A/N: So this started out as a neat little drabble, and then since I needed an excuse to make the fight, it sort of expanded. Warnings for intense smut and a bit of darkness and in the end, some hopefully loving Finchel.
For fincheling who gave me the idea of dirty/angry!sex ;-)
Glee: Not mine.
the paper yesterdays
He wasn't sleeping when she comes in, but he doesn't answer when she calls out a soft 'Finn' into the darkness. He keeps his breathing easy, his face turned away from her while she fidgets at the foot of the bed. After a minute or two, she sighs heavily and he hears her soft footsteps pad across the carpet to the bathroom. He turns over onto his back when the light clicks on.
He feels like a dick for all of thirty seconds before his anger returns.
His jaw set, he gets up with his pillow and stalks quietly to their guest room. He knows she'll be upset when she comes out and sees him gone and honestly, he really doesn't care.
True enough, he hears her surprised gasp from two doors down and he's locked the door to the guest bedroom, knowing she might try and come talk to him. She doesn't though, and he isn't sure if that's a good or bad thing.
He's up before the sun, and Rachel. He uses the guest bathroom, grabs a pair of pants from the laundry basket downstairs and goes to the firehouse in a t-shirt and his jacket. He doesn't want to see her, doesn't want to talk to her, because if he does, what he says might just be the end of them.
His brother calls him ten times that morning. He sends them all to voicemail.
When he finally gives in and listens to the messages, he's almost sorry he did. Each voicemail was harsher than the first. And he's pissed.
He's not mad at Kurt, because he's pretty sure he doesn't even know the full story. But he'd appreciate it if he kept his nose out of his business. Yes, he and Rachel are friends, so he understands him trying to defend her, but where's the brotherly love? Kurt should've automatically been on his side; he might be too if he actually knew everything. But, why bother?
He ignores the rest of Kurt's calls and ignores everyone else's for that matter.
Rachel calls only once. He turns his phone off when she does.
"Listen, your wife has called me four times already. What's going on with you two?" Santana comes into the break room and kicks his feet off the coffee table.
Santana is the only person he can't ignore no matter how hard he tries.
"Hey." She snaps her fingers at him.
"Then tell her not to call you," he snaps at her.
"Surprisingly, she is actually my friend. And when she calls me sobbing, it does funny things to my heart, like I actually should care. I caught your name between her crying so I assume its something to do with you."
He doesn't answer Santana. For a minute it looks like she's about to say something else. He glares at her until she holds her hands up in surrender and backs out of the room. The bell goes off then, and he's actually relieved.
Surely the fact there's somewhere on fire or someone trapped in a car accident will help him ignore this hole in his heart.
It doesn't though. And when he crawls back to the station, covered in soot and dirt and plaster, even behind his closed eyes her face is burned into his mind, seared into his memory and embedded in his heart.
When he was 16 and thought he was going to be a father he was ecstatic. And then scared shitless.
He was still in high school, didn't have a job and he lived in his mother's basement that was already too small for him. But when Quinn told him she was pregnant, everything good about him being a father flashed across his mind.
He didn't know the man who was his father since Chris Hudson had passed away before he was even able to walk. He was kind of envious of his friends who still had both parents and he was determined that whenever he had kids of his own he'd be the best father he could possibly be.
He loves Burt, but getting a father when he was almost already a man could only do so much. And he adores Rachel's fathers; they weren't too pleased with him in the earlier years of their dating, and he made enough mistakes to be on the wrong side of a shotgun more times than he could count. But they accepted him, they respected him and now he had his own yarmulke and Christmas stocking and weekly phone calls with his fathers-in-law.
Yea, he loved them too, but they weren't his fathers.
He wonders what would they say to Rachel now, if they knew what she'd done?
He pounds the pavement harder, hatred swirling in his blood, angry tears on his face, blood pounding in his ears as he ran. He didn't know how they could come back from this. They'd been together for fifteen years, married for ten and always thought by now they'd have had a family. A little girl with Rachel's eyes or a little boy with her smile.
To have been so close...
He runs harder.
He gets home after her a few nights later. He's been working 48hr shifts back to back at the firestation until his deputy Chief finally kicks him out. Tells him to go home, sort his shit out or it'll be a mark on his permanent record.
