A/N: Thanks to those who left a review for the previous chapter. This chapter is much longer, and begins to kick the story into high gear. Please leave a review if you have a moment to spare. I love to hear how well (or not so well) the story is being received.
Chapter Two: Sweat
Finn Hudson dropped wearily onto a small, iron chair at the little French Bistro outside his hotel, and tried not to see the city of love through the eyes of a cynical man. He wasn't here for himself, but for his best friend and the greatest God-daughter a man could have; especially if that man knew he would never have a child of his own.
They had spent the last three weeks on a whirl wind tour of Europe, a graduation gift to her before she started Julliard in August, and a respite for him before he decided where the team was heading next. They had so many offers, so many people wanting their help, and he knew that for every job they took, there would be five or more they had to refuse. He tried not to think about the ones they refused, he knew down that path was bitterness and regret; it was the path that had claimed his father's sanity and ultimately his life.
Paris in spring time was truly something to behold, but not for a man like him. Not because he was cynical, or jaded, or had seen to much depravity to appreciate the wonder that was Paris; but simply because he was no longer able to love with the depth of passion that made Paris sparkle and appeal to lovers. He had let that kind of love go, and it had never returned. Men like him should not be allowed into the genteel cities of places like Paris, Milan or Venice. He gave a small wry smile, and a shake of his head as he thought back to the gondola ride along Venice's Grand Canal, and the apoplexy of their gondolier. He was sure the poor man would have thrown them bodily into the canal, if he could have just figured out how to do so without ending up in the water right along with them.
Finn didn't so much as bat an eyelash when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and watched as Noah slid into the chair next to him. "Layla's worried about you," his friend said, as he drank the last of Finn's coffee.
"Says your antsy, unfocused, not sleeping," Noah continued, looking Finn in the eye. "I said she must be talking about some other guy, because Finn Hudson hasn't been antsy since junior high school, is focused on one thing, and sleeps like a baby every chance he gets."
"She just wants to know where we are headed," Finn replied.
"Yeah," Noah quipped, shaking his head in agreement. "But the tricky part is, does she mean which job are we taking, or your relationship with her?"
"Well neither matters to me," Sam said, grinning as he took the seat next to Noah. "I am New York bound in the morning, and don't plan to see either of your ugly faces for the next six months."
"No dumb shit while you escort my daughter back to her grandparents," Noah said, leveling a hard look at the younger man.
"Beth and her friend are in good hands," Sam said, shooting Noah a mischievous grin as he stood. "I'm leaving you ladies, as we have a flight that leaves at some ungodly hour in the morning."
"I'll head up with you," Noah replied. "Want to spend a little more time with Beth before she leaves. Can't believe my baby girl is heading to Julliard."
"Finn, do you have your phone?" Sam asked, as he and Noah turned to go into the hotel.
"Never leave home without it," Finn answered, waving the little black phone in the air.
"Is it turned on?" Noah asked.
"Always," was Finn's reply.
He watched as his friends disappeared into the hotel, and then turned his attention back to the people who, unlike him, were enjoying Paris at night. He had lost that carefree spirit that so many people walking through the streets seemed to have. His world didn't really allow for carefree, or sentimentally, or any soft emotion for that matter. His job was life or death, everyday of the week, every week of the year; and he really needed to get his head out of his ass, and pick a new job. There was never a shortage of jobs for them, it was all the ones they couldn't take that bothered him; bothered him all the way to his soul.
The small hand that softly touched his shoulder brought him out of his dark thoughts, and he looked up into a face that was at once familiar, yet oddly different. His god-daughter gazed down at him with eyes so like her mother, she took Finn back fifteen years to high school. Beth was a carbon copy of Quinn Fabray at this age, but she had none of Quinn's manipulative nature.
"Puck sent me to rescue you," she said smiling at him. "But its more to rescue him. Layla is giving him grief, and he says you need to bring your sorry ass in to deal with her, before he does something stupid."
"I have a mind to leave them to killing each other," Finn said with a barely suppressed grin.
"Although not a bad idea," Beth replied. "We would spend countless hours with the authorities, something I'm sure you would like to avoid."
Finn surprised himself as he laughed out loud. Getting up, he pulled her to him for a quick hug, then steered them towards the hotel entrance. She grabbed onto his arm, and began to chatter about the plans for her summer, before she started Julliard. When he looked at her, he saw Quinn, and when he thought of Quinn, he thought of high school, and no...NO! He slammed that mental door shut; there were somethings he never allowed back into the sunlight.
