Hi all,

Chapter 3 has been fixed since ff. net erased a sentence of it, I put it back and now you know that "Flavio asked Kurt to go to Italy with him to meet the parents…" in case you wondered!

A little Finchel fluff at the end of this chapter to compensate for the angst of the reunion ('cause, yeah, I love my angst!)

Hope it's worth the pain though :)

To Su, who for once didn't get to read anything in advance because she's on vacations.

Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue!

Chapter 4: Mine again.

He still officially has two weeks of school but since his mom and Burt have flown in for the week, he's spending the week-end in Manhattan with them.

Burt's watching a game on his son's giant flat screen while Finn and his mom have lemonade on the den (Kurt's apartment is so big that Finn is convinced he's gonna find some unknown room any day now), catching up on their respective whereabouts.

"So how about your master degree," Carole asks casually, when the topic of work comes up. She knows he only has one year left to complete it, and he's sure she knows he's been thinking of dropping it altogether.

He shrugs dismissively, trying to avoid the subject, as if he didn't know his own mother.

"How many more credits do you need?" she presses.

"Nineteen," he finally mumbles shamefully.

"So you have seventeen? Sweetie, you're almost halfway done, I don't see why you wouldn't go on?"

He shrugs again, "I'm fine working in Jersey mom, I'm settled down, now."

"But, Finn, it was your dream, coming to work here!" she's not sure she understands his reticence.

"Mom, it's been ten years! Dreams change... Besides, it's not like this was the dream… it was a whole package…"

She puts one of her hands over his, on the table. She hates seeing him down, and she knows this idea has been eating at him for a while now. And not only because she talks to Kurt. But she would know her own flesh. She knows it's all about Rachel. When has it not?

It's hurting her to see him hurt. She wishes more than anything that he would let her help him, and she doesn't care that he's a grown-up, he's always gonna be her baby.

"Okay," she starts slowly, readjusting her sunglasses and leaning back in her seat. "I'm gonna be your mother here. You once made me promise to hold my tongue on something and I did, but you also made me promise to never let you quit on anything. So this is me setting my foot down, Finn Hudson! You're going to complete this master degree, even if it means I have to quit my job to come and kick your butt to do it!"

He chuckles a little at her fake outburst but at the same time his eyes fill with tears. But he's so not gonna cry in front of his mom…

He sighs deeply, trying to compose himself, even if he knows she's not dupe.

"It's too late, now mom, I don't have the time."

"Finn," she sounds a little resigned, "I know you can do whatever you want to do." She nods to emphasize her words, "you will complete your degree if it kills me, and if it's a matter of money, we'll help, you'll cut your classes and we'll pay for your rent. It's about time you get as much as we gave your brother for his education."

She sees him starting to argue so she goes on, even more enthusiastically, "you've paid for everything until now, Finn. You never wanted us to help you. And I know you never asked us anything, but I want to help you now."

"We won't take no for an answer," Burt adds from the other side of the opened French-doors, startling them a little as they didn't notice him approach.

"What's the point, guys?" (He hasn't used this one on them yet…) "I might never get to work here," he finishes, gesturing at the city below.

"That's the key-word, Finn," Burt chimes in, "might! You never know what the future holds. You've heard your mother, no more arguing." And with that he's back inside. Talk about a perfect timing for a halftime, Finn thinks with irony.

He looks at his mom for a long time. He knows where he gets his stubbornness from, and she will make his life miserable if he tries to confront her again.

He feels like a child. But somehow it feels good to have his mom to confide in and count on. He smiles with clenched teeth at her. He's not sure of how much he can share with her. He might just have to take a chance on her.

"Do you believe in soulmates," he asks her, out of the blue.

She takes her time answering, nodding absently. "I believe in true love," she starts slowly, "I believe in second chances, too."

He scoffs a bit at that because in his case it's not second or even third chances. Truth be told he stopped counting forever ago, and anyways, he's not sure he deserves any more chance at anything.

He tells her about the letter. About how he's been feeling since his birthday. She listens closely and in the end wipes some tears from her eyes.

She takes his hand again and repeats, "I do believe in true love."

He hates that his eyes are welling up as well. Doesn't she get that this ship has sailed a long time ago?

"Finn, the truth is that I believe you had true love. But you were too young to accept those feelings for what they were. Maybe they were too big for you, maybe you were scared of feeling so much, I don't know. And I'm not only talking about you there," she points at his chest. "I mean, Rachel as well."

It's the first time her name has been spoken between the two of them in nine years. It was one of the things he made her promise.

He shakes his head, swallowing hard and fighting back tears.

