Chapter Seven: Come As You Are
Come as you are, as you were,
As I want you to be
As a friend, as a friend,
As an old enemy
Mercedes and Matt
They got down to the motel as the fire engines arrived. Matt parked in the road, out of the way, before getting out and watching, his hands on top of his head. He had his wallet and credit cards on him but everything else he'd brought with him was in the room that was now blazing. He nearly cried when he thought about his computer and everything on it.
Mercedes followed him out and stood by him quietly. She heard him swallow a sob. She laid her hand on his arm, stroking it up and down. It was a gesture that had comforted her babies and it had comforted Justin. Matt appeared not to notice or, at least, he didn't shake her off.
They stood watching for some time, seeing the firemen and women turn their hoses on the flames. Mercedes looked over at some of the other bystanders and was surprised to see Rachel and Finn. Rachel was wearing the same stricken look as Matt and Finn just looked worried. Rachel couldn't have been staying here, surely, Mercedes thought. She dismissed the idea, nearly laughing out loud at the idea of it.
Eventually Matt turned to look at her.
"I'd better get you home," he said with a sigh. "I seem to remember offering hours ago."
Mercedes smiled. "You better get us home. You're staying with me at my parents' house."
Matt started to protest, saying he could find another motel.
"Hell to the naw," Mercedes declared with some of the spark Matt remembered from high school. "I am a good Christian woman and I will not let a person in need wander the streets at night. You are coming with me and there will be no argument."
Mercedes didn't actually add "Hmpf" at the end of her dictate but Matt would have sworn on a stack of bibles that she did, so strong was the implication. He watched her march to the sports car, wrench open the door and drop herself down on the seat, for all the world a woman wronged. Matt shook his head and laughed softly to himself. He'd already lost his stuff. He reckoned he'd lose something even more dear if he resisted her any further. He meekly climbed in and started the engine before looking over at her.
"Are you mad at me?"
Mercedes laughed out loud.
"No," she finally said, "I'm not mad at you. Sometimes I forget that I'm talking to adults and not naughty boys with their fingers in the cookie jar." She paused before adding, "Seriously, you can have a bed for the night. Well, actually, you can't, it'll have to be the couch, but it's the least I can do."
Matt nodded and set off with Mercedes giving him directions as he needed them. It only took ten minutes. Inside the house, Matt was introduced to Mercedes' parents who sympathised with his plight and joined their daughter in insisting he stay the night. They apologised for having to put him on the sofa bed. Mercedes and their grandchildren were occupying the spare rooms. Matt was quick to reassure them that he would be fine and to show his gratitude for their generosity.
Mercedes' mother wanted to hear about the reunion and, over a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen, he described the event. Mercedes had disappeared somewhere – to check on her kids, he guessed – and Mr. Jones was folding out the sofa bed. Her curiosity satisfied and the bed made, the Jones' retired for the night, bidding Matt a good rest. He heard them say good night to Mercedes on the stairs and turned as she came into the room. She was holding a pair of pyjamas.
"Um, these were Justin's," she said slowly. "He kept them here for our trips to Lima."
She held them out tentatively. Matt could see how much she was affected by the prospect of someone else wearing her husband's clothes. He reached out but instead of taking them, he folded her arm back towards her body, leaving her holding the pyjamas against her chest.
"It's okay, Mercedes. I'm a boxers man and I promise they don't have holes in them."
Mercedes giggled, ignoring the tears welling up in her eyes. She nodded in gratitude and turned to leave him in peace. She suddenly turned again to face him.
"Oh, I forgot to say that there's a glassful of brand new toothbrushes in the downstairs bathroom there," pointing to a door. "Dad's a dentist so he keeps a stock of them for every visitor. There's lots of toothpaste too. Go mad."
She grinned before leaning up and kissing Matt on the cheek. "Thank you for making a difficult evening pleasurable."
Matt watched her go, startled by the kiss. He felt himself blush. He shook his head and explored teeth paradise.
Upstairs, after Mercedes undressed and washed, she picked up the pyjamas again, clutching them against her chest. She lay down on her bed with them and thought about Justin. Every so often, she saw Matt's face. It didn't even occur to her that she never saw Sam's.
Finn and Rachel
"No, no, no," Rachel was crooning softly.
Finn wondered why she was so affected. It wasn't like she had lost anything she couldn't replace easily. He was ready to dump her at the nearest hotel as soon as she was ready to go. As he waited, he took the opportunity to have his first really good look at her in the light of the flames. She was still beautiful but he knew that already. It was hard to avoid pictures of her, footage of her, anything of her. He was more curious to see what changes there had been. Her skin was still clear and smooth. He was damned if he could see a wrinkle, not even a laugh line. She hadn't had a nose job so he didn't expect her to go for chemical cushioning or a face lift but he was pretty naïve about that sort of stuff. Maybe it was the light. Unlike his, her hair retained its rich darkness, still as shiny and soft as he remembered. Her body – that he could see a change in. It was fuller and yet even slimmer in a way he couldn't work out. All he knew was that studying Rachel's body was doing him no good at all and he turned his attention to the fire. Eventually, she addressed him.
"Finn, I-"
Getting proficient at cutting her off, Finn rushed to say, "It's okay, Rachel. I'll take you to a hotel, get you settled for the night."
She shook her head but didn't respond, instead climbing into his car. He sighed and followed her action, putting the keys in the ignition and leaning back.
"What's wrong, Rachel? Were there things in there that you can't replace?"
Rachel shook her head vigorously.
Finn was perplexed but decided to avoid interrogating her. He started the engine and steered the car to the Wingate. It took about twenty minutes, all driven in silence. He was about to pull in when he stopped, his eyes narrowing at the scene at the front of the hotel. There was a crowd gathered and Finn could see lights and glints from cameras.
"Shit!"
Rachel, in a world of her own, looked up at him in surprise and then at the view.
"Oh, no," she uttered in frustration. Finn backed out, driving away quickly.
"It's just as well. I left my credit cards in my room."
"That was dumb," Finn said, then he laughed. "Not that I wouldn't have paid for it but I really can't see the Wingate turning away Rachel Berry."
"Maybe not," she agreed, "but the price would have been a bigger pack of vultures than that."
He glanced at her and saw her shiver. He frowned.
"Well, the question now is what to do with you."
Rachel was recovering her spirits. "What do you mean what do to with me? I'm not a child, you-"
Finn held up a finger and Rachel glared at him. He started to talking to himself.