Beth hugged him again when they reached her room, and waited until he knew she was safely inside, before walking the last few steps to his own set of rooms. He stepped silently into the sitting area, quickly ascertaining that it was empty and head towards the bedroom. He noticed that the door adjoining his suite to Noah's was closed, meaning his friend had managed to escape Layla's clutches. He walked into the darkening bedroom, and spied her sitting on the balcony, talking animatedly into her cell phone. When she became aware of his presence, she quickly ended her call, and walked into the room.
"Don't start Layla," he said, hoping to head off an argument. That hoped died when her saw fire flash into her green eyes.
"Damn it Finn," she said, tossing her phone onto the bed. "You've been gone for hours, the phone has been ringing off the hook. The team wants to know when and where we are heading, and there's nothing to tell them. Do you know why there's nothing to tell them? Do you Finn?"
He looked at her in silence, knowing that, more than anything else, this would piss her off. His silence would be like a red flag in the face of an angry bull, and she would charge.
"Because you can't pull your head out of your ass long enough to decide on a job," she all but screamed at him. "You're so damned preoccupied, and that lack of focus is costing some one their life."
"Are you done?" Finn asked, when she paused to catch her breath. He could feel the anger and rage that was pouring off of her. Her body was trembling violently from her emotions, and at that moment, he realized that he didn't care.
"No," came her quiet reply. "I am not done, but I don't think anything I say right now would make a difference."
"Fine then," he said, as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it onto a chair. He kicked off his boots, then stripped off his jeans and boxers, tossing them with his shirt. He suppressed a grin at her sharp intake of breath, as he climbed naked into the king sized bed.
"What are you doing?" She asked, gazing at him with desire blazing in her eyes. "We still need a …."
"It can wait until morning. You said I haven't been sleeping; so I'm going to sleep," Finn answered, as he relaxed, and let the sweet oblivion of sleep claim him.
"I'm still yours, faithfully."
Finn jolted awake as a cool hand brushed across the back of his neck, and a voice he hadn't heard in years, gently beckoned him to open his eyes. He wasn't sure what he expected, but the sight before him made his heart ache and caused his stomach to knot. Rachel Berry stood on the stage at McKinley High School, gazing at him with pain etched on her face, and a love so strong that it radiated from her in waves.
"Rachel," her name escaped from him, and he desperately wanted to grab it back. He had taken everything about her, about them, about what they shared, and his gut wrenching love, and buried it deep within himself, so that it would be a part of his very soul. He hadn't allowed any of it too escape, to come back to the surface, for if it had, he knew he wouldn't be able to survive without her, and he never wanted to be the thing that stood in her way, never wanted her to look at him with bitterness or regret.
"Oh my," she said, her voice washing over him in waves, soothing his shattered heart, and drowning his body in an intense wave of heat and desire. He flushed, then smiled wryly, as she took a step back and subjected him to a slow, and thorough perusal.
"I'd say the last fifteen years have definitely been good to you," she breathed, reaching out to touch him.
"No," he said, stepping out of her reach. He saw the pain his withdrawal caused her, and he mentally kicked himself.
"Its a dream," he rasped, looking at a face that was at once familiar, yet remarkably different from the girl he had fallen in love with. "I know its a dream, and I'm afraid if you touch me, if I touch you...,"he had to stop, as feelings he had not allowed himself to feel, broke through their barriers and engulfed him.
He silently cursed himself. He had believed that the years, the distance and barriers that he had erected, would have dulled, and eventually erased what Rachel Berry had meant to him. He made himself believe that all consuming love wasn't realistic, and with enough time, he and his wayward body would forget what this girl, this woman did to him.
"If I touch you, and by God, I really want to touch you," he said on a shaky breath. " I'm afraid I'll wake up, and waking up is not something I want to do right now. The things I want to do to you are probably illegal in the free world; damn they're probably illegal the world over."
The smile on her face could rival the sun, it crept in to all the dark places of his soul, and reminded him of what it was to really feel alive. It made him want to sing, to dance, to do anything, just so she would continue to smile at him. He wanted her, had always wanted, and would always want her; but now more than ever, he didn't know if he deserved her.
