anon prompt: Finn as a ghost.
A/N: So y'all know I had to go to old faithful for this story, right? Ghost. Can't even get better than that :) Slightly OOC with a bit of angst, so fair warning: it's not a happy story.
Disclaimer: Glee is not mine.
i've loved like i should and lived when i shouldn't
He hates fighting with her. He hates the look on her face every time they argue, that petrified look, like she's waiting for something.
He knows that look. It's the one he's seen too many times; and what it means, is what she's been afraid of since high school, since the early days of their relationship: that one day he'd leave her.
If he's told her once, he's told her a million times that he's never going to. And it's been eleven years now, so he's pretty sure if he hasn't left after high school, with her in college and him in the army and him now working on his masters and her working on Broadway, he wasn't going anywhere.
Still. That look.
And he does love her you know? Even with all the drama and the good times and the bad times and the laughter. So he doesn't know why she's still afraid. Eleven years has to must count for something.
He never leaves the house without telling her he loves her; it's the last thing he does before he leaves in the morning and the last thing he does at night. And today is the same, except, he didn't say it this time.
He was kinda pissed at her, not more so than the usual, but lately it's just been one thing or the other that sparks an argument and after this, their latest blow-up he just snatches his keys and leaves. Scribbles a note on the fridge after she'd slammed the bedroom door in his face and stormed out.
Usually, he goes to Puck's house or meets Artie or Sam for a game of pool and darts. Mercedes has to work late so Sam has the girls and Puck's ex-wife is being a trip, so he definitely has his hands full. Artie's out of town and he knows Rachel's already called Kurt and Blaine so they're obviously not an option.
So.
He goes for a drive instead. He just wants to clear his head, calm down so he can go home and then cuddle with his wife. They'll work this out, they always do, but they both need to calm down first. They're both too hotheaded and stubborn. And it's like the weather agrees with him, it starts raining once he gets on the road, the night turning glum and bleaky the later it gets.
:::
He gets back home quite early the next morning; he must have pulled over and slept because he doesn't really remember walking up the steps to the apartment.
Rachel's just opening the door when he makes it to their apartment. She barely glances at him as she steps inside. He figures she's probably still upset because she just stands in the hallway while she slips her shoes off, tossing her keys onto the small table. He steps in behind her as she uses her foot to close the door, hanging her jacket on the rack and padding to living room.
She ignores him there too when he calls out her name, just curls her legs under her on the couch and pulls out her phone. He'd texted her after he left, to apologize for one and to remind her that he loved her.
But Rachel, being Rachel, is pretty good at holding a grudge, and honestly, he can deal with the silent treatment. Just, sometimes.
It's Sunday so neither of them have to rush to do anything. Usually they'd go out to breakfast, to the park, go see Kurt or drive down to see Tina and Mike or just chill on the living room floor, reading and watching old movies.
He checks his phone and aside from a text from Santana calling him a dick for the ten trillionth time (he's almost positive she's the devil) and one from Rachel (she always responds to his texts with ditto and an asterisk), his phone is blissfully silent. He tosses it onto the coffee table beside hers and her eyes follow it, frowning slightly before settling onto the couch. She pulls a throw over her and clicks the TV on, promptly dismissing him.
He sighs and stretches his long legs in front of him as he relaxes into the armchair beside the couch, staring at her. Her face is drawn and sad, and there's a shadowy look of something else he can't define lingering there as well.
She doesn't look at him once, and before long her eyes slowly droop closed. He's still sleepy and really tired so after watching her for a little bit, he falls asleep too.
:::
She's gone when he wakes up.
Coffee's on the counter – she dislikes the taste and refuses to kiss him on the mouth when he drinks it – and its untouched. She usually makes enough for him to drink at breakfast and then to take with him to school.
Her usual cup of tea, lime and honey, is sitting in the sink and there's a batch of banana bread on the table, freshly baked too. She knows it's his favourite: she taught him to make it when they'd just started dating, but besides his mother and brother, she makes it a whole lot better than he ever could.
Maybe she's forgiven him, it's what she usually does once they've made up. Feed each other banana bread with vegan chocolate chip ice cream (and yes, somehow he'd make her top all messy and she'd have to take it off and one thing would lead to another, and, yea. Make-up sex is awesome, just saying.)
Surprisingly though, he's not thirsty. Or hungry. He just wants to see Rachel.
Just her.
He's not sure where she's gone to. It looks like she's left in a hurry, their usually neat bedroom is in disarray and her shoes at the front door have a mismatched pair left.
He grabs his phone, no texts, no messages. Nothing.
Her phone rings four times as usual and then goes to voicemail. Same for his brother's, his mother's and Puck's. Santana's phone goes straight to voicemail. He tries Rachel again, five more times, finally leaving a message on the last call.
