A/N: As per usual, the muse is a stubborn one, and this story has just taken quite the unexpected turn. In my head, anyway.
"Some people just get happier and happier every day. And some people just get sadder and sadder. And some people, like you, get both."
"And what about you, are you the happiest and the saddest right now that you've ever been?"
"Of course I am."
"Why?"
"Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you."
– Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
Xxx
"How the fuck does she not remember you?"
"I don't know."
"This is ridiculous. People black out because of concussions; they don't lose chunks of their memories. What kind of fucked up-"
"The doctor says it's just temporary. Because of the head trauma. He said we shouldn't worry."
"How temporary?"
He sighs, finally looking away from the empty coffee cup in his hands towards her demanding face.
"Could be a few hours. A day or two. He didn't specify."
"How the hell-"
"I don't know Santana!" he snaps, crushing the paper cup as he balls his hand into a fist. "Okay?"
She looks like she's about to say something, but she catches herself, glaring back at him instead.
"So what do we do now?" she finally asks in resignation. He shakes his head imperceptibly, feeling that knot of pressure at the back of his neck growing along the back of his skull.
"We wait."
Xxx
He hesitates just outside of her door. He had freaked out when she didn't recognise him. At first he thought it was just a really bad joke, but even Rachel's not that great of an actress and when she just kept on staring at him, with that blank expression on her face, he began to feel the dread that's by now the size of the Atlantic growing in the pit of his stomach. Finn shakes his head, groaning as he remembers how he had backpedalled, literally taken a few steps back in surprise until his back had hit the wall as he stared back at her stupidly.
It's been almost four hours.
Does she remember him now?
He's about to step in when he sees her. Her eyes are wide open as she looks up at the ceiling, her tiny frame looking impossibly small on the hospital bed. He knocks softly against the door as he stands just under the doorway. Her eyes turn to him instantly, and something twists in his chest when the expectant look on her face changes into one of caution almost immediately.
So he's still a stranger now.
"Hi," he says slowly, holding up his hand in a suspended wave.
"Hello."
She's eyeing him suspiciously, and it's weird, seeing the woman he's planning to spend the rest of his life with looking at him like he's a complete stranger. He can't remember the last time Rachel had looked at him without that familiar warmth in her eyes. It was part of what made her Rachel, and what made her his.
Don't overreact, he tells himself. It's just temporary. She'll remember him soon enough. The only thing he can do now is to try and not spook her.
"Sorry about, you know. Being weird earlier," he starts sheepishly as he steps in, grabbing the back of his neck. He sees her tense shoulders visibly relaxing as her face breaks into a small, but still cautious, smile.
"That's okay. I just-" She stops, looking at him in scrutiny. "Am I supposed to know you?"
"Something like that."
"Okay. I was in a- in a car accident?" she asks doubtfully, looking down at her cast. He nods, feeling the migraine returning as he remembers the sight of all that blood.
"Were we in the car together?"
"Erm- not exactly. You were crossing the street."
He speaks slowly, as if her memories would be able to just magically catch up to her if he speaks slow enough. So sue him, it's not like he knows how this thing works anyway.
"And you brought me here!" she says, sounding sure of herself.
"You remember that?" he asks hopefully, straightening his posture. Because she was still awake when the ambulance came, barely holding on, but alive. He shakes his head rapidly, trying to push the images of all the blood, and her gasping breaths away. They're all still freshly embedded in his mind, and it's the most ironic thing in the world that she can't remember any of it. He's still recovering from the shock, from that split second when the thought of living in a world without her seemed like an all too real possibility.
She looks back at him sheepishly as she shakes her head.
"No. It's just that-well," she gestures towards the bloodstain on his shirt. "Your shirt."
"Oh."
"I'm sorry."
"No- no you have nothing to be sorry for," he answers hastily as he steps closer. She shrinks a little further into her bed and he realises that she's still jumpy. He stops short, trying not to take it personally. "I'm just glad you're okay."
He's more than glad, more than relieved. He wants to go to her, he wants so badly to hold her, to kiss every inch of her skin until every tremor in his body goes away. He has a burning need to inspect every part of her, just so he can be sure that she's fine.