"Hey, Mom?"
Rachel jumped as Carole Hudson-Hummel's voice boomed through the car.
"Hey, baby," she said, much to Rachel's delight. Finn shot her a warning look not to laugh. Carole continued, "How was the reunion? Did you see Rachel? Kurt called and he said-"
Rachel noted that Finn was as rude to his mother as to her. She folded her arms across her chest in feminist solidarity.
"Mom, Mom, Rachel's with me. Her-"
Carole's well placed "Oh!" told Rachel where her son had learned his habits. This amused Rachel. Carole's changed tone did not.
"Are you all right, Finn?" Carole was concerned.
"We're fine, Mom. Rachel's motel has burned down and the paps have the Wingate surrounded. Can you take her in for the night?"
"What? No," Carole cried. Rachel jerked her head to the side, unwilling to let Finn she how disappointed she was that Carole hated her so.
Carole, unaware of the emotional turmoil she was causing, carried on, "Your brother called and has already told Sam he could stay overnight for some brunch tomorrow, plus Puck is here." She added with a big sigh, "As usual."
She took a deep breath. "Honey, I'd love to see Rachel but I have a house full of horrible men who take up a lot of space. I have nowhere to put all of them, never mind Rachel! I know she's small but I just can't do it."
Finn was laughing and Rachel, relieved to hear that Carole didn't hate her after all, smiled.
"It's okay, Mom. We'll work something out. I'll talk to you in the morning."
"What? Sorry, darling. George distracted me. I think the boys are here." There was a pause and then they heard, "Oh, God, not Blaine as well!"
"Night, Mom." Finn shouted to be heard over the sudden din of voices and disconnected the call.
Rachel looked up at him curiously. "So, what are you going to do with me?"
Finn, still smiling from the call, glanced over at her, suddenly becoming serious. He sighed.
"I guess I'll have to take you home."
Quinn and Santana
"You have got to be kidding me!"
Santana Lopez could not believe the scene in front of her. The taxi driver had refused to go any closer, citing risk of injury to pedestrians. Santana snorted but gave up her attempts to persuade him to mow down the crowd. Sending him off without a tip and a flea in his ear, she stood with Quinn and gazed on the rabble, gathered, she presumed, for the great Rachel Berry.
Santana's smoking body had a lot to do with genes. It had more to do with hours at the gym, hours that made her strong as well as hot. It was with this strength that Santana shouldered and elbowed her way through the mob. She had her arm around Quinn, shielding her less aggressive friend from the bodies, limbs and technological paraphernalia surrounding them. Finally achieving the entrance of the hotel, Santana turned and spat out some unfriendly advice as Quinn slipped gratefully into the foyer.
"If one of you touches me or my friend again, or disturbs us in any way, I will go all Lima Heights on your asses and then I'll sue what's left until you have nothing but your dicks. Then I'll cut those off!" She added a few choice phrases in Spanish before finishing with, "Get out of here!"
Santana wheeled around and joined Quinn in the hotel.
"You okay?" she asked Quinn, unhappy with her paleness.
"I'm fine," Quinn replied, pleased to be out of the ruck. "Let's go up to our room. I need a shower in the worst way."
They made their way up to their suite. While Quinn took a long shower, Santana wondered if Rachel was even staying at the hotel. She figured that however much Santana might argue the point, Rachel had far more pull than she and Quinn combined and that if Rachel was at the Wingate, she'd be in this suite. Damn her, Santana thought, it always ends up being all about Rachel Berry. She should have destroyed her when she had the chance.
Pouring herself a drink and sinking into the soft cushions of one of the oversized armchairs, Santana sighed. She recognized her own hyperbole for what it was. She she didn't hate Rachel. If nothing else, the evening had reminded her that she was happy in glee club, really happy. She loved performing and, despite how truly idiotic and irritating they could be, she loved every other person in the club. She reckoned after high school that she would do what Rachel did, go into show business but one look at the prospects, and more importantly at the pay scales, convinced her to reconsider her options. She remembered Schu telling her she'd be a natural as a lawyer and that was a sort of performing but with much better benefits. She contacted the University of Louisville and confirmed that she would be taking up her scholarship there and that she could do pre-Law. She tucked her mom's money away, saving it for Law School.
Quinn wrapped in a complimentary towelling robe designed to fit someone twice her width and breadth, walked into the lounge, poured her own drink and settled down on the couch, drawing her legs under her.
"Are we staying?" she asked.
"What?" Santana was still in her own thoughts and was momentarily lost.
"The brunch. Here, tomorrow. Are we staying for it?"
"Do you want to?"
Quinn was pensive. "I honestly don't know."
Santana stared at her friend for a moment. "This isn't about the brunch, is it?"
Quinn looked into her glass and downed the remains in one. She rose to get herself another drink. Once she resettled on the couch, she shook her head.
"No. Yes. I don't know. She won't be at the brunch. Seeing Beth later, or rather, whether to see Beth is a separate question. I've been like a yoyo all night. I told Puck I wouldn't meet her and then I told him I might and-"
She stopped to point to her own head with a circling finger.
"Crazy."
"Okay," Santana said firmly, "let's be analytical and take this one step at a time. We can leave first thing in the morning. Do you want to do that?"
"No," Quinn said, sure of herself. "Joe's coming for breakfast."
"Joe! God Squad kid with dreads?" Santana laughed merrily, unable to imagine why this, of all things Quinn could do tomorrow, that this was the thing she was certain about.
"He's the Reverend Hart now. Talking to him might help me sort myself out."
Santana stopped mocking. She knew Quinn took religion a lot more seriously than she did.
"Okay, so that answers one question. Next, what about the brunch? Do you want to sit around for a few hours staring at the maws of the losers we left behind and worse," she added with a shudder, "watch Hudson eat?"
As Santana posed the question, she knew that she was loading the dice unfairly and in contradiction to how she actually felt. She wanted to stay for the brunch. She thought it would be fun for no other reason than to see if any of the dimwits had learned any decent retorts to her wit in the intervening years.
Quinn nodded slowly, ignoring the bias in the question. "I think I do. There were some people I didn't get to talk to, like Mercedes and Finn. And Rachel. What about you?"
Santana considered continuing her assigned role of devil's advocate but gave it up.
"Me, too," she said. "It is stunning that I enjoyed myself tonight, but I did. It took my mind off my desperate need to get laid."