"I can't help you here, sweetie," she sounds sorry, "this is something you have to work out for yourself, or preferably with Rachel." He rolls his eyes a little, but she goes on, "if you believe there's a tiny bit of a chance, you need to talk to her, or at least you need to get closure on it all, because you can't let those emotions eat at you like that and prevent you from living your life."

He watches her gravely, his jaw set.

"I really do believe in second chances, though," she smiles comfortingly, puting a hand on his forearm.

The first time she came with hope.

Hope that despite everything that had happened between them, despite everything she had not become, he would still be there.

The second time she tried to reason with herself that it was no use but came anyway, as if to make sure.

She tried to avoid it but despite her will she found herself in the same spot year after year, like clockwork. And like clockwork she'd dissolve in tears. Because he was never there.

It's not like she thinks about him anymore.

She stopped a long time ago.

Stopped remembering, stopped hoping it was him every time the phone rang. Stopped wishing he'd be there waiting for her at her doorstep when she exited the elevator.

She can even listen to Faithfully, without crying. Much.

This year is the last time, she vows. She's going to go as a sort of pilgrimage. To say goodbye, turn the page, get closure. After all, it's the ten years anniversary of that date. How long should one normally take to give up on a dream?

So she goes to Central Park and stops on the way to buy herself flowers. She plans on throwing them in the lake. That date didn't go too well in the end anyways, she has to remember.

It was too much for her to handle. So many emotions all of a sudden when she had spent months trying to block her feelings for him. She'd been too overwhelmed to function normally and she'd pushed him away, when in reality she wanted nothing more than to meet him halfway.

She approaches the bridge and finds it ironic that there would still be a man making giant soap bubbles and another one selling balloons.

She approaches the balustrade and watches down at the rowing boats on the water, trying to forget that she once hoped they'd be in one of them. After checking for guards around so she wouldn't be arrested for littering, she drops her flowers in the water, carefully avoiding the happy couples below.

There's nothing more to do now. She can't allow herself to break down in the middle of the park. Her career couldn't handle the bad publicity. So she straightens up and crushes the one tear she couldn't restrain on its way down her cheek.

She doesn't know what makes her turn around but once she does she does a double take. It must be a trick of the light but she could swear she saw him. Only that's not possible, so she knows the illusion will be gone once she opens her eyes again.

She blinks at the summer sun but the vision's still here, with Kurt's dog in leash, wearing a white shirt and a hopeful smile.

Her heart skips a bit.

"You took your time, didn't you?" she chokes, before striding away in the other direction.

She can't handle that. Not now. Not when she has finally given up.

But of course he's still quicker than she is and he catches up with her before she even gets to the end of the bridge.

She tries to resist. Pretending she didn't see him, pushing him away as he catches her arm.

"Rachel, wait," he begs. She doesn't want to hear a thing. She wants to be able to breathe again.

But all of a sudden the Dalmatian escapes Finn's hand and runs away, leaving him stranded, watching from the dog to her, unable to make a choice on who to follow.

"Marc Jacobs, here!" he tries from afar, and she can only snicker. Marc Jacobs was Kurt's previous dog. Which died like five years ago.

She sighs exasperatedly and runs after the dog, calling its real name, as Finn stays rooted to his spot, watching her chase after a dog which would outrun her easily if it wasn't patiently waiting for her under a tree, a good three hundred yards away from its departure point, waving its tail and barking happily.

She kneels beside Alexander McQueen and pets him a little, fussing at his collar, untangling the leash that's now wrapped around his paws. Cursing at him at the same time for making her run in heels and look like a fool.

He's beside her in three strides and she curses at him for having such long legs.

She's unwilling to look at his face. She just can't.

"What are you doing here, Finn," she manages to ask through clenched teeth as she hands him Alex's leash to grab. Their finger brush together and she snatches her hand away angrily.

"I'm dog-sitting Alexander McQueen," he tries tentatively.

"Don't play me for a fool, please," she all but barks, her eyes filling with tears again.

He wants to tell her everything.

Tell her that he came to see her musical yesterday, and that she was beautiful.

Tell her that he finally, finally, read her letter. That he's sorry it took him this long.

He wants to explain everything that happened those last nine years. How he thought she didn't want him with her while she thought he didn't want to come, how they were both so stupid that they might have missed on their chance, but that it may be still there.

Most of all he wants to hold her and prevent her from running away again. But he's frozen in place, incapable of articulating a word.

It's the first time he's seen her in all those years. The real her.

Not on TV, not on stage, in costume and makeup. He wants to make up for lost times but he can't do anything more than stare at her. And from the look of it he looks stupid because she scoffs and tries to make an escape again.

"Rachel, wait!" this sentence has never really worked for him, "please!"

