A/N: I'm only posting this so I don't get my head bitten off by my Skype ladies. They're frothing at the mouth, I swear.
Anyway, so just a random one-shot. Thanks to Politics(dot)And(dot)Prose for her suggestions and rabid support.
Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from Glee. Unfortunately.
She's sensitive to him and she knows he's hurting, so she invites him over. He doesn't talk about why. Maybe she could guess; maybe she'd even get it correct eventually. But she doesn't; she'll leave it up to him.
She sees his truck pull up from where she stands at her window. Hurrying down the stairs, Rachel meets him at the front door just before he rings the bell.
He has this sort of confused look on his face, but instead of dwelling on it, he only says, "Hey, Rach," with a sad smile.
She ushers him inside, searching for the exact words she needs. She knows she has a rather extensive vocabulary (for she needs to appear eloquent and articulate in her future interviews) but nothing she's come up with so far seems just right. So she only greets him back. "Hello, Finn." She offers him a small, simple kiss and of course he takes it. "I'm glad you decided to come."
He gives her the somber smile again and it breaks a little piece of her heart to see him in pain.
He takes her hand as she leads him up the stairs to her bedroom and wonders how she can understand him so well. But then he kind of thinks it makes sense because he can tell when something is wrong with her. So maybe it's not so crazy after all. It is oddly comforting though. And he's grateful for her.
She stands near her window again, only this time she's facing away from it, looking instead at Finn.
He steps toward her, unsure, really, of his own intentions, but he's going to accept all the comfort she's willing to give him. A small part of him wants to just cry, to just fall apart and everything. Another part wants to say (nonchalantly) that he's fine and thanks anyway. So he compromises. He grips her waist tightly and pulls her into a crushing hug and buries his face in her hair.
He's squishing her a little, but Rachel doesn't complain That is, until it feels like her chest is on fire and is starting to get tight. "Finn! Finn!" she whispers harshly.
He pulls back, a worried look on his face. She takes a deep breath, gathering air back into her lungs. "Sorry," he tells her, obviously embarrassed.
She smiles then. If it was anyone else, she might tell them how if her lungs are crushed, she won't be able to sing or ask if he was trying to prevent her inevitable Broadway career. But it's not anyone else. It's Finn. So she doesn't say any of those things. Instead, she takes his hands and brushes her lips over his knuckles. "Finn…" she begins.
He sighs. He knows where this is going. He knows he should tell her not to press; that is has nothing to do with her. But he just can't. And actually, he kind of wants to tell her, surprisingly enough. It's got to be just Rachel because he doesn't think he'd be ready or willing to open up to anyone else. But that doesn't mean it's easy. It's not that he doesn't trust her; he does, actually. He trusts her implicitly. But he doesn't really have people to talk to about this emotional stuff anymore, so he has to re-adjust. And that takes time.
"Rachel," he breathes back. It might sound a little bit like a plea, but he can't really help it. She gives him a pointed look. "I don't know if it really matters," he says more to himself than to her.
She bites her lip. She's fighting the urge to tell him to just come out with it already. What she doesn't know is that Finn notices this, and can recognize what it means. Maybe this conversation is as much for her as it is for him. If he can feel something just because he can feel it, that probably means she can feel the anxiety and reluctance that he's feeling. The melancholy.
She opens her mouth as if she's going to say something, but she doesn't. "It's just…" He doesn't finish. He's trying. Really, he is. But this is just so messed up. A year ago, he would have called Puck and two of them would drown their sorrows in alcohol. Granted, talking to Rachel about it is probably healthier, but he wonders if maybe he needs more time.
But he sees this little glimmer in her eye and that's all it takes. She wants to be there for him and he should let her. After everything he'd put her through, he figures he owes it to her. And maybe it'll even work out in his favor.
He sits down in her desk chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. She waits with as much patience as she can muster. "It's kinda hard to explain," he warns. She only sits on his left knee and circles her arms around his neck.
"Try." Her voice is soft and soothing and she lays her head on his shoulder. So Finn sorts through all the thoughts in his head and tries to find the words that fit them.
"My cousin just had a baby." He pauses, inhales and exhales slowly. "And I'm happy for her. I am. Really." He feels like he really needs to stress this, but can't completely explain why. Maybe so he doesn't seem like such a miserable person. "But so I went to see her in the hospital and all these people are crowding around this beautiful baby girl, you know? And everyone is so happy." His voice hitches a little and he uses the feel of her hands on his skin to calm himself down. He clears his throat a little. "I guess it all just reminded me of …Beth." He says the word softly and as if it's bitter on his tongue. She thinks maybe it is.
