Hello! This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic. The title and inspiration came from Brand New Colony by The Postal Service. I saw a Finchel graphic with the lyrics once and it planted the seed in my tiny little brain.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Glee, however, owns me.
I want to take you far
From the cynics in this town
And kiss you on the mouth
We'll cut our bodies free
From the tethers of this scene
Start a brand new colony
Where everything will change
We'll give ourselves new names
Rachel walks briskly to her locker early Thursday morning, her smile strangely large given the time and place. She has just been cast in the community theatre production of Fiddler on the Roof, and she's about ready to bust. This is her first step to super-stardom, and once her name is in lights, everyone in this cesspool will rue the days when they drew pornographic pictures of her on the bathroom stalls and egged her brand new Prius. She'll outshine them all.
Well, maybe not all of them, maybe one of them will come with her an—
WHAM! Her thoughts are cut off when bright green slush comes out of nowhere to collide with her face. Ouch.
"Have a nice day, Yentl," a blur in a red letterman jacket shouts, much to the delight of his lackies. How very original.
She's afraid to open her eyes and experience the sting of corn syrup on her corneas. Her chest contracts from the cold and she thinks absurdly of that line in Titanic, where Jack is trying to convince Rose not to jump into the Atlantic. "…It hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. You can't breathe. You can't think."
Oh, Titanic was such a wonderfully romantic film. Finn would make such a good Jack to her Rose if Broadway were to ever do a re-
But she cuts herself off from that line of thought this time, knowing it could lead nowhere good.
Licking her lips, she reaches into her locker for the back-up outfit she keeps handy for these instances. Green apple. Gross. They could have at least used a good flavor. Like grape. She escapes to the girls' bathroom, completely missing the scuffle that has started behind her, a few feet away from her locker.
She gets cleaned up in record time, proud of herself for dealing with all this adversity first thing in the morning and still making it to homeroom on time. She won't give those Neanderthals the satisfaction of mussing up her day. Like a true star; the show must go on.
Her gaze locks on a pair of deep brown eyes belonging to a certain fidgeting, 6'3 quarterback when she steps out into the hallway.
"Are you okay?" he asks. He looks kind of nervous.
She's just stares at him, getting over the shock of his sudden appearance, trying to form a coherent sentence, when she notices a purple bruise beginning to form around his eye.
"Yeah... yes, I'm fine. Are you?" Her voice sounds strained and she hates it; hates that things are still so awkward between them.
Ever since she told him about Quinn's baby.
She can't blame him for keeping to himself. Who wouldn't after being betrayed like he had been? She just wishes he would lean on her. It's maddening to wonder what he's thinking all the time. Usually it's so easy for her to tell. And it's not like he can count on his football "friends" to listen as he pours his heart out to them. He has no one. No matter how popular he may be.
She wants to be his someone.
Underneath the black-eye that's forming, his eyes are a little sadder, a little more distant. A little less home. She hates that too.
"Do you want to leave?" he blurts out suddenly, ignoring her previous question. His lips twitching up self-deprecatingly, but somehow that perfect little half-smile he has down to a science is not the same when it's haunted by his defeated eyes.
"L-Leave school?" she asks, sounding a lot less calm than she intended. She reminds herself to breathe.
"Yeah."
Usually she would criticize him for being so careless about his schoolwork, but she thinks he sort of deserves a free pass this time around. She's going to tell him to go ahead without her, but she stops herself. It is the Thursday before winter break and she doesn't have any tests or big assignments to hand in.
Glee doesn't meet today. Neither does the Black Student Union. Or the Renaissance Club. She begins to consider it. He's squirming around and he looks so anxious for her response that her heart melts a little.
"I'm going to go get my coat and I'll meet you at your truck," she says, her decision made.
Finn's smile touches his eyes this time, lighting up his whole face, "Kay, it's the big blue one."
"I know," she giggles.
She is going to skip school. Rachel Berry is going to skip school. Giddiness spreads through her as she heads out the back door into the slush-covered parking lot, making sure the coast is clear. Who would have thought she would enjoy being a rule-breaker so much?
Though, if she's honest with herself, she knows her excitement is due much more to her spending the day with her gentle giant than to her deceiving her school teachers.
The sun is deceptively bright as it keeps the secret of the winter chill, but her blood races when she sees Finn waiting for her in his dilapidated, albeit charming, pick-up truck. This is really happening.
When he sees her approaching, he leans over to the passenger side to open the door for her.
Once she's settled in, he asks, "Uh… so, what now?"