He loves his job, he's just been made Lieutenant three months ago, so, he goes home.
He doesn't want to go home though and he shouldn't need to go to a motel when his house is right there. He figures he can avoid her as long as she hasn't locked him out. They haven't actually spoken since he left after sleeping in the guest bedroom five days ago and he's positive that's where he'll be sleeping for the foreseeable future.
She's standing at the kitchen counter drinking a cup of tea when he lets himself in the front door. She turns around and he avoids her eyes, clicking the door closed behind him and heads towards the guest room.
"Finn."
He ignores her.
"Are you really going to ignore me?"
He stops, dropping his bag onto the floor, and rubs his face in his hands then sighs. He needs to shave, badly. He still doesn't answer her.
"We need to talk about this Finn. At least give me that."
He turns to face her and maybe it's the look on his face, but she steps back a little, worrying at her bottom lip. It looks she's just come in from the theatre and that alone makes him say his next words.
"You're selfish, Rachel." He cuts his eyes at her and walks away.
She sucks in a breath.
"And you're being an asshole! Why is it so hard for you to understand why I have to do this?"
He slaps the wall beside him and turns his head to her. "How?! How can I possibly understand that you chose your career over your family? We've been married ten years Rachel. Ten fucking years! I've never been happier. I've always supported you and loved you in spite your self-absorbed ideals, but to do this? I hate that about you." He walks away slowly.
"No! You do not get to walk away from me!" She throws a picture frame at his back. The glass frame hits him in the back but falls harmlessly to the carpeted floor, but he ignores it and heads to the bedroom.
"You're the only one who's said anything about this. I'm doing what I have to do. You knew how I felt about children and even with all this stuff with my mother and my career before we even got married! I love you, Finn, but you have to understand why I'm doing this."
He stops and turns around, his eyes like narrowed slits as he glares at her.
"The funny thing is, I can. But you made the selfish decision all on your own. Because I'm pretty sure you knew how I would have reacted, and yet, you did it anyway."
"It's my body, Finn!"
"Then you and your fucking body can go to hell for all I care," he snarls.
The words taste wrong as soon as he says them, but he doesn't want to take them back. She made the decision on her own, and she can very well deal with the repercussions of that decision. He's too fucking mad at her to play nice.
He's not surprised when she walks up to him and slaps him across the face. He might have deserved that. It's only the second time she's ever done it. He laughs cruelly, the irony bold and cruel as the reason she slapped him that first time is distinctly opposite to why she slaps him now.
"You bastard."
He's probably going to hell already, so why not enjoy the ride?
"Pot calling kettle black, baby."
She winces.
"Fuck you, Finn."
She raises her hand to slap him again and he catches her hand in his. Her small body falls against him and he's not sure if it's the heat of the moment or her or what but his mouth is on hers and then he's backing her towards the table near the doorway, the vase of flowers and her keys and phone swept to the floor. Water from the vase splashes his feet as he hoists her onto it, her legs around his waist as she claws his shirt from his chest.
She grabs his face in her hands and crushes their lips together as his hands drag her skirt off, literally ripping her panties from her and tosses it aside. Her head bangs against the wall behind her, shaking the painting there and she growls and bites his lip.
"Ow."
Her lips are on his neck, nibbling and biting as his hands grip her back and he gets frustrated at the fucking top and bra she's wearing and he steps back from her, grips her shirt in his hands and rips that too.
She stares at him with wide eyes as he tugs the torn clothing from her. Her face and chest are flushed, her skin hot under his touch and he pinches her nipples hard as she moans and drags his lips back to hers. He pulls his pants down and spreads her legs, his fingers leaving red marks on her skin.
"Finn."
Her voice sounds breathy, broken and hurt and for three seconds he wonders if they should be doing this.
She rocks her hips towards him and rubs herself against him, her nails scraping down his back. He pulls his lips from her jaw and grunts as his body pushes into hers, buried in warm, silky heat. He stills his hips and she bites onto his neck, her nails digging into his shoulders. He pulls out and pushes back in. Does it again, going harder and faster as she mewls beneath him.
He pushes her back against the wall, his hand on her thigh as he watches himself push in and out of her. She was impossibly tight and wet, and it was sweet torture as her body pulls him inside. He doesn't go slow, his fingers sliding in the sweat along her thighs.