Quinn smiled, familiar with Santana's complaint of her absent partner. She was about to respond when the phone rang.
"Who the hell's calling at this time of night?" Santana demanded as she jumped up to answer. "Yes," she barked, hoping it was one of the idiots downstairs so she could make good her threat.
Quinn heard Santana identify Puck in a surprised tone.
"What's the matter Sitting Jew? Don't you have your own women to bootie call?"
Santana listened for a moment before holding the phone out to Quinn.
"He wants to talk to you."
Quinn hesitated and sighed. She rose and walked towards her bedroom.
"I'll take it in here," she said.
Santana waited for Quinn to pick up before slowly setting down the receiver. She refreshed her drink and returned to her armchair, legs dangling out the side. She lifted one leg, examining it critically. It was smooth and it was perfect. She leaned forward to stroke it with her hand, bringing it higher and higher before stopping. She sprawled back into the armchair.
"Damn, I do need to get laid."
Quinn returned after ten minutes or so. Santana looked over at her expectantly but Quinn just shrugged. Santana decided to summarise.
"So, we're staying for breakfast, we're staying for brunch, we're having a mutual vomit session to keep these hot bodies and then…?"
"Then, we'll decide what to do next," Quinn said firmly.
"Okay then," Santana muttered.
"I thought you said you enjoyed yourself," Quinn said, noting her mood had soured in the time she'd been on the phone.
"It's nothing," Santana said, "I miss Jane, that's all."
"Call her," Quinn said simply.
"What? I can't. It's like," she checked her watch, "it's like four in the morning there."
"Well then she should be home, shouldn't she?"
Santana pondered this. She had no reason to not trust Jane and she'd never called her in the middle of the night before. Then again, she hadn't felt so strong a need to hear her voice before either.
"She'll kill me," Santana said slowly. Quinn just smiled at her.
Santana stuck out her tongue and raced out of the chair into her room. Quinn waited placidly for her to return. It was a long wait, enough for Quinn to be quietly drunk when Santana returned, her face beaming.
"Better?" she asked.
"Heaps," said Santana. "She wasn't too mad at me because she'd only just got to bed. She's been at the opera all night, some five hour extravaganza with fat men and women in helmets. It was Anna Daniels. Have you heard of her?"
Quinn, who had had to spend years cultivating an interest in the finer arts to show her face in the Hamptons, nodded.
"Jane got to meet her and her partner Charlie, short for Charlotte, so she was going on and on about them. They're married, of course." Santana pulled a face. "It's Jane's way of trying to wear me down."
"Is it working?" Quinn asked casually.
"Maybe," Santana replied, grinning.
Rachel and Finn
Finn pulled up outside a moderately-sized, well-kept two-storey house in one of the nicer parts of Lima. They weren't far from the Hudson-Hummels she reckoned. He got out of the car without a word, glanced in every direction and then walked around the hood to open the door for her.
"Thank you," she said quietly, delving into her memories for what used to be her excellent manners.
Finn outpaced her to the front door of the house, opening it and waiting for her to catch up. His apparent impatience spurred her into a trot. He closed the door quickly behind them.
Rachel didn't have much time to take in the house because the girl was descending the stairs, staring at her with some hostility.
"What's she doing her?" Ray demanded, not bothering to hide her antipathy.
Finn swung round. "Rachel Hudson, you will apologize right now!"
Both Rachels stared at him, paler than before. Ray shouted back, "The hell I will," and ran back up the stairs, ending her defiance with the slam of her bedroom door.
Finn turned to Rachel. "I'm sorry, my daughter doesn't usually," he paused to raise his voice so it would travel up the stairs, "act like a toddler!" He resumed normal volume to add, "I'll go talk to her."
As he mounted the first step, Rachel placed her hand on his arm.
"Leave her, Finn, give her a few minutes. I'm fine. Trust me, I've had worse."
"Yeah? Okay, well, she needs to come round soon because she'll be able to give you what you need for the night and stuff, so…" He trailed off, looking down at his feet.
"Maybe I could have a cup of tea or something," Rachel said.
"Yeah, sure," Finn said. "Where are my manners? This way."
Finn led Rachel to the kitchen and busied himself making her a cup of tea. He grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge and indicated the kitchen door. A little uncertain, she opened it. The house was surrounded by a porch. She followed it round to the front where there was a bench, a small table and a swinging chair. She giggled and leaped into the chair, nearly spilling her tea in the process. Finn watched and then settled on the bench, staring out intently at the darkness.
"What are you looking at?" she asked curiously.
"Nothing," Finn said, taking a sip of his beer and refusing to look at her.
Rachel wanted nothing more than to connect with this man but she didn't know how. She didn't think that the past was the way to go. It was too painful and riddled with too many mistakes to have to admit to before she was ready. She was searching desperately for a topic but Finn beat her to it.
"So," he said, "do you usually run around with a mob like that?"
Rachel laughed more in relief that the silence had ended than as any kind of acknowledgment that rampaging crowds were inherently amusing.
"No," she said. "My coterie is usually made up of minders, agents, hairdressers, make-up people, you know. It forms this wall that shields me."
And suffocates me, she thought. She didn't think Finn needed to hear the whinges of the rich and famous.
Finn stayed serious. "Kidnapping must be a worry."
Rachel dropped her head. "Yeah," she said softly, "it is, but I try not to think about it."
"You should," Finn said, becoming furious. "You must have been mad! What possessed you to come here without protection? Do you have any idea what could have happened? You were really being stupid!"
"And yet I'm fine," she said stubbornly, tired of being told off. "I'm here, I'm perfectly well," pausing as she remembered her things. "I'm down a Gucci bag, a few clothes, a pair of pyjamas and some product. I'll have them replaced tomorrow. And you don't get to call me stupid!"
Both were panting slightly and took sips of their drinks to collect themselves.
Rachel tried to explain. "The thing is-." She stopped and started again. "Most of them are fine. They'd never hurt me. They're either fans who just want a moment or a picture or an autograph, or they're photographers who are just trying to earn a living. Being a performer, it goes with the territory. I got comfortable with that a long time ago. They are just a problem when in an uncontrolled mass."
Finn grunted and took another sip of his beer. The silence stretched again and Rachel thought she heard a floorboard creak. She put it down to Finn sending her thoughts down scary places. She became doubly determined to brush off his concerns.