But he can't, because she doesn't remember him.
This is crazy.
Xxx
He waits.
But a whole day comes and goes.
As he steps into her hospital room, she smiles pleasantly when she sees him, and he knows he's still waiting.
xxx
"I just- I wish I can remember you," she speaks up in frustration. Her good hand is twisting the sheets in her fist and he sees the way her brows furrow, the way they always do when she's upset. "I wish I can remember something, anything that happened before-before I got here. I mean, we know each other! We must know each other for quite a while judging by the way you reacted. How can I not remember you?"
She looks at him imploringly, upset, and he knows she must be scared. He wishes there's something he could do about it.
All he does, all he can do, is to look back helplessly.
"I don't know," he answers quietly. Her shoulders slump as she sighs.
"We can- what did the doctor say?"
"He said that this happens sometimes, after a traumatic event, and that-"
"You'll remember soon?" he asks morosely, frowning. "Yeah, that's what he told me too."
"You asked for me?" she asks softly. He sits up at the tone of her voice, and the tight noose around his heart loosens a little when he sees the familiar warmth return to her eyes. She's looking at him almost like the way she always does, (did, he corrects himself) almost like she loves him. Almost.
He leans closer to her, one hand pressed down on the hospital bed.
"Of course I did," he answers earnestly.
Her small, warm hand covers his hesitantly.
"So we know each other pretty well?" she asks.
"Yeah."
"You must hate me," she whispers, tears pooling in her eyes. "For not remembering you."
His hand itches to lean forward and rub his thumb against the skin under her eye, but he refrains, clenching his fists to the side. He needs to be patient. God knows she's freaking out enough without him trying to be all over her.
"Believe me," he starts ruefully. "I could never hate you."
She smiles at him, but it's a sad smile, and after all she's been through all he wants is to make her smile.
It's just temporary, he tells himself.
So he smiles at her as he turns his hand to weave their fingers together.
"Hi," he says, grinning as she looks up at him in confusion. "I'm Finn. Finn Hudson."
Her face breaks into a real smile this time, her eyes crinkling as she shakes his hand.
"Hello Finn," she says. "I'm Rachel."
Xxx
"You listen to me Beanpole," Santana whispers furiously as she holds his hand in an iron grip. "That is my bestfriend in there, and I can damn well see her when I want to."
"Santana-"
"The fuck are we walking around eggshells for? The sooner she remembers the better, and don't you think surrounding herself with familiar things, familiar people, will help her to?"
"Dr. Carson-"
"Screw that middle-aged bald eagle," she hisses. She lowers her voice when he shoots her a warning look. "Look," she starts again, taking a deep breath. "There is not a hell of a whole lot of people in this world I care for, but that tiny little melodramatic midget in there? She's one of them, alright? And I-"
"You miss her," he finishes gently. She says nothing as she looks away, but her grip loosens and he feels the blood returning to his fingers. He shakes his head, taking a deep breath as he tries not lose it.
"I miss her too," he tells her. "But I- she's not getting better."
"What the fuck are talking about Hudson?"
Her eyes narrow into little slits when she looks up at him, and he shakes his head again, rubbing his free hand over his face.
"She should remember by now," he starts slowly, his tone frustrated as he sags against the wall just outside of Rachel's room. "But she- she doesn't. She doesn't remember anything, Santana. Not me, or you, not anything. I tried talking to her about the play, about the musical, she didn't even blink. And Dr. Carson, he said maybe it's more serious than we think, because it's been three days, and it's not supposed to go on this long. God Santana, I can't-" He takes another deep breath as his voice gets shriller. He doesn't notice his voice escalating until Santana starts patting his back awkwardly and he notices the nurses' furtive glances.
"He says they need to do an MRI," he continues in a low voice. "Santana, what if-"
"Shut up." He looks up at her, surprised. Her tone was harsh, but she tries to smile when he catches her eye. "Her drama is catching up on you Tubs," she says, punching his arm gently. He rolls his eyes.
"I'm serious San-"
"She'll be fine."
Her words are firm, like no amount of doubting will remove them.
