Rachel

It seemed somehow cruelly fitting that the most tragic day of her life would be immediately following one of triumph and joy, the day she had at the time been sure was her happiest. Rachel had always been one to appreciate bitter irony and melodrama in movies, plays, and especially musicals, and even as a child she had secretly wished her own life could be so exciting, even if that would mean bringing her tremendous obstacles and pain. In a way, she had secretly regarded her ostracized state in high school as a trial making her worthy of earning her own Broadway existence- her own private tribulation, purely to pave her way into inevitable strength and stardom.

But admiring tragedy at a distance, and even experiencing pain on a regular basis, was nowhere near the same as having genuine tragedy announce itself at your door. And Rachel had never understood, had not even begun to comprehend, the depth of pain she could experience, with only a few spoken words.

She was the first of them all to find out, although she was not the first to be called. The first had been Kurt, but his cell phone was turned off, as was his habit each morning until he woke up, and especially after a late night out. It had been close to 3 am when he, Rachel, and Santana stumbled back to their loft that morning. They had been spending most of the night and several hours of the morning out celebrating Rachel's casting as Fanny Brice in Funny Girl- her greatest dream and her introduction to Broadway. The whole night had been a blur of dancing and laughing and drinking as both Kurt and Rachel rarely indulged in, with Santana highly encouraging them both and even getting rather touchy-feely in her dancing with Rachel as the night wore on, pushing the limit as far as Rachel would allow. By the time they made it back to the loft, all three were more than a little on the intoxicated side, with Rachel giggling and insisting on linking arms with them both so that they often tripped over each other's feet, leaving Santana alternating between swearing and laughing with her as Kurt egged them both on, teasing in a voice that was much louder than usual.

They had collapsed in their respective beds and become almost dead to the world, knowing full well that the morning would bring their giddiness from the night before to a screeching halt as hangovers, sleep deprivation, and crankiness, or in Santana's case, outright bitchiness, settled over them as a consequence. But Rachel had been okay with that; she had known that after that night, it would be time to really get serious with practice and rehearsal, balancing schoolwork with workouts with dance class with Funny Girl, and this was likely the last time anywhere in the near future she would be able to just go out and let go, to let herself be irresponsible and fun with friends.

She had not remembered to turn off her phone, but she had remembered to turn off her alarm; this was one morning where she would skip her usual workout, in light of her anticipated hangover in the morning. So Rachel's first thought when she heard the all too cheerful tone of Phantom of the Opera's "Masquerade" somewhere in the vicinity of her sleeping area was that someone, somewhere, simply did not seem to understand that calling someone at seven am on a Saturday, the night after her Funny Girl news, was simply not acceptable behavior at all.

She tried to ignore the ringing, mumbling incoherently to herself and shoving one ear harder against her pillow, and when she heard Santana yell out a swear word from behind her own curtain, she ignored this too, knowing that she would catch hell from the Latina for this later. Hungover Santana was considerably less pleasant to deal with than normal Santana in the mornings, and considering how cranky she was until around nine am even when sober, that was saying something. Still she ignored the phone, hoping she would still be able to fall asleep once its ringing stopped, until she heard the voicemail pick up, and the caller begin to speak.

"Rachel? Rachel, it's Burt Hummel…I tried to call Kurt but I think…it seems like he turned his phone off…Rachel, if he's not around, or if he's…if he's sleeping or…Rachel, please tell him, he needs to call me back."

There was something in his voice that got Rachel's attention even in her groggy state, a shakiness to his tone that was unusual, even concerning. Forcing her eyes open, then slowly pulling herself to a sitting position, she reached for the phone, stifling a gasp at the immediate dizziness spinning through her head and the sharp twisting of her stomach as she takes the step needed to reach her dresser, where her phone is resting, plugged into its charger. Covering her mouth as she yawned and deliberately avoiding looking in her mirror at her doubtlessly unkempt appearance, she scrolled to find her first miss call and called Burt back on instinct, rather than wake Kurt, as he had suggested. If something was going on, if something was wrong, then maybe it would be better if she could be prepared herself for what Kurt might hear, or if she told Kurt herself, in person.