"This was your idea!"
"Yeah, so I already came up with one awesome idea for the day- to skip school. Now it's your turn!" and somewhere in his brain, that must seem like logic so she decides to indulge him. Besides, Rachel Berry has never had a problem being decisive.
"Let's go to the reservoir," she says, knowing full well the romantic implications of that spot. Finn says nothing as he puts his truck in gear, hoping the pink in his cheeks goes unnoticed.
On the way, Finn stops to buy them some snacks for the day. He ends up buying s'more ingredients, White Cheddar Cheez-Itz, and a big bag of trail mix. They have no means of actually roasting the marshmallows for the s'mores, as they were still sitting in the cab of his truck, but the marshmallows were on sale at the gas station so they got them anyway. Finn tops her cold s'more with a graham and hands it to her.
"Here you go."
"Thanks," she smiles.
After that, the only sound filling the small space is their chewing. Rachel can feel the weight of unspoken words pressing down on them. It's the first time they've been alone since babygate, and a lot of things were left unsettled. But for once, she doesn't feel the clawing need to fill the silence. She's letting herself enjoy the weight.
Frankly, when Finn opens his mouth, it's a 50/50 shot that he'll smash her heart into a million pieces like Nicky Arnstein did to Fanny Brice at the end of Funny Girl. So quiet is okay with her. For now.
Finn, apparently, is not on the same page. "So, I have a couple of CDs in the dashboard. If you want to play those, or if you have your iPod, I have a receptor that tunes into the radio. You can't plug it right in because my truck is too old but the receptor usually works really good."
"It works really well. Well, not good, because it's an adverb," she murmurs as she begins to dig in her backpack for her bedazzled iPod.
"Yeah, okay. And maybe we could think of some songs to sing at regionals. I was thinking maybe more Journey, like we could sing Fai-"
"Finn, why did you ask me to come with you?" she asks, because this all sort of feels like a dream after the last couple of weeks, and if they're going to fill the silence, they may as well fill it with the answer to one of her millions of questions for him.
"I just wanted to take you away from all that," he says simply, gesturing toward the plastic bag that holds her slushie-stained outfit.
She stares at him. Sometimes, ironically, Finn's inherent simplicity makes him really difficult to figure out. But then there are times when he's right there and saying perfect things and he makes it impossible for her to give up on him.
He's just in her blood.
She reaches her hand up and, taking care to be very gentle, she brushes the purple shadow under his eye, noticing how his eyes darken a shade when she touches him. "Did you fight the guy who slushied me?" she asks, her fingers lingering a little too long. Why can she never control herself around him? A blush creeps up her cheeks as she retracts her hand and joins it with the other in her lap.
"Mmhmm," he says, and when she crinkles her brow he clears his throat and adds, "Azimio is a jerk. And a shit left tackle."
She doesn't bother scolding him for his language. She just feels her face grow even redder because Finn fought somebody for her. For some reason that fact makes her stomach coil up and her body feel warm all over. Not to mention, Finn Hudson sporting a black-eye? Outrageously sexy.
"Thank you," she says shyly, and he just shrugs. "But violence is really never the answer, Finn."
"Do you wanna make snow angels?" Finn asks when they run out of graham crackers.
"I'm wearing a dress, Finn!"
"I have sweatpants in the back. If you roll them six or seven times, they should fit just right!" he exclaims, reaching behind him to feel around for his, no doubt, gargantuan pair of pants.
"It's so cold!"
"I have blankets for when we're done," he says, and sensing her hesitation, "C'mon, Rach, it'll be fun! We're skipping school and being spontaneo today, remember?"
She couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face if she tried. This boy. "I suppose we are being spontaneous."
She takes the grey sweats from him and pulls them on over her tights and under her dress, reminding Finn to look away. She misses his impish grin as he complies. On her seventh roll, she can see her feet again and announces that she's ready to brave the harsh winter.
He rolls his eyes as he gets out of the truck.
"I bet I can make a bigger snow angel than you," he teases, and now she rolls her eyes.
"I will not take that bet. You are about a foot taller than me and twice as broad."
He gets his little smile. "Yeah but your angel will be so cute and tiny like you," he says, suddenly finding the ground more interesting and picking up speed. She notices how the cold makes his cheeks flush.
Once they get to a clear patch of ground, he collapses on his back. She follows suit, sitting primly before sweeping her arms and legs up and down, in and out. When they stand to admire their work, she can't help but giggle, "Yours looks like a creepy old angel about to take my little angel into the woods."