"Babe. I don't know if you're still upset with me, but I'm sorry. Again. Just, call me? Please? Let me know where you are, and I'll come get you. Just – I love you sweetheart."
It's ridiculous how tired he gets suddenly, fatigue pinning his legs to the floor. He slumps onto the loveseat by the window as sleep tries to pull him under. He wants to go out and look for her, check by Mercedes or Santana, his brother, the theatre, wherever, but he's too tired to even stand.
He yawns, and rubs his hands over the scruff on his face. He needs to shave. Rachel likes him with a beard, but it's grown too long now. Maybe he'll cut it on Tuesday, when he gets home from school. Maybe bring home dinner from that Chinese restaurant she likes.
His gaze lingers on their wedding photo beside him on the desk, his eyelids heavy as he succumbs to the pull of slumber.
:::
This time when he wakes up, she's sitting at the kitchen table, her back stiff as she nurses a cup of tea in her hands.
"Baby? Rachel?"
She lifts her head, but says nothing. She's still not talking to him.
He's not hungry and he's still hasn't showered and changed all day. It's near evening by the clock on the stove and he's surprised, but not at all concerned that his phone hasn't rung all day, nor has he been able to get in touch with anyone. Rachel's phone keeps vibrating, so he knows it's not the network, but every time it rings she merely glances at it then sets it aside, going back to stare at the tea getting cold in front of her.
He's getting irritated now. She's never gone this long without talking to him. She'd glance over at him now and then, shake her head and close her eyes, sighing heavily before going back to stare at her phone. He doesn't even remember what their argument was about, does she? He pushes his hand through his hair and groans.
"Baby, talk to me please. This is ridiculous."
Rachel flinches and rests her hands on her cheek and finally pushes the cup away from her, untouched.
He walks over and rests his hands on the table in front of her. He'd like nothing more than going over and shaking some sense into her, or pull her to him and wrap her in his arms, whichever works. But he knows his wife well enough to know she doesn't like to be touched sometimes, and she'd sooner punch him than kiss him if he ever went to hug her if she's still mad at him. They do want kids someday so he prefers to err on the side of caution.
He endures the silent treatment a little while longer before walking to lean on the door jamb, hands shoved into his pockets, staring at the woman sitting at the kitchen table. She looks like she's being led to the gallows, her back is that straight.
:::
He doesn't realize something's really wrong until Puck walks in, walks right past him and gently shakes Rachel shoulder to wake her. It's strange, he didn't even notice she'd fallen asleep.
He meets her eyes briefly before her face sort of crumples in on itself and she presses her fingers to her mouth and weakly tries to push Puck away.
"No."
Her voice is hoarse and wet when she speaks making his heart twist painfully inside his chest as tears suddenly start streaming down her face. Puck wraps his arms around her shaking body as she sobs violently, shaking her head as she stares at nothing.
"I'm sorry Berry."
His wife squeezes her eyes shut as she bawls, wetting his best friend's t-shirt with her tears, hoarsely screaming out his name. He's on his feet and beside them in the blink of an eye, blood pounding his ears as he tries to figure out what the hell was going on.
He's confused. And getting fucking angry.
"Puck?! Rachel?!"
They're both ignoring him and he's about to hit something. There's a prickling in the back of his mind that there's something he's not getting but he's too ticked off to worry about that when the two of them are still blatantly ignoring him, like he isn't even there. He doesn't have that terrible of a temper, kicking over a few chairs and growling at whoever's making him upset, but he really doesn't want to believe the obvious because Rachel would never cheat on him. Still, the longer he stands there the more pissed off he gets and he's about to kick something, or someone.
"Someone want to explain to me what's going on here?" He growls from the doorway.
He's stunned and can't do anything but stare at them, wondering what the fuck was going on. They've yet to answer him, just his wife's staccato burst of cries and sobs.
Rachel opens her eyes to glance at him again then buries her face in Puck's shoulder, her wails getting steadily louder.
In a rage, he strides over and tries to pry them apart, falling back onto the floor in shock when his hand simply passes through them.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
His body feels numb and cold all over as fear and dread creep over his skin. He stares at his hands in horror before staring back up at his wife and best friend.
"Rach?"
She still doesn't answer, if anything she cries louder, her nails digging into Puck's shoulder. He's terrified. Freaked the fuck out. His head swimming at the craziness and impossibility of the situation.
Long ago nights of hanging with his friends watching movies and of Rachel and Mercedes crying over some movie with Demi Moore and the woman who Rachel swore must have been her NYADA Dean back in the day. He's not dumb, he teaches math for reason here. But this idea is so far-fetched he's not sure how to wrap his head around it.
He tries again, holding his breath as his fingers shimmer again through the people in front of him. All he feels is a faint warmth where Rachel and Puck are standing, where his hand passes through his best friend's shoulder and through his wife's forehead.