"There was one guy," Finn finally continued, "in that crowd, he didn't look right."
"Oh, that was Ben," Rachel said airily. "He's my number one stalker."
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Rachel, you have a stalker?" He turned his head to stare at her in horror.
"I have many stalkers," she said calmly, "he's just the most dangerous one."
Finn looked about to explode. His hand tightened so much on the bottle in his hand that she thought for sure that it would at the very least. She relented.
"Finn! It's okay. I have a restraining order out on him and I'll get my lawyer to report the breach tomorrow. He followed me or found out I was here and couldn't resist, I guess. He'll be back in jail soon enough. And he wouldn't hurt me either. He just, he just wants to take me somewhere private and do things to me that I really, really don't want him to do."
She stole a glance at Finn, feeling a little thrilled that he was so concerned about her. He didn't look appeased although he had returned to staring out into the night. She wasn't sure if she imagined that he was doing it even more intently than before.
"How did they know you were here, that's what I don't get," Finn said after another long pause.
Rachel was sure she heard something this time, something like a gasp. Finn was starting to get her wound up and she looked around a little fearfully.
Finn didn't move but spoke out, raising his voice. "You know what they say about eavesdroppers."
Ray stepped onto porch, her head dropped in shame.
"Um," she started, "Rachel, I'm so, so sorry."
Rachel looked up at her, getting her first good look at Finn's progeny. Ray must have been nearly six foot, she thought, and she was stunning. Of course, she would be, Rachel thought ruefully, casting a sidelong glance at Finn's features. He was ignoring both of them to continue his sentinel.
"It's okay," Rachel said graciously, "I'd hate to have my home invaded by strangers too."
"N-No, not that," Ray stammered out clumsily, "I mean, yes, I'm sorry for that but…"
Ray trailed off, casting a pleading look at her dad for help. He refused to respond. Ray took a deep breath.
"It was me. I'm the one who alerted the press and sent the word out on the 'net after you sang. I wanted you to go away for…"
She trailed off, glancing at her dad before continuing.
"It's my fault that that stalker is here and-and I'm really, really sorry." She stayed standing but crumpled nonetheless. As she waited for the stroke of the guillotine, she was astonished to hear Rachel laugh.
"It wasn't you," Rachel said gently. "Ben lives in Fort Lauderdale so he's been tracking me on his own. As for the rest, well messages were going out from the minute I walked in. I wouldn't be surprised if I got spotted at the motel either. It's hard to put a baseball cap on when you've spent an hour on your hair. You would have been a drop in a might big ocean. Please, don't worry about it." She cast another look at Finn. "You've got your dad to do that for you."
Finn stood and walked over to his daughter. He kissed the top of her head and said, "Ray, maybe now you could take Rachel up to your room and sort her out something for tonight and tomorrow. She needs clothes and, you know, girl stuff."
Ray nodded sheepishly and gave her father a peck on the cheek. As Rachel followed Ray into the house, she looked back to see Finn return to his place on the bench.
Mike and Tina
As soon as she walked in the house, Tina twirled past Mike's outstretched arm and went to find the right music. A while ago, she had compiled a few selections with a view to making more of an effort to capitalize on the popularity of a revival of Dancing with the Stars and attract more adults to their studio. With Mike and Tina coming from stage backgrounds, when they'd first started they had concentrated on teaching kids modern, tap and jazz, and the like, earning a reputation with parents, a reputation consolidated by their work with the glee club. During one of their business focus sessions, they'd decided to make a strong push to add an older market with ballroom and the collections were part of Tina's preparation.
People often believed, wrongly, that ballroom dancing was the exclusive realm of classical music. That wasn't true as avid watchers of dance programmes using modern music had proved. Tina's selection had to take account both of that fallacy and the fact that they deliberately wanted to appeal to older couples. She therefore focused on the second half of the twentieth century for music that would be nostalgic for the intended audience.
Mike followed her into the main room, having no idea what his wife was up to now. He'd been confounded all night but he recognised that she was restless and that he needed to do something to remind her that she was loved. That's why he'd suggested the dance to Will and Rachel. He watched her fiddle and then raised his eyebrows as the gentle strains of Patti Page's "Tennessee Waltz" filled the room.
Tina turned back to him, stepping into the arms he automatically held out in the closed position that begins every waltz. They danced, not taking their eyes off each other as they rose and fell to the 3/4 rhythm. Patti Page was replaced by the Commodores and the Eagles and they didn't pause, gliding around the room, around the house, losing themselves in the music and movement. It was Journey's "Open Arms" that gave them pause. They stood together, smiling up at each other at how the band continued to follow them in their lives. Mike bent his head to kiss his darling wife gently.
Tina wasn't interested in gentle. She opened her mouth wide, hungering for his tongue and his touch. Mike responded, increasing the pressure, his left arm pulling her hand down to behind her back so he could press her to him more intimately. She in turn trailed her right hand to the back of his neck, lightly but firmly encouraging his deep exploration of her mouth. They stood back after a couple of moments, regaining their breath.
The music was still playing and Tina started to dance to it on her own, singing along softly with the words. Mike folded himself down to a crouch to watch her. She gradually took over the vocal from the recording, ending the song in strong voice.
"Rachel Berry has nothing on you," Mike said, meaning it.
She looked down at her husband of twenty odd years, knowing it wasn't true but also knowing that he believed it was. She sank down to her knees, the skirt billowing around her and this time, she was gentle, nibbling softly at his lips. Mike reached around behind her to unzip the dress. The bodice fell away immediately revealing a corset that Mike never knew she had. He nearly did what since high school he'd called "a Finn" as he crushed her to him.
Hours later, naked and thirsty, Mike went to get them some water. The sexual gymnastics had moved from the lounge to the bedroom and both were sated with peaceful exhaustion. He came back with the water and his phone.
"Huh," Mike vocalised, looking closely at the tiny screen.
"What is it?" she asked curiously.
"It's a text from Puck. Rachel's throwing a brunch at the Wingate tomorrow for all the glee club members from her years."
He looked up at Tina. She was sprawled across the bed, her arms out flung, with a sheet covering only as far as her hips. She was squirming, her body luxuriating in the feel of the cool cotton on her hot skin. Her hair was draped over her breasts, moving as her body moved, showing brief glimpses of firm, dark nubs at their centre.
"Does it mean I have to get out of this bed before Monday?" She pouted.