"I know she wasn't really mine. And yeah, I mean a part of me is glad I don't have that responsibility and stuff. And I know Quinn gave her away and everything. But just seeing all that made me feel like I lost her all over again. Like, all those shitty and useless feelings just came back." She looks at him, her eyes bright with empathy. "I mean, it was just bittersweet or whatever. Like, I should've been celebrating and stuff, but it just reminded me too much of everything that happened last year, so I just ended up feeling like crap. And I know it happened like five days ago, but I guess I've just been kinda down since then." He tries to shrug it off. Maybe he expects her to laugh a little before he remembers that she's Rachel.
"Oh, Finn." She stands up.
"I knew it was stupid," he mutters.
"No!" She pulls him up with her. "Finn, it's not stupid. It's human. There's a distinct line there." She motions toward the bed and he sits down next to her. She takes his hand again, entwining their fingers and squeezing. "I can't pretend to know exactly what you're going through. But I know what it's like to lose something you've never truly had."
Finn looks at her sideways, silently urging her on. After a deep sigh, she obliges. "I thought I always wanted to know who my mother is," she says quietly and already Finn can feel concern and sympathy for her wash over him. "I never considered that she wouldn't want me, or at least want to know me." She knows her eyes are welling up, but she pushes on. "I saw her at Regionals while you all were at the hospital. I asked her to co-run New Directions with Mr. Schuester." She bites her lip and Finn looks at her intently. He hadn't known any of this, but he can understand why she hasn't told him until now.
"What'd she say?" he asks quietly, dreading the answer.
"That she doesn't want to coach a show choir anymore because she wants a family. I'm her family, Finn. But I'm not what she wants. I lost her before I ever really had a chance to find her." She rests her other hand on his knee briefly before wiping her eyes and trying to smile for him.
He hasn't thought of that before, but he probably should have. He should remember that Rachel knows almost everything. From all these ten dollar words that he always has to look up on dictionary dot com to just where that spot on his neck is to all the complicated feelings he can never explain.
"Of course," she continues purposefully, "I'm not as affected by it as I used to be. I love my dads immensely. All I'm saying is that I can relate to you in some way, Finn. And well…it will get better, I promise."
He doesn't say he knows it still hurts her every day; he can tell. He doesn't say Shelby doesn't deserve everything that Rachel can give her; they both already know that. He doesn't say she can't know that it will actually get better; it probably will. And he doesn't say thank you; he knows he should, though. What he does say is, "I love you."
Startled by his sudden speech, she turns to look at him, but there's this really big, bright smile on her face. And maybe his heart skips a beat or a thousand when he sees it. "I know. And it's a good thing because I love you, too."
And for the first time this week, he smiles genuinely. Not in some sad, pathetic way. Is he feeling totally great? Hell no. But Rachel helps. She always helps.
"You're gonna be fine." She needs to make sure he really understands this. "I'm not saying there's ever going to be a time when it doesn't make your heart constrict just a little when you think about her. But someday, there will be more than just sadness. I promise." She has this sort of wistful expression on her face and he wonders what she's thinking of specifically. But he doesn't want to ask because he doesn't want the dreamy look to disappear just yet.
Finally, he speaks. "When I was little and I was sad, my mom used to curl up on the couch with me and put in 'The Lion King.' She'd tell me I'd always be her Simba and say, 'We're always gonna be a family, Finn. And that will always beat out the bad stuff.'" He shrugs again like it's nothing, like he's not offering up a small part of himself to her, but Rachel is just looking at him fondly.
"I'll be right back," she tells him abruptly before swiftly exiting her bedroom. He looks around the room and realizes that even though it looks like she hasn't changed the décor since she was seven, he still feels utterly comfortable here. At home.
She returns a few minutes later with a tall glass of water. "Here," she starts, holding the glass out to him. "I don't know if this will work for you, but when I was little and I was sad, my dads would bring me a glass of water. I would drink enough and it got to the point where I couldn't tell or remember if I was really sad or just thirsty. But well…drink up."
She watches as he gulps it down. Typical.
"Thanks, Rach," he says feelingly. And he's more than a little surprised to find that it actually does help; he does feel a little bit better.