"How do you know?" he asks finally, the confident smile on her face calming him down.
"Because no way in hell will Rachel Berry let anything happen to herself before she makes her stage debut."
He cracks a smile at that.
Xxx
He walks a little behind her, noting the way she keeps clenching and unclenching her fists as they trail behind Dr. Carson. Before he realizes what he's doing, his hand is already on her shoulder.
"Hey," he starts gently. He's still trying his best to be nothing but gentle around her, knowing how jumpy she is these days. "Are you okay?"
She smiles tremulously at him as she nods her head.
"I'm just a little nervous."
"Don't be. I'm gonna be there the whole time."
She's scrutinizing him again. He's hoping his grin is reassuring.
"Thank you," she says.
"No problem."
Dr. Carson signals for them to turn left, and as they reach their destination, she turns to him once again, leaning closer.
"Is it wrong if some part of me feels excited at the prospect of getting an MRI and finding out that I'm suffering from some tragic disease?" she whispers. He pulls back in surprise, her words being the last thing he expected to come out of her mouth.
She's looking at him, completely solemn, and he can't help the chuckle that escapes. He really should have known better.
"You wouldn't be Rachel Berry if you're not," he tells her, grinning. Her eyes shine as she smiles.
"Really?" she asks, excited.
"Totally."
"Maybe I'm starting to get back to myself," she tells him, hopeful. He shakes his head, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before following Dr. Carson inside.
"You were never anyone else."
Xxx
"Does she know who you are?"
"She knows me."
"I didn't ask if she knows you, moron. I asked if she knows who you are."
The insult rolls right off his back as she glares at him. Santana's always a little snappy when she's upset.
"No. I mean, I kinda don't want to freak her out, you know? She's freaking out as it is."
"Stop being a pussy Hudson," Santana says, rolling her eyes as she drops her cigarette on the pavement, crushing it with the back of her heel.
"Where are you going?" he calls out as she starts to walk away. She turns to look at him over her shoulder.
"It's time we stopped waiting Finn. I'm getting her back."
Xxx
He looks nervously as he stands near the door between an adamant Santana and a cautious Rachel. Santana can be... abrasive when she's in her element and although Rachel got used to it long before he ever did, this Rachel hasn't.
"Berry," Santana starts impatiently.
Rachel looks towards him in confusion, and he tries to give an encouraging nod.
"Hello," she says, nodding back at him. "I-"
"Look, I'mma cut the crap, okay? This package of fine ass you're looking at here?" Santana starts, pointing to herself. "This is Santana Lopez. AKA, your roommate slash bestfriend slash sister bitch from another mother."
Rachel's eyes are wide open as Santana continues talking.
"These babies right here?" Santana continues, pointing to her boobs. "You've been around longer than they have, okay? So this whole not remembering me thing? I call bullshit."
"Santana, I'm really sorry-"
"And Stretchy over there? Well he's your-"
"Santana," he cuts in firmly. Santana turns to look at him, and he shakes his head, matching her glare. After a few seconds of stare down while Rachel looks on, probably more confused than ever, Santana rolls her eyes, shrugging.
"Fine. Whatever. Anyway-"
Her sentence is cut short when Rachel, previously laying back against the pillows, suddenly shot up in bed, her eyes zeroing on the ring around her finger.
"I remember!" she yells. He straightens up, rushing over to her quickly.
"What-" he starts, as Santana hangs back and yells I told you so.
"Oh my God, Finn. Does he know?"
"Who are you-" he starts as he reaches her, but she cuts him off, grabbing his hands imploringly.
"You need to tell him."
"Tell who?"
"My husband."
"Rachel, we're not-"
"Jesse."
He thinks his heart may have just stopped beating.
She's looking at him expectantly, worry etched on her features, and he vaguely hears Santana's string of Spanish expletives.
"Who the fuck is Jesse?" Santana finally spits out.
Rachel looks at her, confused, before she turns to look at him.
"Jesse St. James," she says, as slowly as she can, like he's slow or something. But maybe he is slow, because she's gripping his hand tightly as she looks back at him hopefully, and he doesn't understand anything that just happened.
Not one fucking thing.
