was gone again almost as fast as it had come, replaced once again by that flicker of vulnerability that he'd seen in her so rarely. This time around it truly made him afraid.
For a moment panic seized him. What was he doing? He couldn't bear to see her hurt in any way, and the look in her eyes put a responsibility onto his shoulders that was almost too much to bear. And yet – he wanted that responsibility. He could take it this time.
Overcome with a sudden fierce need to lean over and kiss her, it took all his willpower to fight it; instead, he reached out with his hand, to pluck the bit of grass out of her hair. Her eyes followed his hand, but closed at the light touch of his fingers against her scalp. That made him hesitate: he'd been afraid of doing this the wrong way, of moving too fast when he didn't even know what this was. But her reaction to his touch stirred a flutter at the pit of his stomach, flushed his veins with hope that she wanted this, too, whatever it was. Instead of retrieving the green leaf of grass he found himself running his hand down the side of her face, over her smooth skin, his thumb tracing a line from her eye to her lips.
He leaned in closer to her, studying her face. Her lips were slightly opened, her soft breath a warm breeze against his thumb.
And suddenly this wasn't difficult anymore, at all. He knew what he had to tell her as he looked at her, his heart so full of tenderness, of love for her, that he feared it might shatter from the strain of keeping it all contained. But that was exactly it – he didn't need to do that, anymore.
"Look at me," he said, earnestly. And when she opened her brown eyes, he met them with his own. All that vulnerability, all that doubt and fear and sadness still hiding in the shadows of her mind, he had to take from her, had to make it right. "I lost you once, and didn't realise it until it was too late. I was stupid then, so confused, a total mess - I still am now, most of the time, but not about this one thing. I'd never lie ab-"
She'd reached up and laid her free hand on his chest, right above his heart. For a tiny moment he found himself pulled back to their very first, ill-fated kiss, when moments before it happened she'd shown him where his heart was. Maybe that was what'd started it all – he'd just been too blind to see it for what it was all that time.
"I know," she said, and a small and sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I know you, remember?"
Gently, she moved her hand from his heart to her face, entwined her fingers with his and pulled his hand down to her own heart. He found that suddenly he could barely breathe.
"Jesse once told me that he thought I deserved epic romance, and that he was there to give it to me. I believed him because I wanted to- because it was easier to be with him than to deal with all the rest. I didn't want to admit that I never stopped loving you."
What had been nothing but a hint of a smile turned into the most beautiful one he'd ever seen, a warm and happy glow spreading all over her face, sparkling from her eyes. After she'd kissed him she'd smiled like this, too, but this so was much more glorious. It was infectious – as if happiness was something tangible, it spread to him through his hand still on her heart; the heart that was beating as rapidly as his.
Now he couldn't hold back anymore: pulling his hand from her heart he pulled her head closer, his fingers slipping through her hair at the back of her head. Leaning forward until their foreheads touched, he told her again, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke; "I love you, Rachel."
And then she kissed him.
. . .
FIN
: : :
Maybe a bit fluffy. Let me know what you think – reviews are as always much appreciated!