Author's Note: Here is the next chapter I promised. I wrote it fairly quickly so I'm not sure how much I like it. But the plot is there, so it works. I'm hoping to start something tomorrow and have it done by Sunday. Thank you for staying with me! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

The cab comes to a sputtering stop at the steps of a tall concrete building, with wide windows and balconies only large enough for a plant. Rain is still pelting the streets and people, it's the kind of day New Yorker's complain about.

He pays the cabbie, giving him a small tip for getting here so quickly. The duffle bag on his shoulder is heavy, but what might happen, now that's he's here, weighs more heavily. He pat's the inside pocket of his jacket, letters he never sent. If she won't talk to him, he'll leave these.

Stepping up to the front of the building he eyes the set of buttons, Kurt and Rachel live on the fifth floor. Pressing it, he waits. One more time, still no answer. He's ready to call a cab, leave the letters in her mail box, when someone comes through the door. Catching it with his foot, he heads upstairs.

Their door has an ominous presence. He makes it across that threshold and it's all up to how she might respond. Knocking, he waits for it to slide open, silently praying it's Kurt, if anything for his forgiving nature.

The room beyond is silent, no footsteps or shouts of "I'm coming!"

"I don't think anyone's home. That Rachel girl had some kind of party to go to."

It's a neighbor, a girl about six foot, perfect complexion, probably a model.

"Do you know where?"

"As far as I know it's at that bar all those Broadway freaks go too."

"Okay, thanks for your help."

He debates leaving his bag outside the door, there's nothing too important in it. But then he remembers he's not in Lima and slings it back over his shoulder.

The subway gets him there quicker and cheaper than any cab would. He thinks if he lived here, he'd have a story for every day. That's the kind of place New York is.

Callbacks is filled to the brim with people, all with glasses of champagne and black tie attire. He looks out of place here, with his tattered jeans and polo from high school.

Until he sees her. And then it doesn't matter.

She looks different, in her tight black dress and heels that would bring her to his chest. But if he tries to envision the Rachel he knew, she wouldn't fit in either.

Kurt is next to her, wearing a sequined jacket and talking to some blonde woman.

He somehow makes it farther into the bar, intent on getting her attention, and is about halfway until it happens.

There's some guy next to her, with his hand on her waist, sending whispers through her ear. He's older, much older.

A hand falls on his shoulder.

"Finn!? What are you doing here? Does the Army know?"

"Kurt, who is that? With Rachel."

"Oh, that's Greg, he's this hotshot director for NYADA's Fall production. Went to Julliard at fifteen and has won more awards than I can count on my hands. Rachel says he's a genius."

Rachel hasn't seen him yet, her attention turned on the director. She's laughing at something he said, and he wants to run. This person in front of him, isn't Rachel. Not anymore.

But he's here, and maybe if he makes his presence known, some trigger will go off, and there she'll be, just as he remembered.

"I think I'll go say hi."

"Finn, I don't –"

Kurt's failed warning doesn't reach him. His feet move him through the crowd. And then he's in front of her, her back to him.

Instead of feeling him behind her, like she used too, she brings her head towards the director, and kisses him.

His eye's burn, but the need to collapse prevents his fist from clenching. He's not angry.

Deciding that watching the scene in front of him is too much, he bolts. The person he thought was his end all be all has chosen a different path, one that leaves him at the start, waving goodbye.

As he's running through the rain, every memory of them flashes in his eyes. He always thought this only happened when experiencing death.

She'd forgotten about him, something he swore somewhere in their relationship she promised. Yes he broke her heart, leaving her like he did, but should she have held on for a little longer?

That's the question that looms over his head as he stops running, hails a cab, and waves New York and Rachel, goodbye.

The party is nothing like she expected. There are only a few people she knows and because she's underage, the bar tender gave her some of that fake grape wine kids drink on Thanksgiving. Her dress is too tight and the shoes Kurt forced her into are killing her.

Greg has been smiling and referencing inside jokes with his Julliard buddies all night. She feels out of place next to him, until he whispers how beautiful she looks in her ear. This relationship isn't love she knows that, but Greg will help her find her way. And then, well, she has much better hopes for her future.

"Can I get you another one?"

She eyes her glass, before tossing the last of its contents.

"Yes, thank you."

A hand comes to rest on her waist, Greg's musty cologne wafts into her nose. She hates it.

"Hello darling, having fun?"

"Of course, just getting a refill."

She kisses him then, because she's supposed to. It feels fake. His lips against hers.

There's a sudden commotion behind her. It's Kurt.

"Rachel I need to talk to you, ALONE."

She sees his eyes glance toward Greg, Kurt's never liked him.

"Could you excuse us for a second, I'll be right back."

Following Kurt through the crowd and into a back room, she's prepared for another "You're too good for him" lecture.

"Okay Kurt, I get it you hate Greg, but really once you get to know him, he's not-"

"This has nothing to do with him. You're not going to believe this, but, Finn was just here."

"Here as in New York? Or here as in this bar?"

"Both."

"What?! Where is he now?"

"I saw him go over to talk to you, and then he bolted. It's not hard to figure out why."

"He probably saw Greg and I kiss, oh God what am I going to do?"

"You're going to leave him alone."

"What? Why? I have to talk to him."

"This is going to break him. More than sending you to New York. If you contact him, it's just going to make things worse. Promise me you won't?"

"Kurt you know I can't-"

"Promise me."

"Fine, I promise."

"Okay good, now I'm going to leave you to get yourself together. And Rachel, this is what's best for Finn. I may not be Greg's biggest fan, but you need to move on. If Greg helps you, than well, that's alright."

The door shuts behind him, leaving her alone.

Taking out her phone she dials the familiar number. She's never been so nervous and afraid.

It rings six times before going to voice mail.

"Finn, it's me, Rachel. Kurt said you were here, in New York. If you saw what I think you saw, then yes, I've moved on. Greg is what I need. But I want you to know that I'm glad you're safe. Just, take care of yourself. Goodbye."

It's not what she meant to say, but maybe Kurt's right, sending Finn on his way, it's better.

Turning off her phone she throws in into her clutch and heads back to the party, and Greg.

AN/2:So how was it? Terrible? Flashbacks are tricky but I think I got the voices right. Stay tuned!