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She drops the phone the second the word shot comes out of Carole's mouth. There are no dramatic tears, no screaming, no throwing herself out of her dorm room window, just her dropping the phone. Sure, the backing pops off and the battery flies out but all she hears are Carole's words echoing over and over again in her mind. Finn was shot. Finn was shot. Finn was shot. She doesn't know where or how badly he's wounded, whether it's just a wound, whether the Kevlar vest he's supposed to wear has stopped the bullet. All she knows are three words that should never be put together in the same sentence unless a photographer is involved. Finn was shot.
She stares at her broken – is it broken? – phone on the floor for a moment before making a split-second decision. Grabbing her purse and keys, she runs from her room as fast as she can in the heels she hadn't bothered taking off. She briefly wonders why women do this to themselves, make it harder to escape, and she thinks maybe she'll go back to flats when she gets back from tending to Finn.
She stops dead in the hallway, however, when she realizes she doesn't know if there's a Finn to tend to anymore. He could be dead. She could have dropped her phone on the woman who lost not only her husband but her only natural-born son to the United States Army. She shakes her head and marches on, though, because she can't think like that. She needs a phone and a ride. She doesn't know where she's going yet; Lima, Georgia, she has no idea, but she knows she needs to get there as fast as possible.
She doesn't know how she ends up at the door in the apartment she's in right now, but she knocks and he answers and she doesn't cry but she wants to. He was nothing but kind and attentive and sweet to her but he wasn't Finn and he never would be and that was enough to never let it progress beyond a tentative kiss and a promise of friendship. And now he was standing in the doorway looking confused and concerned and asking if she was okay and why didn't she call, he would have met her halfway, and "you look scared to death, come in here and explain."
So she does as best she can. Words like "shot" and "uncertain" and "I know it's long distance but can I please use your phone?" slip from between her lips and he's handing his phone over and telling her not to worry about it. She calls Carole, says she's calling from someone else's phone because she dropped hers, and asks the question she doesn't want to know the answer to. If it's a yes, she's certain a part of her will break free, never to return, and it would be her heart. Maybe her soul. Probably both. If it's a no, how bad is it? Where's the injury? What's the prognosis? Her heart pounds as she waits for the woman who was once going to be the mother she never had to answer her.
Carole tells her Finn was shot – she knew that – through the knee. Not in the knee, through the knee, but oh my God she's not done yet when she adds "and the femur." She knows instantly that he's immobile and that he'll hate it but she still doesn't cry, not yet, because she needs to be strong. She needs to find out where she needs to go and get there. She needs to be with Finn, hold his hand, kiss his cheek, just be there because she's not and she hates it! Why did he have to go and join the stupid Army anyway? Didn't he learn his lesson? Didn't he watch Dear John or Blackhawk Down or Jarhead or any number of other stupid military movies that shouldn't be made because they glamorize and cover up what actually happens in a war zone? Why did he have to go?
Carole tells her they're airlifting him to Germany for medical attention and that she's booked a flight that stops in New York if –
But there's no if. Rachel cuts her off, asks her the airline and flight number and she memorizes is immediately because it's that important. She tells her she'll see her soon and hangs up Brody's phone, immediately dialing the airport and booking a flight in four hours from JFK to Zurch to Luxembourg to Ramstein. It sucks and it's going to be too many stops and too many hours and too much fear, but she books her flight on Swiss International Airlines and looks up at Brody and simply tells him, "Finn's been shot."
He engulfs her in a hug, asks if she's okay and then immediately takes it back because he knows she's not. He promises to take her to her place, pack her things and get her to the airport on time. She doesn't understand why he's being so nice, she basically told him she would never be with him because she was in love with a boy who had set her free, but he'd told her he understood, that he thought they would be good together, but he could tell by the way she looked at a photo of Finn that he would never, ever live up to that standard. She hadn't lied, hadn't told him maybe she just needed more time, but had thanks him for understanding and hugged him before heading back to her dorm. They were friends now, obviously, and good ones at that. She knew he wasn't bitter and was glad her feet brought her here on this particular night because if she had gone anywhere else, it could have been a disaster. She could have fallen apart.