Finn looks mock-horrified, "My angel would do no such thing." He joins in her laughter though, and the sound is so welcome after their weeks apart. Like coming home.
Her most pressing question bubbles to her lips, but she files it away for later. She just wants to watch him laugh right now.
Rachel finally drags Finn back to the truck and turns the heat up to the highest level. Her teeth are chattering so hard she can't even yell at him for his horrible idea to go tubing on a busted tire he found on the shore of the frozen reservoir.
She rips off the sopping sweatpants and her frozen tights. Her wool coat is completely soaked through, so she removes that as well, but her dress remains mostly dry. She reaches out to Finn so he can hand her one of those blankets he's promised her.
"Um, R-Rach, I only h-have one blanket," he says, his speech hindered by his quivering body. It's only then that she realizes he's removed his jeans and on his lower half he's left in only his boxers, which are also somewhat damp.
"T-take off your-r jacket s-so it doesn't get me w-wet," she manages to say, and he does so.
"W-watch your head," he says as he fans the blanket around her and pulls her into him with it.
Finn's shaking is slowing and his body is relaxing and she can feel his everything. She looks at the smooth line of his clavicle, drawing her horizon, and she forces herself not to turn her head, just a centimeter, and kiss it. And it's all just terribly indecent but she cannot for the life of her bring herself to care. Because that half-naked, trembling boy is Finn. So she rests her head on his shoulder, and his skin is cold to the touch at first, but it warms up pretty quickly.
She must have fallen asleep because she wakes up when Finn drives over a speed bump, her cheek bumping back into the shoulder she had been resting on.
"Sorry, Rach, I didn't notice the speed bump with all the snow," he says quietly, their faces mere inches apart. He has a full-fledged shiner now, and she thinks he should really put ice on it. "I'm not really a great driver."
"I think you're just fine," she nudges him, and then straightens herself out reluctantly, sliding into her seat and buckling up, keeping the blanket wrapped loosely around her.
"Sorry I…" she trails off, pointing to his shoulder. He just shakes his head, as if to say, it's not a problem.
She feels kind of awkward; that early morning fog hovering over her brain and leaving her confused and a little self-conscious that she fell asleep on him. Not to mention, he's still in his boxers, which she has to work really hard not to look at. It all makes her feel extremely vulnerable. Bare.
She always feels like this when she's with him, like he can see her. Without her defenses she's completely exposed. It's both wonderful and uncomfortable.
"Are you driving me home?" she asks, hating that she sounds as disappointed as she feels.
"No. Unless you want me to. I thought we could just go for a drive."
"A drive sounds great."
She says it for two reasons. One: she gets to spend time with Finn. Two: she knows he needs this. Maybe even more than she does.
She just wishes he would tell her how much he needs this.
He suggests that they get hot chocolate about an hour later when they're somewhere around Van Wert. So they go through the drive-through and sit in the abandoned parking lot while they sip quietly.
Out of the corner of her eye, she see Finn staring off into space, that haunted look returning to his eyes and making her heart twinge and her palms clammy.
She can't hold it in any longer. "Finn, I need you to talk to me about Quinn."
She feels unbearably insensitive, but honestly, she's been tiptoeing around the subject for weeks and it hasn't gotten them anywhere. She needs to force a confrontation. She needs to know how he's doing. Well, what variety of bad he's doing.
And she thinks he needs to tell her, too. At least she hopes so.
He just stares at her with his mouth agape. Nobody has made him talk about this directly. He should've known Rachel would be the exception to the rule. She's the exception to every rule.
But how can he even explain how he feels? How he fucking hates everything. How can he describe the rage that causes his arms to flail long after he's collapsed on his punching bag?
But then it all bubbles over.
"I just… I hate her. And him. And I hate that I was stupid enough to believe all their fuckery. I'm such a fucking idiot. I hate how she treated me and how I let her treat me. And I hate that I hurt other people to help her when she was ready to turn my life upside down for NO FUCKING REASON."
She can feel him trembling from his confession. From his pent-up rage. He's panting a little. His eyes are wide, boring into hers, and she knows that this is his catharsis and his apology. For the auditorium, and the bowling alley, and the Grease cat suit revelations.
She just squeezes his hand tighter, sensing that he's not done, letting him know she's still there. For him. That she understands and that she accepts his apology. Really, he's already forgiven. Because he's Finn Hudson and she's Rachel Berry. And that's really it.
She watches him deflate, his shoulders slumping in, and it breaks her heart.