Even hungover, Rachel's mind was beginning to speed up, thoughts of potential disaster racing through her brain. Her first thought, of course, was Burt's prostrate cancer. He had assured Kurt that he was in remission, that everything was fine, but doctors were wrong all the time, and he had sounded so strained and upset on the phone…almost like he was trying not to cry. Was his cancer back? Or had he found out that Carol, Kurt's stepmother, had cancer too? What if they both had cancer and neither were in remission? What if he was weeks away from death? No, Rachel definitely had to talk to him herself, she definitely had to know for Kurt's sake.

"Hello? Mr. Hummel, it's Rachel Berry," she didn't wait for Kurt's father to even say hello as he picked up on the other line. Clearing her throat and leaning against the wall beside the dresser, she tried to modulate her voice to sound as calm and most importantly, fully sober as possible, even as her head throbbed faintly and anxiety choked her throat. "I received a portion of your message and I am now returning your call. It seems that you have something important to convey to Kurt, perhaps something…distressing…and I thought I would call you back and see what it is that you have to say? Perhaps if I had knowledge of this and could prepare myself I could help you to support Kurt in whatever it is to insure the best possible outcome."

The few seconds in between Burt Hummel's verbal response to her seemed to Rachel to last for minutes, maybe hours, and as she waited, tense, unconsciously licking her lips, she heard the man swallowing on the other line, releasing a long, shaky breath. Even before he spoke she could hear the choked tears crackling through the receiver, and yet nothing could have prepared her for his words to her, not a single one of the possibilities of disaster flitting through her mind equaled his actual response.

"Rachel…it's…it's Finn, honey," he managed at last, his voice so strained she could barely understand him. "He's…Rachel, he's dead."

She wasn't aware of her eyes widening, her pupils dilating until she couldn't see or focus on anything at all. She wasn't aware of dropping her phone and cracking the screen, of Burt's voice, choking out her name on the other end. She wasn't aware of her legs shaking so badly she was beginning to slide down the wall to the floor, unable to continue standing. Only distantly did she hear the strange, keening cries from somewhere near her, almost screams, and she didn't understand until her curtain was flung back and both Kurt and Santana stood staring at her, Kurt's hair sticking straight up in several places, eyes wide and blinking frequently, Santana clad only in a tank top and underwear, an expression somewhere between fury and concern etching deep furrows in her forehead, that the noise was coming from her.

"WHAT? Rachel, WHAT, what the fuck is the matter with you?" Santana was saying almost in a hiss, but she was moving towards her fast, her arms looping around her to catch her and draw her to her feet as she began to lead Rachel's body, almost fully dead weight, back to sit down on her bed. As she called out over her shoulder for Kurt to pick up the phone and see who the hell was talking to her and what the hell they were saying, she wrapped her arms around Rachel somewhat awkwardly, trying to stop her cries.

"Rachel. Rachel, stop. Stop. Calm down, breathe. Tell me what happened…what?"

The tears Rachel barely knew she was shedding were too thick for her to see Kurt as he picked up the phone, to watch his face drain of all color as he heard his father's voice on the other end. She barely felt Santana's arms around her, didn't notice the girl look up at Kurt or ask him yet again what was going on. She didn't see Kurt's hands begin to shake or his eyes fill with tears, didn't hear his voice break as he repeated to Santana what Rachel already knew. She was only vaguely aware of Santana's body stiffening with her shock against her, of the girl's warm skin suddenly seeming cooler, of the arms around her loosening their grip as the knowledge settled over her too.

All she was aware of, all she could focus on, were two words and their meaning, the devastation they had just brought into her life and her heart.

Finn's dead. Finn's dead. Finn's dead.