But she had subconsciously chosen Brody to be the rock she needed because she knew once she saw Kurt she was done for. She wouldn't be able to stop herself from crying if he best friend was. And, of course, Brody understood her. He got the drama, got the emotions, got the wanting to be with someone but not being able to, but he didn't have the history or the emotional attachment that Kurt or even Santana would have, should she have gone to them instead. She's satisfied with her choice, as unplanned as it was, because she trusts Brody to take care of her, to look out for her best interests, to not force her to talk about it or cry. Kurt would be trying to make her cry at this point.
But she couldn't. Not yet.
He makes sure she has everything she needs and directs her outside, stopping at the Duane Reade at the corner to pick up a disposable cell phone, and hails a cab for them back to her dorm. He helps her pack, only breaking his silence (she doesn't stop talking or muttering to herself) to ask if she wants certain items to go. "He likes the owl sweater," she whispers as she tosses her toiletries into a bag. "And he likes the red – yes, that one. He's always liked the clothes that Kurt constantly tries to burn." She's filling up the silence with nonsense because she irrationally believes that if there's no noise, she'll be able to hear the gunshots ripping through Finn's leg, and then she'll lose it. But she refuses to. She can't until she sees he's okay.
She calls Kurt and he tells her to go, get on the plane and get to Finn, he's going home to take care of his father, who's a wreck but can't take the flight. She swears she'll keep him updated, tells him she loves him and hangs up. Brody gets her to another cab, her passport in his hands, and slides in after loading her bag into the trunk. He whispers words of encouragement, reminds her how strong she claims Finn is, tells her it'll be okay, he'll be okay, and promises everything will be okay.
She doesn't hit him but she wants to so badly because he's placating her. He doesn't know Finn and never will because Finn's never been particularly fond of him in the first place. Noah's the only boy who's ever been allowed to hit on her and get away with it and even that was after months of hostility. Even though they're not together she knows Finn loves her and he knows she loves him. Their relationship status is entirely of his choosing, telling her she needed to be Rachel Berry without Finn Hudson for a while and she's accepted that even though it's complete bull because half the time she doesn't honestly think there is a Rachel Berry without a Finn Hudson and she doesn't care to think that there ever will be.
There's a lot of traffic heading out of the City, people heading back to their suburban homes after an extra-long day in the office, and her knee jumps impatiently as the taxi crawls up 8th Avenue. She tries to watch some television but it's nothing she cares about – the only thing she cares about right now is on his way from Afghanistan to Landstuhl – so she mutes the screen and pulls out the phone, keying in a couple of numbers. She calls her dads, tells them what they already knew, and they tell her they just dropped Carole off. They ask her if she's sure she wants to do this and she tells them no, she has to do this, and they're silent for a moment before telling her they love her and to let them know when she makes each stop. She promises she will if she can because she has a prepaid phone with no international minutes and she won't be thinking about anything but him until she gets to him.
When they get to the airport, Brody walks her inside, checks her in and says goodbye, promising to make sure all of her professors mark her as excused. She watched him go, briefly allowing a what if to flit through her mind before she determinately goes through security and finds her terminal.
The wait is excruciating and so is seeing Carole when she exits her plane and joins Rachel in the wait for their flight overseas. It's going to be long, too long, and Carole suggests magazines and books but Rachel hold up her iPod and shrugs. "We're on here," she says simply, softly, before sitting down and waiting for permission to board.
The flight is delayed by twenty minutes and Carole nearly has to physically restrain her. She's not famous yet so the infamous "Don't you know who I am?!" won't work so she settles on telling (screaming at) the flight attendants that her Finn – because he's not her boyfriend, not her fiancé – was shot in the war and he's hurt and she needs to be with him now. That doesn't fuel the plan any faster but it makes her feel better; it makes her feel almost as good as she does when Carole wraps an arm around her shoulder, kisses her temple and thanks her for doing what she wanted to do in the first place. Rachel doesn't respond verbally, just wraps her arm around the older woman and glares at the flight attendant until their zone is called.