Mike chuckled and with the exhaustion forgotten, he tossed the phone on the floor before throwing himself down and atop his beloved and very sexy wife.
Rachel
Rachel looked around Ray's room curiously as Ray fumbled through a drawer. Rachel spent most of her time in her New York apartment but she also had a big house in LA. She'd once tried to recreate her old bedroom in it in a fit of nostalgia. The effort had failed. It looked silly in a California mansion. Looking around her now, she realised that this was the first time she'd been in anything that approximated her old room in a long time.
"Ah ha!"
Rachel nearly jumped out of her skin at Ray's exuberant shout of triumph.
"I knew I still had them!"
She was waving a pair of pyjamas over her head. They looked like a child's and they were covered in little pink bunnies.
Hearing no response, Ray turned her head, worried that she'd offended Rachel. She saw Rachel's eyes were dark.
"Oh," said Ray, "I'm so sorry. Of course, they're terrible. You couldn't wear these! What was I thinking?"
Ray brought her arm down to toss the reprehensible garments to the corner of the room. Rachel rushed forward to still her.
"No, no," she cried. "They're perfect. I had a pair just like them when I was fourteen. Oh," she added, waving her hand in front of her eyes, "I've gone all misty-eyed."
"I was fourteen too," Ray said fondly, stroking them lightly. "They are still too big for you. I was kinda tall as a kid but they're the oldest pair I have."
Rachel, sensing that Ray was getting worried again, put her hand on the pyjamas, caught Ray's eyes and held them.
"They are perfect. Thank you."
Ray nodded quickly, feeling a little emotional herself at Rachel's sincerity.
Rachel took the pyjamas and ran to the bathroom to change. She emerged, carefully, a few minutes later, looking down at herself in mock dismay. She held out her arms and balanced on one leg kicking out with the other to show the result. The arms hung down over her hands. The legs of the pyjamas gave Rachel booties with three inches to spare.
They both burst out laughing, Rachel so hard that she nearly lost her balance.
After turning up the sleeves a few times, causing cuffs so thick that Rachel could feel the drag, Ray crouched down to do the same for the pyjama pant legs.
"Don't worry," said Rachel, "I can hold those up. I have to do it with dresses all the time."
She demonstrated, pulling up the legs from the side of each thigh with her hands. She started to parade around the room like a grand dame in a ballroom dress, nodding at imaginary dignitaries. Ray watched in amusement.
"It must be amazing," Ray said enviously, "all the parties and the people you meet."
Rachel thought about it for a moment before answering. "It can be," she said slowly, "but it can also be boring and you just want to run out and never stop running."
Rachel shrugged, settling down on the window seat in Ray's room.
"And of course," Ray added sadly, "you have to deal with stalkers and stuff."
"Sweetheart, it really wasn't your doing. Stop blaming yourself. Besides, I get that you were protecting your dad. I hurt him. You have every right to hate me."
"No," Ray said, shaking her head. "Uncle Kurt was right."
"Kurt? Kurt's not too happy with me," Rachel said, "and he's not wrong."
"Well, it's Granddad really. It's one of his sermons."
Rachel frowned, unable to follow Ray. She saw Rachel's confusion.
"Granddad has these little sermons, pieces of wisdom he likes to tell me. One of his favourites is that you can't hate someone you don't know, that you haven't earned the right. He says you have to know them first and then you can hate them if you want. He must have taught Uncle Kurt the same lesson because I-"
Ray paused with embarrassment.
"I told Uncle Kurt I hated you earlier today and he jumped down my throat about not knowing you."
"Ah," Rachel said. "So Kurt can hate me because he knows me but you can't." She smiled. "I think I can take comfort in that. Kurt's certainly earned the right."
"Why? What happened?" Ray knew she was being nosey but couldn't stop herself.
Rachel sighed. "I let a good friendship die. If I have any words of wisdom to share, it would be to keep your friends, whatever the cost. I wish I had."
Ray thought for a moment before saying quietly, "I don't know what went down between you and my dad and it's not my business and, for the record, I don't hate you but I don't want to see him hurt. So, whatever you're doing here, be careful, okay."
She looked up at Rachel with pleading eyes. Rachel could do nothing more than nod slowly.
Rachel looked out the window at the night sky to hide the welling of tears. It was a clear night so it was a star-filled view. Once she had control, she was able to enjoy it.
"Did you know that one of those stars is called 'Finn Hudson'? You can see it tonight."
Ray joined Rachel at the window, surprised. "Really?"
"Really," Rachel said softly. She pointed. "It's that one. I had an astronomer show me once so I'd know for sure."
"You did that, named the star, I mean?"
"No," Rachel replied, "your dad did that and whenever you need to, you can look up and know that he's always there for you and that he will always love you."
Ray said nothing but knew that Rachel wasn't talking about the "you" that was Finn's daughter. She gave Rachel a hug before making sure she had exactly the right star.
"So," Rachel said, feeling the need to lighten the mood, "you're eighteen now, any stars in your life?"
"How did you know I was eighteen? Dad told you?"
"No," Rachel tried to rush over her gaffe. Ray didn't need to know Rachel was at the hospital the day Ray was born and that it was a day burned in her memory. Nobody needed to know. "I guessed," she lied.
"Good guess."
Ray got up and started to pace her room.
"As for my stars…" She threw herself down on her bed before adding, "Why are men idiots?"
Rachel laughed. "By men, am I right in assuming one man?"
Ray let out a long, overly dramatic sigh.
"Pfftt, 'man,' that's what he thinks he is. That's the excuse he's been using for the last two years."
Rachel furrowed her brow.
"Ray, two years ago you were sixteen. If he was an adult then…"
"No, no," Ray objected quickly, "it's not like that. He's only three years older than me. It's not like he's a perv or anything."
Rachel was relieved. "So, he's what, twenty-one now?"
"Yeah. And he still won't get that we should be together. He's so damn stubborn!"
Rachel hid the smile that threatened.
"So who is this paragon of resistance to your wiles?"
"Jonathan Schuster."
Ray spat the name out like it was poison, getting angrier as she thought about him. Rachel raised an eyebrow at the name; Will's son, obviously.
"I'm eighteen now! I don't get what his problem is? I thought when he came back he'd finally… I just know what the excuse will be this time. He's going to be a doctor, he has to study, he doesn't have time…." She trailed off.