"Jesus," he breathes out.
He's pretty sure that's the only person who can help him. He's not overly religious, but he does believe that someone somewhere has been looking out for him all these years. Either his luck just ran out, or he's seriously pissed someone off.
"Pl-, please, No-, Noah. Please," Rachel chokes out. Her eyes are red, nose running and swollen as she shakes her head in disbelief.
He can't believe it either.
Because he's dead. That's the only reasonable explanation for her not speaking to him, why Puck can't see him, why they can't fucking hear him. Why his hands can pass through people like nothing.
He's dead. A ghost.
If he still has a heart, it's shattering into microscopic pieces on the floor in front of him. Probably joining the pieces of Rachel's heart that he's almost positive is lying there broken.
Rachel pulls away to peer up at Puck, glancing over at him and her fingers patting her chest as she tries to compose herself. He watches as Puck shakes his head, his eyes red and hard as he tries to fight tears.
"I-, I can still see him Noah. I can smell him, hear him. He's n-, not gone! He ca-, can-, can't be!"
Rachel wails and tries to pull away from Puck's arms, slapping her fists against him. He holds her tighter as she screams out and all he can do is watch with dread swirling around him as the woman he's loved all his life cries, hating that look on her face, wetness staining his cheeks.
Because he broke his promise. And he hates himself for it.
His best friend curses slightly and pulls out his phone, trying to manouvre around the woman collapsed in his arms as he dials a number.
"Mercy? She's losing it. Send an ambulance. Please?"
His best friend's voice breaking on that last word is what drives the awful truth home. He's known Noah Puckerman longer than anyone else in the world besides his mother. In all the years he's known him, he's only seen him cry once, and that was the birth of his twins three years ago.
Now, silent tears fall down his friends face, as he tries to do the impossible, comfort the widow of a man who's been his best friend since kindergarten.
And he can't do anything but simply watch as Rachel dissolves into a heart-breaking mess on their kitchen floor.
:::
He doesn't want to know how he died. He tries to avoid listening when the topic comes up. He's usually with Rachel though, wherever she is, and she never wants to talk about it. Puck and Santana kind of growl at everyone who even comes around her talking about loss and all that crap. He's grateful for them.
And for every time he's called Santana a harpy he takes back every single one. She and Rachel became friends sometime during their sophomore year at separate colleges, when he was deployed to Qatar. Even though they both have distinctive personalities and can rub each other the wrong way, Santana is fiercely protective of the small woman. He saw her punch this one guy, when he came up to Rachel, talking about 'loss and so young and not being able to understand how someone so vital could be taken in the prime of his life, especially since he survived a tour overseas.'
He doesn't even like the dick, one of Rachel's coworkers and he'd like nothing more than to slap the shit out of him. And he would. Except for, you know, the whole not-being-corporeal thing. He doesn't even know how this being-dead-but-still-being-here thing works. He doesn't eat, sleep or use the bathroom. He's just here, hanging around Rachel, wherever she is.
His family flew up the same night Puck was at his house, his mother stoic and silent as she sits beside Rachel on the couch. Rachel's grip on her hand is painful, he can see his mother's hand turn white. But, she's been here, she understands, she lost her first husband young, and even though he didn't die in a war losing your only biological child is cruel to any woman.
He's not sure how much more heartbreak he can take. It's a small comfort that she has Burt and Kurt with her still. And Rachel.
Kurt and Blaine barely make it inside the apartment before breaking down. His brother and wife are too much alike and it breaks his heart all over again when he sees them clutching on tight to one other on the couch, crying softly in each other's arms.
He doesn't know why he's seeing this - why he's here and not gone, somewhere, why he's subjected to seeing the people he loves suffering like this.
He wants it done, just. Over with. Wants to be gone from this place now and to wherever it is he's supposed to be.
He prays, pleads, begs to whoever was listening the day Rachel collapses in tears, inconsolable on the bedroom floor. She has to be sedated, taken to the hospital, her small body frail and weak on the hospital bed.
He hates seeing her suffer like this, he wants to help but he doesn't know how. And he wants to tear his hair out every time she whimpers his name in her sleep. It kills him, and he's already dead. He doesn't like seeing her in pain.
One chance. He just wants one chance to turn back the hands of time so he can tell her loves her one last time.
He wishes every second that passes that he could re-live that last day, spend the entire time in her arms, imprinting his love on her heart, in her mind, kissing every part of her body until they're both spent and too tired to move. Write his kiss under her skin, pour his love all over her so she never forgets him.
Instead he watches as they hook her up to an IV drip, her fathers and his mother worrying themselves about her room as she sleeps.
He wishes he could touch her dreams. Hear her sing to him one last time, let them be just Finn and Rachel again for a little while longer.