She doesn't sleep, not at all. Not from New York to Zurich, not from Zurich to Luxembourg and definitely not from Luxembourg to Ramstein. They take a cab from the airport to the base and Carole reveals who she is and they're waved in after the vehicle is checked. The cab drops them off and they head inside, stopping at reception to make sure Finn has arrived. They get badges that say Hudson and she doesn't correct them because she doesn't care what they call her as long as she's allowed to see him soon. She wants to run to his room, throw her arms around him, hug him, tell him she loves him and this separation is over and he can just deal with it.
She can't, however, because they tell her and Carole that Private Hudson is in surgery and they can have a seat in the waiting room if they'd like. She almost tells the nice, only-doing-her-job nurse where she can shove her smiles and kind words, but she bites her tongue and follows Carole to the waiting room. It's cold and sterile and mostly silent and it gives her time to think, time she doesn't want. She wants to hold Finn's hand. She wants to kiss his cheek, his forehead, his nose, his lips, and just be with him, keep her eyes on him to make sure he's still real because at this point, the Army could be lying to them. Finn could be dead and she and Carole could be here to identify a body instead of hug the most important young man in both of their lives.
She stays in her chair keeping a vigil, leaving only to get coffee for Carole. She doesn't know what to say to the woman so she chats idly about school and New York and what she and Kurt do and how she's been organizing monthly care package drives to send to the troops. Carole thanks her and sips her coffee and doesn't say much else but Rachel can't blame her, not one bit. She can't imagine how it would be if it were her going through this in Carole's place. She hopes to never find out.
After another two hours, a doctor comes in and tells them that Finn's out of surgery, he's not in a cast yet and he's not really lucid but Carole can go see him. The woman kisses her on the head and leaves and Rachel thinks she's going to lose it when she's alone in the waiting room. But she steels her resolve and holds herself together, fighting the tears and thinking that as long as Carole hasn't come back yet, that means she's with Finn and he's there and he may be beaten but he's alive and that's all that matters right now. Any time she feels chokes up she takes a deep breath and thinks of his smile and she's okay again. She knows she'll be okay as long as he is and as long as Carole doesn't come back out of his room, she knows he'll be fine.
Twenty minutes later, though it feels much, much longer, a nurse comes out and calls her back, stating that Finn isn't really "all there" but she could give a flying you-know-what about him being alert because she wants to see his face, touch his skin, feel his heart. But when she gets to the door of his room she stops, her hand on the knob. What if there's more they're not telling her? What if he doesn't remember anything or anyone? What if he's disfigured? What if he kicks her out? So many things run through her head so her heart takes over and she's stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her before she can second guess herself.
The room is white and sterile and smells like hospital but there's something comforting about it. Actually, there's someone comforting about it and it's the boy laying in the bed, right leg propped up and his hand in his mother's. She makes her way to the bed and he turns and looks at her, his eyes wide and glassy and then the corner of his mouth turns up and that's it, she's done.
She falls to her knees beside the bed, her hands gripping the mattress as she cries. She cries in pain and relief and fear and hatred for the people who did this to him. She cries loudly, uninhibited and unrestrained. Her body is wracked with sobs and she feels sick but she can't stop because she's been holding this in for nearly twenty four hours now and it's the most liberating feeling, crying it out.
She takes a deep breath, more sobs on the horizon, when she feels a light touch on her hand and she looks up to see that his pinky and ring finger have slid over hers. He can't move much because of being sedated but he made the effort it means so much to her. She stares at him for a minute and when he whispers, "Hey, babe. How was your flight?" in a raspy, unused, slurred voice, she laughs though her tears and pushes herself to her feet, leaning carefully over the railing and brushes her lips against his cheek, relief like never before washing over her.
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Brooke and Quinnie, this wouldn't be happening without you.
Please excuse errors. It's 3:00 am.