"Well, what does he actually say?" Rachel asked.
"What do you mean?" Ray said, confused.
"When you talked about it?"
Ray looked a little embarrassed. "Well, we haven't actually talked about it. Not properly. He still sees me as his little brother's best friend. He always has. Not that he admits it."
"Maybe you should talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Find out what he feels." Rachel sensed Ray's reluctance. "Sorry, I know it's not my business but for what it's worth, I learned a long time ago that you have to go after the things you want."
Ray sat up on the bed, considering this.
"You're right," she stated flatly. "I'm going to call him."
"Now?"
"Yeah," she said firmly, "now. I'm not sure when he's going back to Harvard."
"Okay," said Rachel, hoping she hadn't unleashed a hurricane, "I'll give you your privacy."
Rachel lifted the pyjama legs and made her way to the door. She looked back at Ray, now staring at her phone.
"Good luck, Rachel Hudson."
Ray looked up, "You too, Rachel Berry."
Kurt and Puck
The Hudson-Hummel residence was in uproar. Kurt and Puck arrived back with Sam and Blaine and Carole had declared herself under siege. In her sixties now, she had been enjoying the peace of having her home to herself and Burt after years of raising Finn and Kurt, and later, for much of her childhood when her dad was overseas, Ray. Puck was the occasional, well actually, pretty regular interloper to this nirvana of tranquillity, but manageable and gave the Hudson-Hummels the opportunity to proffer gentle marriage counselling. This madhouse was something else entirely.
She was somewhat reassured that Blaine would be staying at his parents' house and had only come by to torture George, a favourite occupation of her stepson's first boyfriend and only other serious relationship. She found the three of them in the den, working out how to make the couch comfortable for Sam. Their current topic on which to bicker was hair. Blaine was extolling the virtues of having luxurious curly locks through which a guy could run his hands with George remarking on the nastiness of gel on hands that needed to go elsewhere. She exited quickly, not wanting to hear more, but not before exchanging a smile with Kurt, who rolled his eyes at the antics the men he's chosen in his life.
Carole knew they wouldn't be able to make the couch in the den work. It was too small. Burt was in the garage, trying to find an old fold-out bed he'd insisted they still had. Carole was pretty sure that they'd given it away a long time ago but didn't stop his determined efforts, just in case he could pull off a miracle. She made her way to the kitchen where Sam and Puck were polishing off the last of the brownies she'd made earlier in the day.
"Mrs. H," Sam said, "honestly, I can go to a motel or something."
"No, no," Carole said, harassed but firm, "I won't hear of it, Sam. Not that it wouldn't help if some people wouldn't go home to their wives."
She glared at Puck who shuffled uncomfortably.
"I would, Mrs. H," Puck pleaded, "but I kind of had too many beers, so…"
Carole snorted and grabbed the empty plate to add to the dishwasher. Kurt, George and Blaine joined them in the kitchen, filling the room.
Kurt said with finality, "We can't do it. There's no way to make that couch into anything that resembles a bed."
"I have a great idea, Carole," Blaine announced. "Kurt can stay at my parents' place. That will free up a bed."
George said sarcastically, "Yeah, great idea. I could get to know Sam better."
Sam, not familiar with their banter or recognising the sarcasm, widened his eyes like a rabbit in headlights. Kurt put a comforting hand on his shoulder and shook his head.
Carole sighed, knowing that Blaine was just being mischievous. She giggled to herself that it would serve them all right if Blaine's bluff was called. The more she thought about it though, the more she saw a solution that could work.
"Blaine," she said sweetly, "that's a great idea."
Kurt and George threw horrified glances at her which she ignored.
"But rather than take Kurt," she went on, "will you take Puck instead please? That way, Sam can have the second guest room. Sam needs stuff we can find for him here, like some of Finn's old things. Puck's bag is packed and ready to go as he was going home tomorrow. Right, Puck?"
Puck was startled by the turn of events but took the hint.
"Sure, Mrs. H," he said meekly.
Blaine was just as flummoxed at a situation much of his own making. He was just joking but he saw that it made sense and he wasn't ungenerous.
"Absolutely, Carole," he said. "Puck, you can watch my latest show."
Puck didn't seem thrilled at the prospect. In fact, her immediate panic over, Carole observed that Puck seemed unusually reserved and realised that he had been since they'd arrived back.
"Okay," Carole commanded, "everybody out. Go watch TV or something. Kurt, can you go tell your father that he can stop searching the garage now and that he doesn't have to admit he was wrong?"
The men filed out of the kitchen. Puck was last and Carole put a hand on his arm.
"Are you okay, Puck? You seem a little quiet."
"Yeah," said Puck, "I'm fine, it's just…" He tailed off.
Carole pointed to the table, gesturing that he should sit down. She poured Puck and herself coffee and joined him at the table.
"What's going on?"
"Quinn was there."
"Quinn Fabray? That's okay, isn't it? You and Quinn always got on, you even had a-" She stopped as realisation set in. "Oh. Did something happen with Beth?"
"No," he said. "Beth couldn't make it but she'll be here tomorrow."
Puck looked up at Carole with bewildered eyes.
"Thing is," he said, "I don't know what to do. Beth wants to meet Quinn, she's just scared to tell Shelby, and Quinn, Quinn is…" he paused, searching for the right word, "confusing."
Puck relayed the events of the night before continuing on.
"I could get them together. I just don't know if I should. I can't talk to Shelby without breaking Beth's confidence. As for Quinn, I don't know what she wants, you know?"
Carole nodded and thought for a moment. Puck had never obtained any legal standing over Beth but when he married Shelby, he was every bit the father to her. The marriage had ended amicably and Shelby, who had every intention of letting Puck have access to his biological daughter anyway, had even more reason to let the relationship between father and daughter continue and grow. They explained to Beth early that Puck was her biological dad and he was present for all the birthdays and big moments in her life.
"Have you talked to Beth?" Carole asked.
"No," Puck said, shaking his head. "What if Quinn refuses to see her? I don't want to hurt Beth."
"So it depends on Quinn?"
"Yeah," he said, "I suppose it does. I should call her, right? Get a straight answer?"
"Might be a start," Carole agreed. "The den's empty now. Use the phone in there. I'll make sure no one disturbs you."
Puck got up slowly and started out of the kitchen.
"Thanks, Mom."