It was dirty, nasty and fast. So unlike his prim, tiny wife and it turns him on even more.
Sweat glistens on her forehead and her hooded dark eyes meet his; she reaches out to clutch at his chest, but he smacks her hands away.
"No," he growls.
He grabs her smaller hands, holding them over her head in his larger and darker palm, his other hand squeezing harder at her thigh as she spreads her legs wider, rocking her hips into him, helping him plunge deeper.
A strangled cry which he was pretty sure was meant to be his name gurgles from her lips and she throws her head back onto the wall, the painting behind her finally crashing to the floor. He leans forward and claims a nipple, biting down hard and Rachel cries out.
He does it again, his hips pressing harder into her before moving to her other breast.
He can feel her body shaking beneath his, and he knows she's close. He knows her body probably better than she does and it suddenly reminds him why he was mad at her, the fury fuelling his passion as he grips her leg painfully tight and pounds into her.
She starts gasping beneath him and turns her face into his arm to muffle her pants. He grabs her jaw and pulls her face to his.
"No. I want to hear you scream."
"Finn," she pleads, her voice wobbling. Her eyes roll back in her head and he kisses her hard, swallowing her moan.
"Look at me Rachel," he snarls.
She forces her eyes open to look at him and he kisses her again, biting onto her lip hard enough to draw blood when her eyes flutter closed again. She whimpers and tries to tug her hands free.
"No."
He slams into her hard and she cries out again.
"Look at what I'm doing."
She bites her lip and rocks her head from side to side, her eyes slipping open to watch where they were joined.
"Finn," she breathes, her voice trembling, eyes going glassy.
"This is how we made our baby." He punctuates each word with a hard thrust, licking the sweat from her neck, his teeth sinking onto her shoulder when she finally shudders and screams through her orgasm. Her body clenches onto his and his hips jerk jaggedly into hers, his body pulsing inside her. She moans again and wrenches her hands free from his to press a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs, the other fisting in his hair as her body vibrates violently beneath him.
At first he doesn't realize she's crying, until hot tears spill from her eyes and run down her face, dropping onto her chest to mingle with the sweat still dripping from his own body.
It breaks something inside him but he holds on tight to the fire fuelling his rage and his orgasm washes away everything but his anger. Still, he feels like ripping his ears off the louder she gasps.
He drops his head onto her shoulder, his heart racing too fast for him to breathe properly. He's lightheaded and tired but his anger hasn't abated. Beneath him, Rachel has one hand resting on her mouth, the other still in his hair. He takes her hand, gently this time and pulls it free.
He kisses her palm, turning her hand over and his lips linger on her the rings on her finger.
"I love you, Rachel. But this doesn't change anything," he says hoarsely.
She doesn't say anything, and he pulls himself from her, drags his pants up and walks away to the guest room, pulling the door closed behind him.
He sleeps with the pillows over his head that night, but every sob Rachel makes only stabs him deeper.
She stops talking to him, like, she just gives up.
He doesn't talk to her either.
He doesn't go to her shows anymore, why support the one thing that would always be the dividing factor in their lives? Before this, he could deal with it. But when she decided for them both, without telling him... he just doesn't see the point.
He rarely sees her as is. He makes it almost a month without actually seeing his wife.
He goes to work.
He goes home.
He buys groceries and eats the leftovers that she leaves in the oven or takeout at the firehouse. He does his job and talks to everybody as little as he possible can.
If not for the lingering smell of her shampoo or the perfume she's worn everyday since he bought it for her birthday when she was seventeen, he wouldn't know she was actually there. He's gone before she's up and gets home when she's asleep. He goes to the park or watches replays of hockey games on his days off.
At nights when he's alone, he pulls out the two pictures from his wallet and just stares. The edges are creased and worn and it's just paper but he takes what little cold comfort they give.
He misses her, it's just... yea. He doesn't know how to talk to her without feeling this heaviness on his heart. He's just waiting for it to not hurt this much.
He knows she still calls Santana though because his best friends watches him like a hawk every time they're in the same room. She tags along on his ladder and stays on his ass with every call. He knows what she's doing, and he appreciates it, because she doesn't say anything otherwise.
