Title: Show Time
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Written within hours of watching "Sectionals" and posted to my LJ the next day, this is my homage to Rachel's incredible performance of "Don't Rain On My Parade" - just a little look at what Finn might've been thinking/feeling in that moment, from his POV.
He stares at the back of the curtain, waiting, listening. He notices the frayed spots along the hem and the handprints in the velvet, the fabric worn at the edges from years of entrances and exits.
Adjusting his tie for the fourth time in the space of as many minutes, he waits for his cue, their cue, shushing the whispers behind him with as stern a look as he can muster in the moment. That's what a leader has to do sometimes, he's sure, and besides, he can almost hear Rachel's lecture about the importance of being professional at an event like this one. He is co-captain, after all.
As her voice drifts back to him from the auditorium on the other side of the curtain, he's surprised at the surge of fierce pride that wells up within him; he can't hold back the grin that lights his face.
He doesn't know who Mr. Arnstein is, but Finn does know that his mention signals the countdown to their entrance, and the half-stern look is gone when he turns again to face the team. He sees faces painted with excitement, panic, and steely resolve and meets them all with an encouraging smile.
She's out there already, he thinks, a beautiful and pitch-perfect representative of this little group of friends. That a few of those friends betrayed him is pushed to the back of his mind, hidden and buried by the thrill of the moment. Yeah, it sucks to be the bigger man sometimes, but Tina hadn't broken his heart, and neither Artie nor Mike – and certainly not Kurt – had slept with his girlfriend. This is about them, too, and Mr. Schue back in Lima, and he's man enough to realize it.
He stares again at the beige velvet in front of him. 3, 2, 1 -
"I'll march my band out…" And he shoves the curtain aside.
One more tie adjustment and a look around at the audience and then he sees her, and life's lens snaps into focus. Later, he won't remember that march down the aisle toward the steps at stage right, won't be able to recall how the carpet felt beneath his feet because the world is one tiny girl at the front of the stage, shining in the spotlight and singing as though her life depends on it.
Why in the hell he almost missed this to pull dirty socks out of his locker is beyond him.
He takes his place at the top of the risers, staring at Matt's shoes to keep his face from breaking into what he can only assume would be a rather unprofessional grin. Hearing Rachel sing has never stopped affecting him, and he hopes it never will; music holds life and passion and power, and from her, it's layered with another force far more mystifying.
He feels his chest tighten as he listens and realizes that in a life currently swirling with uncertainty, he can hold fast to at least one absolute. Right or left side of his chest, it doesn't matter; he knows exactly where his heart is now –
Center stage, her arms raised in what just might be victory.