Am I dead? she thinks quietly to herself as she walks toward her apartment like a zombie, hugging her body to stave off the cold and her own mounting nerves, the gravel hurting her bare feet. She can't be sure, it all happened so fast, she was always told that when faced with a mugger, to hand over everything without hesitation, so she did, even when he demanded her faux leather jacket and shoes, the only item she hesitated for even a second to give him was the gold necklace that she's had since she was twelve years old, a symbol from her fathers to never give up on her dreams. What did it mean to be forced to take it off of her neck and hand it over to a man with a gun? Was it a sign that she wasn't cut out for her own dreams? Her first night in New York and she has a gun pointed in her face because of her own carelessness and naivete, couldn't have been a good sign. She still wonders if she died as she walks down the hall, if he pulled that trigger and now she's just an apparition haunting the streets, a haunted look on her face and mascara running down her cheeks.
"What's the matter pretty girl?" a clearly stoned man with a mohawk says as she walks past him into the complex, so much for being dead. She doesn't answer him as she continues to her apartment. Her lips quiver as she realizes that her keys were in her purse, mugged and locked out on the same night, so far her big city experience was less than ideal. She takes a deep breath before ringing Finn's doorbell, surely he'll let her use his phone.
Sleep clearly isn't in the cards tonight, she thinks as she tosses and turns in her bed, she's tried everything to calm her nerves, baking (she'll bring the chocolate chip cookies to Finn in the morning to thank him for his help), hot chamomile tea with milk, a warm bath, a boring book, none of it works, she can't close her eyes, not without picturing that gun and his voice, not without the constant worry that he'll find her apartment and let himself in. She knows it's silly, but she'll get the locks changed in the morning just to be sure. She wonders how long it will take to get over what happened, how long it will take to be able to sleep through the night again. She's already decided she won't let this experience break her, but she has to sleep sometime. She sits up in bed and violently throws the blanket off of herself, she starts to pace the floor not entirely sure why, maybe to tire herself out, either way she doesn't feel like laying down, instead she does the last thing she can think of, the one thing that always puts her mind at ease. She sings
I want to live where soul meets body
And let the sun wrap its arms around me
And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
And feel, feel what its like to be new
Cause in my head there's a greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place
where they're far more suited than here
And I cannot guess what we'll discover
When we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels
But I know our filthy hands can wash one another's
And not one speck will remain
And I do believe it's true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
But if the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you're the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
Where soul meets body
Where soul meets body
Where soul meets bod-
She knits her brow in confusion as she hears the voice, a voice rough and gentle at the same time, a man's voice... Finn's voice, singing the same song she is. Did he hear her? it couldn't have been a coincidence, he heard her and instead of yelling for her to shut her piehole the way she feared he might do if he heard, he sang along, very unexpected indeed.
"Finn? Is that you?" she says hesitantly as she presses her ear to the wall.
"No," he says, making her giggle a little, there was something oddly sweet and insecure in that 'no.'"
"You're still awake," she says through her amused smile.
"Um, yeah," he says. "I was just working."
"You were singing,"
"I don't think so," he says making her giggle again.
"It's really hard to hear you, do you mind of I come over there for a second? I wanted to talk to you about something."
"Um, yeah," he stammers. "You can come over."
She grabs the plate of cookies on her way out and makes her way next door.
He smiles nervously as he opens the door for her, and she smiles back.
"I made you these," she says, handing them the cookies, and he smiles a little wider and she notices the dimples in his cheeks and it makes her blush a little.
"You didn't have to," he says. "But thank you."
She walks past him then and he shuts the door.
"So, can't sleep huh?" he says as he places the plate of cookies on the table.
"Why do you ask?" she says a bit nervously, and he simply shrugs.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" He says, sitting down and taking a bite of cookie.
"Oh yes, I was just wondering about... um, locksmiths." she says, saying the first thing that comes to mind. "I wanted to know if you know of any good ones."
"Um, yeah," he says. "I know a guy, I can get you his number, he does other stuff too... not just locks." she thinks he sounds nervous about something, what could he possibly be nervous about? It's not her is it? "These are really good," he adds quietly about the cookie.
"Thank you," she says. "My dad taught me, he was an ACLU lawyer but he quit to open a bakery, I used to help out sometimes as a kid."
"That's cool," he says. She sits across from him then and gives him a searching look, she doesn't mean too, but there's just something about his face that requires study, so many little details that keep coming to her attention, and she wants to count his freckles with her fingers. He looks away nervously, taking another bite of cookie.
"Finn?" she says quietly, and he looks her in the eye again in response. "What happened to your leg? If you don't mind my asking."
An odd look reaches his face, and she thinks it might be fear. "Um... I guess..." He trails off and looks down again, putting the last bit of cookie into his mouth. "I guess it sort of got away from me."
"How do you mean?" she says, knitting her brow in confusion. and at that he sighs deeply and bends down, reaching for his pantleg, and he hesitates a little before pulling it up. Without meaning to she puts a hand over her mouth at the sight of the prosthesis, she hadn't looked closely enough to realize that his sock covered foot wasn't exactly a normal shape.
"It was a land mine," he explains, rolling his pant leg down again. "There was a kid in the field and I just... I had to get him out of there," he explains. "He was fine but..." he trails off again and she nods.
"Iraq?" she guesses.
"Afghanistan," he corrects. "I got back two years ago."
"I'm sorry," she says quietly, and she really is. She wants to reach out and put her hand over his, it's what she would do whenever one of her dads was upset about something. As she does she halfway expects him to pull it away, but he doesn't, he just gives her another nervous, dimpled half smile. She likes the feel of his hands, the agile fingers she's wanted to touch since he fixed her shower.
"Rachel, can I ask you something?" he says.
"Sure," she replies.
"Are you afraid to sleep in your apartment?"
She looks down sheepishly and moves her hand away from his. "Of course not, don't be silly. I'm a modern woman Finn, not some helpless damsel in distress that can't handle a little adversity. I mean... where are you going?"
She's getting rather tired of him getting up and leaving without a word, she thinks as he disappears into his bedroom. She wonders if she should leave but then he emerges once again, a pillow and blanket in his arms and sets them on the couch.
"You, know if you want." he says. "I'm not a psycho, I promise."
"No, Finn it's really okay, you've already done enough." she says, thinking that he surprises her more and more with each passing moment.
"I't's really not a big deal, you have to sleep right?" he says as if it really isn't a big deal.
She exhales in defeat, she knows he's right she doesn't stand a chance of getting any sleep tonight after what happened, she nods once and gets up to head for his couch.
"By the way," she says. "You sing beautifully."
"Thanks," he replies. "But that wasn't me."
"Sure," she says and she shuts her eyes.