"She knows I'm stupid. She expected me to be stupid. Her and him. That's why they thought they could get away with their lie." He looks so defeated.
"You never make me feel stupid. Ever." He adds quietly. And her eyes fill up with tears.
"That's because you're not, Finn. You have so much to offer. So, so much. And you deserve to be with someone who knows what they have when they have you. Quinn wanted to make you unhappy because she is so unhappy. Because she made a mistake when she was drunk and feeling insecure and that one night turned her into everything she hates. And she took that out on you."
She pauses, and she crouches down to meet his eyes and make sure he understands this. "But that's not your fault, Finn. You need to stop hating yourself. You are so much better than you think you are."
He reaches out his hand, an offering, and she links her pinky with his before he turns her hand over and laces his fingers with hers.
"You always help me," he murmurs, "I don't deserve it and you don't have to but you always do."
"I do have to. It's necessary like breathing."
They've settled into silence again in the general direction of Lima. For want of anything to say, she brings up regionals.
"You were right! It is time for us to start choosing songs. I don't know about Journey, though. I've been thinking about doing Barbra's closing number from Funny Girl, since, as you know, my performance of Don't Rain on My Parade brought the house down and secured us our victory at sectionals. I also have a deep, personal connection to My Man that will create an emotional resonance palpable to both the audience and the judges," she says, forgetting to take a breath.
He looks overwhelmed by her words. And he still looks a little raw, she notes as her eyes rake over his face. She imagines he's feeling the discomfort of being seen just like she is.
"What is My Man about?" he asks.
"Hmm?" she asks, still preoccupied by the constellations in his freckles.
"You said that My Man, uh, resonates with you. What's it about?"
"My Man is about a talented theatrical performer whose love leaves her because of his own personal problems. It is her dwelling on the loss of what was and could've been. It's the hardest song I'll ever sing."
Then she realizes what she said.
"Of course I relate to the character because she's so driven to succeed in New York," she adds desperately. Finn nods once and sips his hot chocolate until it's gone, his face turned away so she can't see his eyes. He turns onto the highway that will lead them right to her house.
For the love of Moses, why can't she ever bite her tongue? Her heart sinks as she realizes she just ruined everything. All the progress they had made today. By wanting it too much.
She tucks her knees up to her chin.
"Do you want to play a game?" he asks, once again throwing her for a loop and doing what she least expects. She feels tilted off her axis with him. She can never quite find her balance.
"Sure."
"Finn!" Rachel laughs.
"What?"
"You can't split an odd number."
"If I don't split them you'll win."
"Yes, Finn, I will."
"Can we play another game? I don't like Finger Chess."
"Of course, once I beat you."
Finn groans as she taps his left hand and declares herself the champion.
"Okay, spoilsport, what do you want to play now?"
He chuckles at the irony of her calling him a spoilsport before he suggests, "20 Questions?"
"Okay. You ask first," she says, and the smile on her face hurts her cheeks. She brainstorms what item she should choose for him to ask questions about.
She settles on drumsticks, thinking them completely appropriate for the beautiful drummer boy sitting beside her.
"Do I still have a chance with you?" he says all of the sudden.
She freezes. "That's not how 20 Questions works, Finn," she murmurs, blushing from the inside out.
"We'll make up our own rules," he says, reaching out to brush his fingers over hers. "Do I still have a chance?" he repeats.
"You always have a chance."
They pull up to her house a half hour later, and instinctively she knows that she'll be able to get away with skipping today. Her house is empty and the McKinley attendance office is notoriously inefficient.
She doesn't know how to end the day she's had with him. She feels like she ran a marathon and watched ten sad movies. His voice cuts off her reverie.
"I don't want to go back tomorrow," he pouts, and good Finn, draw more attention to your perfect lips, why don't you?
"I know," she says, shaking those thoughts away.
"I just wish I could take a break from all this crap."
"Well, maybe you should. Winter break starts tomorrow. Why don't you get out of Lima for the week?"
"And go where? I have like no money. And besides, my mom doesn't trust me to cross the street without holding my hand after everything with Quinn."
"You could go on a road trip. It's like the quintessential American thing to do. I think your mom would understand."
He pauses before he mutters sheepishly, "What does quintessential mean?"
"It means it's the essence of what it means to be American. To explore our vast amounts of land. It's a rite of passage."
"I like road trips," he says, and he smiles like a little boy with a new toy, mulling the idea over. Her face twists up into a twin expression of its own accord.
"Would you come with me?" He says all of a sudden.
This time she doesn't even really think about it.
"Yes."