He's desperate. He didn't know what he was expecting, but he thought he'd have more time.

He reaches inside his pocket and shoves the crumpled paper in her hand, almost breathless "I just read it!"

She watches the sheet in her hand warily, starting to tremble when she realizes what he's saying, what she's looking at.

"What?" how can her voice be so shaky? She hates how weak he makes her.

He sits her on the nearest bench, securing the leash around the post so that Alex doesn't escape again.

He wishes he had one for her too…

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Do you think I could be a teacher?" he asks her one rainy day of January.

He's looking at some "what to do with myself" booklet he's found at Ms Pillsbury's office. Their SATs results have been sent to each college they've applied to but he's still not sure of what he'll do if ever ("when, Finn!" she told him to think positively) he gets in anywhere.

"I think you can be whatever you want to be," she watches him from over her textbook.

She notices his worried look and closes the book, straightening up and inching closer to him.

"Would you like being a teacher?" she asks. They haven't really discussed careers for him and the look of pride on her face is giving her away on how she feels about this idea.

"Well," he's not sure about this choice but it's starting to grow on him, has been for a while, really. Ever since he coached that mini basketball team over the Christmas break. "I've really been liking working with kids this winter," he sees her nod, edging him on, "and the way Mr. Schue's taking care of us, I don't know, I'd really like that, I mean…" she can see he's really serious about it and that brings tears to her eyes to see him really considering his future. "I wouldn't go for high school, but maybe some lower grades? Kindergarten?"

She's in his arms without him even realizing it, hugging him tight.

"I'm so proud of you," she says seriously, "you'll make a great teacher, I saw how you were with those kids during the break!"

Suddenly she's straddling his lap, taking his glasses off and kissing him like there's no tomorrow, her hands burying in his hair the way he likes it.

He gladly joins in, as they shift to make themselves more comfy on his bed.

He doesn't want to think about anything right now, no college worries, acceptance, location, tuition, no wondering if she will ever ask him to come with her, and if so, will he actually be able to?

That's just the two of them, engrossed in each other, engaging in one of the hottest make-out sessions since they got back together. Because they've been taking things really slow. Like they started over on everything, all things earned the last time erased and having to be earned again. He gets and accepts that, because he understands him breaking up with her made a huge dent in her self confidence, and he's not entirely sure of how much she trusts him.

His hands roam her body until he tentatively slides them over her bottom, settling them here.

She grinds a little into him at the touch and he can't help himself, "God, I love your bu…" he clenches his eyes shut in shame and tries to get back on his feet with this one, "bu..ig brown eyes…" he flinches, tries to open an eye to gauge her reaction and it's so not what he was expecting.

Of course she's stopped kissing him, and of course she's watching him with those beautiful eyes, but her look is more astonished than anything, inquisitive even (he SO nailed the SATs!).

"Were you gonna say butt?" she asks curiously.

"Well, yeah…" he answers, trying to be honest even if it costs him a slap.

"Really?" she seems really surprised at his answer and actually tries to watch her own butt, to see what the appeal would be.

He swallows hard to get courage and watches her gravely, "Rachel, your butt is amazing… you should know that."

It's like she never even suspected it. She blushes a little, as if she's kinda proud of herself and finally asks him the most awesome thing she's ever asked (he's still hoping for that "would you come to New York with me" but this is totally the next best thing).

"Would you… would you like to touch it?" and the way she says it, it's like she finds the idea completely absurd and is afraid he would decline.

"Yeah," he manages to croak as his eyes widen, and he's not really sure he remembers how to breathe when she guides his hands up her skirt and down her panties, still watching him apprehensively, as if she were asking permission.

He swears he's never touched anything that soft in his life (that is, until she lets him touch her boobs, later that night. And that combined with seeing her skin get goose-bumps as he touches her and her rosy peaks tighten under his fingers, yeah, no, he hasn't thought about the mailman in a while but then he really needs to).

So her butt was already awesome he thinks, lightly massaging her buttocks as she totally lets him, but now it's just... phenomenal. He's trying to find a good metaphor for it when she breaks the kiss again and watches him, biting her bottom lip.

Her sentence startles him and turns him on like he wouldn't have thought possible.

"Could I…" she stammers, "can I touch yours?"

Okay; she's definitely gonna be the death of him.

There's a place I used to go
there's a world I used to know
there was a light and it was you
every word I say is true
I say -

Every day I will wait - till you're mine again
I will die every day - till you're mine again
there's no words to explain - no beginning and no end
I will dream, I will pray – you'll be mine again

(Mine again, Black Lab)

…..

To be continued

"Thoughts?" (à la Mercedes)