Carole watched him go. Puck's mother had died ten years before and she was used to standing in locus parentis with him sometimes. It doesn't make it any the less touching, she thought, wiping away whatever it was that had gotten in her eye.
Rachel and Finn
Rachel paid attention as she descended the stairs. Maybe she should roll up the legs, she thought. She was going to break her neck if she wasn't careful. Once at the bottom, she glanced through the window out to the porch. She couldn't see Finn but she could see a thin trail of smoke. She marched indignantly onto the porch as well as she could while holding up the legs of the pyjamas.
"You're smoking! That's disgusting."
Finn turned his head and took in the ridiculous sight of Rachel Berry, superstar, dressed in pink bunny pyjamas that were way too big for her. She'd dropped her hold on the legs so she could place them on her hips. He grinned. Rachel was not pleased.
"Finn! That's a terrible habit! It will kill you!"
Her voice cracked a little at the last one. Finn put out the cigarette, returned to his vigil and sighed.
"You sound just like Ray. And Kurt. And my mom."
"Well, they're right," she said stubbornly. She picked up the legs again and planted herself with greater confidence on the swinging chair, despite having to drop the legs again to do it.
"I thought you were going to bed," he said wearily.
"I was but not if you're going to sit out here and give yourself cancer when I'm gone."
Finn didn't argue and they shared the silence for a few minutes. Rachel still didn't know how to play this. To her mind, there were no impediments any more to their at least not being friends and if they could be friends again, maybe they could be more. She just had to work out how.
Her plotting was interrupted when Ray joined them. She was wearing a coat and carrying a small bag.
"Where do you think you're going," said Finn.
"I'm spending the night at the Schuster's," she said, casually, "Will said it was all right. I'm sleeping in Judy's room."
"You are not," Finn said firmly.
"Dad, I love you to pieces but I'm eighteen, you know Will and Emma will be there and that I'll be perfectly safe and that you have no reason to object."
"You may be eighteen," Finn said, "but my house, my rules."
Ray laughed. She ran over to him and kissed him on the forehead.
"I love it when you cliché."
"Ray, I'm serious. I don't want you going out tonight."
Rachel decided to ignore the fear that Finn was more concerned at being left alone with her than his daughter's plans. Ray, in the meantime, continued to fight her corner. She crouched down in front of her father.
"Dad, I have to thrash it out with Jonathan. I can't have him go back to Harvard without knowing how I feel. I've realised," she paused as she stole a glance at Rachel, "I've realised that we've never really talked about our feelings and that we need to."
Finn, catching the glance, remained unconvinced.
"Dad," Ray urged her voice low and intense. "This is important."
Finn stared at her for a moment before accepting that he was beaten. He nodded reluctantly. Ray kissed him again, more solemnly this time, before rising and running to her car.
"Bye Rachel," she yelled.
Finn and Rachel watched her pull out and drive away.
"Kids!" Finn spat out.
Rachel burst out laughing. Finn swung his head round furiously to glare at her, but as she laughed, he couldn't maintain his irritation. He started laughing too.
"You're a great dad," she said when she finally stopped.
"I'm a terrible dad," he said ruefully. "She gets her own way far too often."
"That's what good dads are for. I have two of them. I'm an expert."
Some of the ice that the two of them had been busy erecting finally breaking, Rachel took advantage. She started to tell Finn about her career. She skimmed over her earliest days and didn't mention Jesse but she told him about winning her first Tony and how scary it was making her first movie. She told him juicy gossip and anecdotes about some of the famous people she'd worked with and met. She glowed when she described meeting Barbra the first time and of what it was like singing with her.
In turn, Finn told her about the army, about helicopters and flying, the thrill of it. He told her the worries he'd had raising Ray when he was away so much, leaving her with his parents and how much of her childhood he regretted missing. He described life as the manager of a healthy business after he retired from the military, but how sometimes, he still yearned to fly.
After some time passed of easy conversation, Rachel leaned back with a semi-contented sigh, setting the seat rocking gently.
You can't relax completely, she warned herself, for now comes the hard part.
Brittany
"You have to come."
Brittany was naked. She had been in the middle of changing for bed when she remembered that partners were invited to the brunch. She'd grabbed her phone and was now trying to negotiate pleading her case, holding the phone and trying to find her nightwear, all at the same time. She was not succeeding well at any of those three things. For a talented dancer, Brittany was something of a klutz.
Brittany dropped the phone for the third time when Lady Penelope, a large cat dyed pink, rubbed herself on Brittany's bare leg. The dye job had been a total accident but Brittany had been delighted at the results.
"Lady Penelope," Brittany crooned, distracted again as a complaining voice faded away under the pillow by which the phone had landed. She picked up the cat, stroking her gently as she scolded.
"You were very naughty today, Lady Penelope. It is not appropriate for you to use the bathtub as-"
Brittany remembered the call and dropped the cat, looking for the phone. As she raised it to her ear, she continued as if there had never been an interruption.
"Besides," she argued, "You'll get to meet all of them. They were all there tonight! Can you believe it?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Brittany saw Lady Penelope padding on a garment on the floor.
"Oh," she yelled in the phone, "Lady Penelope found my nightie."
Brittany flung down the phone again to give Lady Penelope a cuddle. She grabbed the nightie and threw it over her head before returning her attention to her phone.
"Anyway, you'll come, right?"
Rachel and Finn
She didn't know if he was being obtuse or if he doing it deliberately but it seemed that every time Rachel tried to steer the conversation round to more personal territory or their feelings, Finn blocked her efforts. He never cut her off or refused to respond but he somehow seemed to always steer it back to safer waters. She knew Finn was smarter than he'd ever given himself credit for but this had a subtly and skill that was, frankly, pretty impressive if it was deliberate.
Rachel was, however, becoming impatient and having been pampered for years, she wasn't used to that emotion.
"What are you doing, anyway? What is so interesting about out there?" She threw her arm forward, indicating the dark before them.
"I was worried the paps may have tracked us here, that's all."
"And sitting outside doesn't guarantee it," she asked sarcastically.
Finn glanced at her. "The porch light isn't on. The house lights don't reach this far. We're invisible in the dark."
Rachel still wasn't satisfied, wanting to goad him into something, anything.
"And why would the paps have found us. They didn't follow us. You made sure of that as my stomach can attest."
The drive from where they parked to talk to Carole after the Wingate had been filled with speedy twists and turns, much like the drive from the school.
Finn hesitated before responding.