She joins him on the bed again, laying down on her back, her legs dangling over the edge. "If only we could replace all our negative emotions with basic human needs…"
He looks down at her, where he can see the curve of her breast as her chest rises and falls and maybe an inch or two of the creamy skin of her stomach where the bottom of her shirt has lifted up a little. And the view is exciting his needs.
But she's just lying there quietly, staring up at the ceiling.
Feeling a little more daring than usual, he leans down to place a kiss on the expanse of flesh between hemlines.
He pulls back and she props herself up on her hands. "Finn…" Her voice is almost smoky and Finn knows he'll never get tired of hearing her say his name. He's definitely starting to feel better.
He offers her a small half-smile, playing innocent. She reaches for his hand again and places it back on her bare skin, shivering at the contact.
He lies down next to her, his fingers still tracing unidentifiable shapes across her stomach. He fiddles with the hem of her shirt a little and turns his face toward hers. She inches closer to open his mouth with hers, her tongue brushing against the roof of his mouth, trapping his groan. She shifts to her side because it's more comfortable this way and Finn realizes he's got a full view of her chest. And it's a damn good view.
He doesn't really know where Rachel picked up all the control and skill of her mouth. He likes to think it's just from years of using it to sing and vocalize constantly. Because the alternative just elicits some shred of jealousy that he doesn't want to admit to. Not that he can really complain either way because she just feels so good and he never wants to stop touching, kissing, loving her.
She sighs against his lips and whispers that she loves him. And she really does. Rachel has never loved anyone like this before, but her heart is just so full of all these big, powerful feelings for him. And it's everything she's ever hoped it would be.
He's never known anyone like her. And he thinks he probably never will as she leans to prop herself up on an elbow and then slings an arm around his shoulder. So much Rachel. All the time. He can't escape her. And he's so grateful for her and loves her so intensely that he's realized that he doesn't actually want to. He tells himself they're both in it for the long haul and it never seems like he's just shitting himself. He feels her teeth graze his bottom lip as her grip tightens around him. She drives him crazy. He wonders if she knows that.
His fingers are tangled in her hair has he moves down to suckle the skin of her neck, needing to feel that her pulse is racing just as hard as his is. And it is. And he really isn't sad or pissed or just down anymore. It isn't because Rachel is finding a way to crawl on top of him and as her hips press into his, her skirt is inching up, revealing more and more of her thighs. Okay, well maybe a little of it is that. But it's also just Rachel in general. There's no point in feeling like crap when he has her because she gets it, in some small way, at least. Gets him. And any way is better than no way. And Rachel Berry is better than anything.
He holds her close, though nothing ever seems quite close enough. But he's never had anything as good as Rachel before, so he won't waste time whining about it. She lifts her head and asks, "Are you still thirsty?"
He shakes his head a little, smiling crookedly. "Not so much. Thanks, Rach. I don't know what I'd do without you," he confesses.
"Neither do I," she replies lightly, snuggling against him and reveling in the heat of his large frame.
He grins. "I guess your dads' trick works great after all."
She laughs and he loves the sound of it. "Of course." And she knows he's only half-kidding.
But whatever works is good enough for the both of them.
There was a time when being so close in her company would have him scrambling away like a big, stupid pansy. Now it's like he tries to find excuses to do just that. Not that she seems to mind, like, at all. He knows they're both a little dependent on each other. But honestly? It really doesn't bother him. That's how relationships work, right? The functional ones, at least.
They've had their rough spots—and okay, they've kind of had a lot of them. But they're better than all that now. Realistically, he's aware of the fact that they're still going to fight on occasion. But he's determined to never let them fall apart because if they did, then he would fall apart again. And it feels too good being a whole person again and loving someone with that whole person. And Christ does he love her. It might actually be borderline-pathetic. The fact that he knows that and doesn't give a damn tips him off that is how love is supposed to feel. And it's so worth it. All of it.
Rachel breathes in the smell of him. Something soapy and a little spicy and just completely Finn. It's quickly become a smell that she associates with comfort, with being home.
Rachel lifts her head and kisses across his jaw over to the spot just behind his ear. "So, we're not a family. Yet," she adds firmly. "But we love each other. And Finn?" She cups his face in her small hands, her gaze boring into him. "That will always beat out the bad stuff."
It's only her, he thinks. Only her. She's the only one who's ever going to understand him, the only one who's ever going to make his life worth anything. He places feather-light kisses across her lips, her chin, before he whispers into the crook of her neck. "Damn straight."
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