He watched as she glanced over her shoulder, as if something had caught her attention, something only she could see. He saw waves of pain, exhaustion, and something else, something sinister mar her beautiful face. She turned away from, looking, listening intently to something or some one, and then she glanced at him, her eyes filled with sorrow, trepidation, and then conviction. He saw the moment she reached some monumental decision, squared her shoulders, and walk back to him.
"Do you remember what you said in the car at the train station?" She asked, steadily closing the distance between. "You asked me to surrender."
He nodded in affirmation, not wanting to relive that day. He'd rather go to hell and back, before living through that again.
"You said we were going to let the universe do its thing," she said, talking rapidly. "That if we were meant to be together; we would be together."
He felt her words rip through him, catapulting him back fifteen years, back to the train station, back to the eighteen year old boy who had loved her enough to let her go. The man he was today wanted to strangle that boy. What had they lost when he forced her to let go, where would they be if he had held on?
"Well," she said, bringing his attention back to her, back to the present. "We've been given all the time we are going to get, and we now stand at a crossroad in the universe, a crossroad in both our lives."
Finn watched as images of her flashed in front of him. Rachel at eighteen getting on the train to New York, at twenty-two graduating from NYADA, at twenty-five receiving an Obie Award,, at twenty-seven receiving the Drama Desk award, at thirty receiving her first Tony Award, at thirty-one receiving two Tony Awards, and now. Standing before him now, beautiful, confident, successful, amazing, and his. His if he wants, his if he is willing to surrender.
"Surrender," she whispered, brushing her lips gently across his. "You must choose, time is running out, and the path is up to you. Finn, don't stop believing in us."
He felt her pull out of his arms, take a small step back, and then place her hand on his chest, right over his heart. The jolt that slammed into him, rocked him on his feet, and sent his body air borne. Time seemed to stand still, and he looked at the stage where they had both been standing. She was gone, she had touched him, and now she was...wait, no she wasn't gone. She was laying on the stage, still, pale, and a pool of dark liquid slowly forming around her. He saw the knife, realized the liquid was blood, and before he could get his mind to accept what he was seeing, he felt an electric volt slam through his body, and he crashed to the floor.
Finn jerked awake, his heart pounding, and his chest heaving like a freight train. He was drenched in sweat, and an icy fear coursed through him. He registered several things simultaneously, the sun was rising, the large flat screen TV was on, the volume silenced, and Layla drinking her morning coffee as she talked animatedly on her cell phone.
It had been a dream, just a dream. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes momentarily closing, when the door to the bedroom slammed open, and Noah charged in, his face pale and drawn.
"What the hell," Layla exclaimed not happy with Noah's intrusion. He gave her a dark, dangerous look that stopped whatever she had been about to say. He grabbed the remote for the TV, and turned the sound on.
"I am standing in front of the Imperial Theater her in New York, which was the scene of a heinous crime earlier this evening," stated a smartly dressed, female reporter. "Details are still sketchy right now, but it seems that Broadway is reeling in the after shocks of what seems to be the murder of Rachel Berry."
Finn felt his whole world begin to implode with each of the reporter's words. He could see that Noah was saying something to him, but he could hear him, couldn't hear anything through the thunderous roar of his heart. Dead. Rachel. Rachel Berry was dead, murdered. His mind screamed in shock, denial, rage, and he grabbed the remote from Noah and threw it at the TV, shattering the screen.
"Where the hell is my phone?" He roared at Layla, barely controlling his anger.
"I...I...," she stammered, looking at him with terror. "I turned it off."
"We have a problem," Santana said, as she burst through the double doors to the waiting room. Quinn and Artie were right behind her, and they were visibly shaken. Santana looked quickly around the room, spying the remote to the TV, she grabbed it, and hit power.
"I am standing in front of the Imperial Theater her in New York, which was the scene of a heinous crime earlier this evening," stated a smartly dressed, female reporter. "Details are still sketchy at best, but it seems that Broadway is reeling in the after shocks of what seems to be the murder of Rachel Berry."
The room went deathly silent, all eyes riveted to the TV, fixed on the reporter's announcement.
"Kurt," his father said. "Call your brother, call him before he sees this on the news. I don't know if he will come, but if he hears shes dead, it will break him."
"And that's not the case right now," a voice said. Every one turned their attention to doorway, where three men stood in green scrubs, exhaustion etched clearly on their faces.
Well now, that was quite a journey! Let me know what you think.