:::
She's asleep. He doesn't feel like a pervert watching her, she's still his wife. Even if… well. She was still his wife. The first woman to hold his heart in that special way. The first and only woman he would ever marry. The ring his father had given his mother all those years ago still rests on her ring finger, and even in her fitful sleep she still twists and turns the piece of metal.
He gets the feeling that this is it, it's time. He's not sure how this works, in the movies it's usually because he has some unfinished business to take care of. But this isn't the movies, it's his life, it's happening right now and the only thing he was concerned about was the woman sleeping in the hospital bed with unhappy dreams plaguing her. Damn everything else.
Still, he stands watch, ignoring the ominous tick of the clock so he can stare at her.
She's always doubted her beauty. He's spent every day trying to prove it to her. Now, one day, however soon or far from today, someone else will. (He tries not to let that bother him.) And Rachel is beautiful, inside and out.
Thick, chocolate brown hair curtained on the pillow beside her, skin tan and pretty, long lashes dusting her cheeks. She hates her nose, yet he would trade every single thing he had in the world for one chance to kiss it one last time. And her voice. Rachel has the kind of voice that birds stop to listen to. She could bring a smile to his face by simply saying his name, and when she sang his whole body felt alive and happy, the sound wrapping itself around his heart and burrowing deep into his soul.
A lone tear slips down his face as he remembers every single thing about her that he was going to miss.
:::
"Finn."
He's not sure if he's imagining things, because he's really fucking wishing she could see him right now. She used to joke she had a sixth sense about these things, and maybe she did, he almost believed she could see him... before.
There's this warmth at his back and he glimpses this soft glowing light from the corner of his eyes. He turns to look and the smell, sensation and feeling of everything he's loved since he was young envelops him. He turns to look at Rachel again and her eyes are wide open as she looks at him.
"You're really here?"
He steps closer to her, touching a finger to the soft skin at her cheek and nods. She smiles up at him, blinking away tears.
"I kept smelling you, and hearing you, I was so sure that I was losing my mind. You weren't there, but you were. And then Puck called…" Her voice hitches and she whimpers, tears slipping unabashed down her face.
"Shhh. Baby, don't cry, please." He flicks the wetness away, her skin soft and warm against his fingertips. She blinks and looks towards his hand and then back at him.
"I can feel you touching me," she whispers.
He says a silent prayer of thanks to whoever the fuck was listening to him and nods again.
"I'm sorry," he whispers back, his heart lurching when she covers his hand with hers.
"No, Finn. Stop. I don't even remember what we were arguing about. I was just being stubborn as usual. Maybe if I hadn't…"
He strokes his finger from her forehead, over her nose and touches her lips, shaking his head.
"Don't."
The warmth at his back gets stronger and he gets the feeling that he needs to be going. He's scared, not sure what to expect but as he reluctantly turns his head to look again, he feels like how he always feels when he hears Rachel sing. Like his heart is trying to gallop from his chest and straight toward hers. It's euphoric.
He turns back to her and her smile is so sad, but he knows she understands.
Rachel closes her hand around his fingers and squeezes tightly, glancing behind him with a frown on her face. She's a lot more perceptive than she gives herself credit for. He follows her gaze and sighs.
"I don't think I have much time left."
"I know."
He ghosts his free hand over her other cheek, committing the warmth, feel and smell of her skin to memory, though he's sure he'll never forget it. Wherever he goes, he'll take her with him, all this love swelling inside him, it's hers, and always been hers. She's his home, his heart.
"Will I see you again?"
"I don't know." His voice breaks and her soft smile slips a little.
"But you know I'll love you forever, right? And I'll always be here, corny as it seems." He touches her heart, flattening his palm over the sheets on her body. "You were the best part of me, Rachel. And my world was infinitely better because you were in it. Please don't ever forget that. You're a star, and you'll always be. I may not be here anymore, but you have your life ahead of you, full of-,"
"You don't know that."
"No, I don't know anything. But if anyone deserves a long happy life, Rachel, it's you. And I want you to be happy. Be the best and the happiest you can be."
"You sound like a Hallmark card. I can't be happy when I won't be with you."
She's crying harder even though she still tries to smile, and he's not surprised to feel wetness on his own cheeks.
"You know I love you right?"
He smiles at her, feeling the warmth at his back pulling him towards it. He bends and presses his lips gently to hers, feeling her palm tingling at his cheek.
"Ditto."
He's sort of pulled backwards, feeling this happy warmth enveloping him. He sees her press her fingers to her mouth, he can still feel the pressure of her lips against his and the last things he recalls is the smell of berries on the breeze, a smile bright and happy and the most beautiful sound in the world, Rachel's voice whispering silently.
"Ditto."
A/N2: Well this was supposed to be short and sweet but it got out of hand. Sorry. Also, I listened to a lot of Ne-Yo's Mad while I was writing this.