He wishes he could say the same for Kurt.
His brother comes by one Sunday afternoon when he's checking the trucks. Kurt follows him around, just talking nonstop about the one thing he doesn't want to think about: he talks about Quinn, and about the baby he thought was his, losing his best friend and finding a new best friend, falling in love with the little girl with the big voice who saved his heart and helped him get through the worst of times.
Kurt's best trait that he was determined and headstrong in everything he set his mind to. It was also his worst trait.
This, it makes him think too much. And he knows that's what Kurt's trying to do.
"I swear to God if you don't talk to that woman soon, you're going to regret it."
He grunts and pushes his way past his brother as he runs his fingers over the checklist in his hands, going over inventory on another truck.
"Finn!" Kurt snaps at him.
"What?" He growls, turning around to glare at his brother. He's a full head and change taller than Kurt but his brother glares right back at him.
"Talk to your wife. Believe me, it is not what you think."
They trade glares until Kurt shakes his head in disapproval and walks away, muttering under his breath.
When he turns back around his Deputy Chief is staring at him with his arms crossed over his chest.
"What? You here to impart some fatherly advice too?"
The older man shakes his head. "No need, Huddy. You already know what you need to do. You're just too fucking stubborn to realize."
He sits down the steps of the truck behind him and rests his head in his hands.
He's been angry for so long he doesn't even know if it's worth it anymore. He's tired.
He walks in the house at 3am. It's dark, save for the light on in the kitchen.
For the past three weeks Rachel had taken to getting up in the middle of the night to get water. He wonders why not just keep a bottle of water in the bedroom because he can hear her bustling around. Turns out it had to be ice cold. He ignores it as he passes by, heading towards the guest room.
A strangled so in the darkness stops him and he turns around slowly to see her silhouette - of at least her head anyway - on the floor in front of the couch.
He wars between going to her or going to his room and his feet feel heavy as he slowly makes his way to the guest room.
He listens for her as he lays in bed, he's so used to her night-time routine so when he hears nothing for an hour, he gets up. Standing in the hallway, he doesn't hear anything, her bedroom is still in darkness and the kitchen light is still on.
He finds her in the living room, still sitting where he passed her earlier.
He doesn't know why he's there, but, he's tired.
"Rachel."
She has her legs pressed close to her chest, her forehead on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs as she cries softly. As much as he's still upset with her, he doesn't really hate her, and he's never liked seeing her cry.
He sits behind her on the couch, his legs pressed close to her side, offering what comfort he can. His wife starts crying harder now, loud sobs wracking her body as she shakes beside his leg.
He slowly sides to the floor and pulls her into his arms, she clutches his t-shirt and buries her face into his chest. He holds her like that, his own tears falling into her hair and the longer they sit like that the less he hates her and the more he misses her and then he doesn't care what started their fight anymore. He loves her and he always has. He's loved her for half his life and honestly, really, truly, he doesn't know how he'll be able to get through the next fifteen without her in his life.
He'll take her any way he can get her.
"Finn." Her broken voice brings him back to the now.
He kisses her hair in acknowledgement.
His heart starts beating too fast in his chest and his palms get sweaty. He closes his eyes, and lets her pull herself from his embrace, his arms falling slack to his side.
"Finn? Did you hear me?" Her voice is hoarse, she's been crying so hard it was almost gone. Rachel prides herself on her voice, he used to think that she loved her voice as much as she did him. For a time, he thought she loved her voice even more than him.
"Finn," she tries again. She cradles his face gently in her small, warm hands and turns his face to meet her eyes.
"I couldn't do it."
It wasn't about her career.
She'd met her mother her junior year of high school and after a lunch date, the woman had told her she'd prefer Rachel no longer contact her. He hadn't even met the woman, but after spending the whole night afterwards trying to console a distraught 17 year-old girl because her mother never wanted her, he genuinely disliked the woman.
Now, all this time later, even though she said she had gotten over it, he kind of understands his wife a little better.
He's sitting beside his wife in a doctor's office surrounded by women with swollen bellies and panicked faces and he wishes they had spoken before all this. They could have avoided so much drama.