"Um, well, some of those guys were local. They might have recognised me and they know where I live."
Rachel's mouth gaped open and Finn laughed.
"Yeah, nothing like in your league, I know, but I am a bit of a local celebrity."
Rachel didn't know how to ask why without sounding rude. Finn watched her struggle before rescuing her from the conundrum by explaining.
"I, um," he said, "I came home with a Medal of Honour, after my final tour. The town, they, uh, kind of made a big deal of it."
"A Medal of Honour? I thought you had to be dead to get one of those."
"No," Finn said gravely, "although guys died."
"Finn, I know about this, I know that you don't get the Medal of Honour unless-"
She hated her thoughts.
"Oh no, you were hurt!"
Her eyes flew to his face, his arms, his chest, his legs. Everything was there. With a horror she couldn't disguise, they flew to his crotch.
"Rachel!" Finn was flustered. "I'm fine. I recovered. Everything's in working order."
His dignity forced him to repeat emphatically, "Everything!"
Rachel breathed an audible sigh of relief, sinking back into the chair.
She watched Finn, hoping this might be the opening she wanted. Instead, she thought she could see his mind desperately seeking a way out of dangerous territory. She wasn't surprised that he came back to talking about her. She knew herself well enough, as he did, to know that usually worked.
"You know, I saw you at the Inauguration last year."
Rachel looked up and said, "You mean on TV?"
He shook his head. "No, Ray and I were there; one of the perks of the medal. Ray was pretty enthusiastic about the guy and had campaigned for him, even though she couldn't vote. Idealistic fifteen-year-olds reckon they have politics all worked out, you know? She really wanted to go, so we did."
Rachel nodded, recalling the day. She'd been honoured to be asked and she'd met the President a few times now, having been invited since to perform at events where he was present. During his campaign, he'd declared her to be his favourite singer.
"You were brilliant, of course," Finn added, taking a sip of the same beer he'd been nursing since they got to the house.
It had been an amazing experience, a rare one where she wasn't the centre of attention and could lean back and watch others. She remembered casting her vision over the crowd on the podium. She remembered being startled by a tall couple whose faces she couldn't quite see. It wasn't that they were tall that startled her. It was that her stomach had flown into her throat when she did. At the time, she'd dismissed it as daydreaming. She'd learned long ago that not every tall guy was Finn Hudson and exercised active self-discipline to stop expecting them to be. She thought she'd lapsed in the excitement of the occasion.
"I saw you," she said softly.
He looked over at her, disbelieving.
"I saw you," she repeated. "I didn't know it was you, I-I couldn't see your face but I felt you, I thought it was wishful thinking…"
Rachel was tired. Most of all she was tired of holding back. She jumped off the swing seat, forgetting about the legs of the pyjamas. She stumbled forward and would have gone sprawling if Finn hadn't grabbed her.
She nearly fainted at the feeling of his arms around her again.
"Finn," she said, looking up at him. "I-"
Finn shook his head and settled her back on her feet, holding her as far away as his arms would stretch. He resumed his place on the bench.
"Finn!"
"I can't, Rachel. Not again. Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."
Rachel stared at him. He refused to look at her. She picked up the legs of the pyjamas and retreated sadly into the house.
Artie
When they arrived home, Artie's mom insisted they join her for snacks. Artie rolled his eyes at Gail who, still fiddling with the camera, didn't see it. Frowning at how useless a back-up she was proving to be, he didn't argue with his mother, forcing yet more food into his protesting stomach. He'd be back in Toledo soon enough and could book some extra sessions at the gym.
Artie's mother wanted to hear all about the reunion, so Artie regaled her with the tales of terror the evening had wrought. She was appalled on her son's behalf at his imprisonment and talked about suing Sue. Artie joked that only a fool would sue a Sue.
Gail was so intent on her camera that she jumped when Artie yelled her name. She didn't register that it was his second attempt.
"Yo," she said.
"I was saying that we might be able to show Mom some of the footage from tonight. Maybe some of the performances I missed," he added accusingly.
"Sure," she said placidly, "I'll sort something out. You got something to show it on?"
"Can't we just connect that camera to the TV?" Artie said, knowing it was possible.
"We could," she agreed, "but I'd be able to carry on working on the footage I have if I transfer what you want to another."
"There's a spare camera in the car," Artie said with a shrug, not wanting to argue about why she wanted to carry on working tonight. The temperaments of artists were never worth getting tangled with.
Within the hour, Gail had cut together a suitable revue for Artie's mom which they shared while Gail continued working on the table behind them. Artie had no idea that she was still filming and would have demanded to know why if he had. Gail smiled to herself.
Finn
Rachel had been in the guest room an hour when Finn finally decided to quit his vigil. There was no sign of anyone there shouldn't be and it seemed unlikely that anyone would turn up now. He needed to get some sleep. Tomorrow, or more accurately later today, was going to be no easier. He locked up the house carefully, went up to his room and stepped into the shower, exhausted.
He'd been holding himself so tightly for so many hours that his muscles screamed as the hot water pummelled the back of his neck and shoulders. She wanted him again, that much was clear. It would be so easy to fall back in love with her. He wouldn't have to fall at all. He'd never been out of love with her, not since high school, and that was never going to change. He could surrender. Just thinking of her now resulted in familiar stirrings in his groin. He glared at the offending part of himself. He'd literally been up and down all night. There had been more than one reason to stay firmly planted on that damn bench.
He felt indignant again that she thought, even for a second, that he was no longer a man. He glanced down at himself, pleased to note the wilting response to that idea. He turned up the cold, leaned on palms placed high on the wall, and let the shower do the rest.
Clean, he put on his pyjama bottoms. Finn had never bothered with the tops and wasn't even sure where any of them were. He was about to get into bed when he realised how thirsty he was. Over eight hours, one beer at the reunion and one at home which he'd nursed so long that the last sip was flat was dangerously close to dehydration territory. He walked quietly down to the kitchen.
Letting the cold water run a little, Finn knew he was right. There were so many reasons not to let Rachel back into his life. He couldn't control the fact that she would never be out of his head, but at least he was master of his life. Finn filled the glass, drank it down quickly and refilled it before turning off the tap. He turned. She was there at the door. She'd ditched the pyjama bottoms although the top was long enough to cover her modesty. That didn't stop the sight of her from hitting Finn like a knife blade in the gut.
The glass slipped from his hand and shattered.