"Rachel Hudson?" A perky old grandmother with chocolate skin wearing scrubs covered with teddy bears and crescent moons walks out reading from a clipboard. Beside him, Rachel raises her hand and then stands. She looks down at him with a frown and he gets up, towering over her. She walks slowly beside him and when he tugs her into his side, he can almost feel the stress fall away from her as he does.
"In here, please."
The nurse ushers them inside an examination room and hands Rachel a paper dress. He makes to step out of the room and Rachel whimpers, turning wide eyes towards him.
"I'll stay," he murmurs. She nods stiffly and undresses.
She's small and she's always been tiny, but she looks almost thinner than he remembers. And he looks at her, really looks at her closely, her hair has lost its shine, her eyes look sunken and Rachel is so frail he doesn't think she weighs a hundred pounds dripping wet.
And when the doctor comes in, he looks just as worried. "Mrs. Hudson, have you been ill lately?"
Rachel shakes her head. Frowning, Dr. Jones leads her over to the scale and he tsks at her when the digital numbers tell them she weighs under 100lbs.
"Mrs. Hudson, you are severely underweight for a pregnant woman," he cautions disapprovingly.
"I went to have an abortion," she whispers. It's only the second time she's spoken since she asked him to come with her this morning.
Dr. Jones frowns and shakes his head. "I'm assuming you've changed your mind?"
Rachel nods.
The doctor launches into a lecture about having to get her body back to a healthy weight, the risks she may have exposed her unborn child to and complications she may be facing so soon in her pregnancy. Automatically, his hand reaches out for hers and she clutches it tightly as she stares at him.
Finally, Dr. Jones was wheeling over the ultrasound machine and rubbing the cold gel onto her stomach. The rapid beating of a tiny heart fills the room and he closes his eyes, relief sagging his shoulders as he whispers a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening.
"Well, your baby looks healthy at nine weeks," Dr. Jones smiles and taps the screen. He presses a few buttons on the keypad beside it and turns back to them.
"You're going to need pre-natal vitamins, mineral supplements, you need to get your body back on track. You indicated you were a vegan on your form. Mrs. Hudson, your body weight is several problematic. You need to gain weight, safely. You need to take care of yourself and your baby," he says sternly.
He turns to Finn. "Mr. Hudson, I'm expecting you to help care of your wife and baby. I won't presume to understand your decisions for wanting an abortion, but if your wife is to go through this pregnancy safely and as healthy as she can, she'll need your understanding and support."
He nods respectfully, and Rachel twists their fingers together, wrapping her smaller fingers around his thumb.
The doctor prints out the screenshots from the ultrasound and hands them to him, his hands shake as he takes them from the older man. The doctor excuses himself after wiping the gel from Rachel's belly and they sit and stare at each other in silence.
She looks so small, broken, so young, he can't understand how he didn't see her changing in front of him the past two months. Maybe it was wrong, but he hates himself for it.
"I'm sorry." Her bottom lip trembles as she speaks, and she presses her hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry."
She starts crying and just like last night he takes her into his arms, rocking her as he tries to soothe her cries. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the faded ultrasound she'd given him when she'd first told him she was pregnant. He holds the new one and the old one side by side with her on his lap.
"Rach, this is our baby."
She hiccups and touches a shaking finger to the first picture.
It feels like just yesterday she crawled onto his lap while he watched TV and stuck it into his face. It was a surprise, since they weren't trying and she didn't have any symptoms. A routine check-up told them she was just over four weeks pregnant. He didn't even remember her not being as excited about the idea as he was.
He should have known it wasn't about her career and more about her own fears.
"Finn, I have no idea what I'm doing."
"We'll have no idea together," he murmurs, his lips against her hair.
She clutches the ultrasounds in his hands and turns her lips to his cheek. He's crying too, and she uses her small hands to brush the wetness from his cheek.
"I'm sorry."
She nods.
He wraps his arms around her, her cheek pressed to his heart, both staring at the paper replica of their baby in his hands, scared for the future, but now that he understood, he didn't have a reason to be angry any more.
A/N: I'll have to admit, I scared myself writing this and I'm not sure if exactly what I was trying to do came across the way I wanted it to but I can safely say I disliked both Finn and Rachel in the beginning of this, I had to redeem them somewhat.