DISCLAIMER: I neither own Glee nor the characters. They are the property of Ryan Murphy and FOX. This is purely for fun. Enjoy! :)
A/N: Thank you for all the birthday wishes! I had a fabulous day, now onward with the next chapter.
Hero
Chapter Eight: A River In Egypt
Carole Hudson considered herself to be a remarkably strong woman. How could she not be? She became a single mother and widow at the painfully young age of 26. She had to watch her only son grow up without a father figure, only to become the strongest, most bravest man she'd ever known. She had to suffer through weeks of thinking that her only son, her baby boy, was dead or captured in a far off place.
But as she stared down at the letter, handwritten by her only child, she didn't know if she had the strength to even read it.
He's alive Carole. Read the damn letter and figure out why your baby boy still isn't home in your arms.
Her hands were shaking as she stared down at the paper. She would be able to recognize the clumsy scrawl anywhere; she'd had to scrub it off the walls all the time when he was a young boy. Finn had a thing for crayons and blank walls when he was younger. Thus the reason for the cowboy wallpaper in his room. She held the paper in her hands, thinking that Finn had touched this himself, solid proof that he wasn't dead or missing any longer.
So why was there a letter in her hands instead of her son in her arms?
Looking around the empty house, she was glad that Burt was working late tonight. The house was empty as she took a deep breath and started to read the letter from her son. Her Finn.
Dear Mom,
I've had to re-write this letter so many times I've lost count already. No mater how many times I repeat the words I want to say over in my head, it never sounds right. So I figure I should just tell you the truth and hope that you'll understand.
There was an accident, the day I went missing. I woke up a few weeks ago with little to no memory of my life outside of the Army. I can't remember you, our family, or my old friends. It's all gone. The doctors say it will come back one day, but so far, I remember very little of my old life.
Instead of coming home, I am joining forces with Homeland Security to capture the terrorist who did this to me; who made me forget who I was. I won't be able to rest until he's captured. I don't know how long it's going to take, but when it happens I'll finally be able to live with myself. I promise I'll come home one day and pick up the pieces of my life, but I can't do it until I've found some closure with what happened to me.
Don't write back. I'm going off the grid to start searching for the monster who did this to me. Just know that I'm alive, safe and willing to come home one day after this is all over.
I'm sorry.
SPC Hudson
Carole had to re-read the letter four times before the meaning of it truly sunk into her brain. As much as she didn't want to believe it, she knew deep down that it must have been true. He'd signed the letter 'SPC Hudson' for Christ-sakes! It was so detached, so not-Finn.
She would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't angry. But a sudden thought snapped her out of her previous anger.
Rachel.
With a panic, she realized that Rachel didn't know about Finn yet. A fierce feeling of sympathy spread through her at the thought of Finn forgetting Rachel, his fiancée. Rachel was still in New York, hoping Finn would come home and marry her, but he couldn't even remember he had a fiancée. He hadn't mentioned her in the letter.
With a deep sigh, Carole realized that she would have to be the one to inform Rachel about Finn's memory loss. Picking up the phone, she started to pace around the living room, waiting for the young girl to pick up her phone in New York.
"Hello, Carole?" Rachel picked up after the third ring. Carole was glad she wouldn't have to record this message as a voice mail. "What's wrong? Is it Finn? What happened?"
"Rachel, sweetie, I need you to calm down. Yes, it's about Finn." Staring down at the letter still in her hands, he heart broke over the news she had to deliver to this poor girl. "Finn is alive. They found him."
She had to pull the phone away from her ear, because Rachel had started screaming on the other end. "What happened to him? When is he coming home?"
"That's the thing, Rachel. He's not coming home." It broke her heart all over again to say those words to her son's fiancée.
"What?"
"He wrote me a letter, let me read it to you." With that, Carole read the letter that Finn had written to her. She sat and listened as Rachel's breathing hitched when she read the words that said he was putting the security of the nation above his old life. When she finished reading the letter, the silenced stretched out for what seemed like forever.
"So he can't remember me?" Carole felt so bad for this poor girl. She really liked Rachel, and knew that she would have made an amazing daughter-in-law. But without Finn's memories, she doubted that there would ever be a wedding now.
"I'm so sorry, Rachel."
"But you said in the letter that his memory would come back one day."
"It might come back one day, Rachel. We don't know that." Another tense minute ticked by, and Rachel's tone was short.
"Thank you for informing me of Finn's letter, Mrs. Hudson. I'll keep in touch." With that, the young girl hung up on Carole, and left her alone with her son's letter and the memories of her son that he might never get back.
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SIX MONTHS LATER
"Rachel, it's Quinn." Rachel balanced her cell phone on her shoulder as she struggled with her heavy music textbooks in the crowded bookstore. "Call me back when you get this, we wanted to know if you were coming to my party in Williamsburg tonight. I only turn 21 once! Please try and make it!" Rachel smiled as her number was called in the queue. Selling back her textbooks was the best part of the end of the year. She never got back as much money as she wanted to, but the extra cash was more than needed.
"Alright, you'll be getting back 95 dollars for these three textbooks." Blanching visibly, she felt like pulling her hair out. She'd originally spent over three hundred dollars on five textbooks and now she was getting less than a hundred back for only three of them?
"What about these two books?" The clerk looked at them and shrugged.
"The professors are using new editions of them for next year, the store can't buy them back. Have a great summer!"
Groaning, she grabbed the receipt from the clerk and went up to the cashier to get her 95 dollars. She'd been hoping for at least 120, she had rent to make in a few days and she was stretched for cash. Sighing heavily, she counted the money as she exited the Juilliard bookstore, heading for her part-time job.
Great, now I'll have to pull double shifts all summer just to keep a roof over my head. She thought bitterly as she hopped on the train downtown. When Finn never came home, she took on full responsibility for the apartment she'd chosen for them. Her dads wouldn't pay the rent anymore, so she took on the strenuous and exhausting responsibility of being a full time music student and a part-time waitress.
It wasn't that her fathers were being cruel. In fact, they were hoping that she would move back to Lima for the summer and stay with them in Ohio. But she'd refused to go home ever since the day she heard that Finn was alive. There were too many memories of him there.
Memories that he couldn't even remember.
Slipping on a pair of discount sunglasses from Chinatown, she squinted in the mid-day sun. By now, the apartment shouldn't have been a problem for her anymore. Finn should have been home and working by now, helping her with the rent. But he was off somewhere fighting terrorists without any memory of her or his promises to love her forever and marry her.
Her dad's had been trying to talk some sense into her since they stopped paying rent on the apartment. They were hoping that she would move in with Quinn and Puck in Brooklyn, where they would be able to share a cheaper space. But Rachel was adamant in keeping her apartment. She'd chosen that apartment for Finn, and when he finally came back and remembered her, it would be ready for him.
She picked up her cell phone, and dialed Quinn's number as she stood outside of the cafe, hesitant to start her shift. She hated working there nowadays; she felt like she was wasting her time. If she hadn't had to work so much to make rent, she could have auditioned for summer theatre programs and various productions. She knew that the job was a hindrance to her future career, but she had to learn the hard way that the choice was either stardom or starvation.
"Hey, Man Hands, did you get my message?"
"Yes, Quinn. I don't know if I can come." She heard the blond scoffing on the other end.
"Why? Too busy changing coffee filters and making finger sandwiches?"
"Screw you! I have rent to make in five days and I got dicked out of money at the bookstore."
"Well, rent wouldn't be a problem if you just moved in with Puck and I. We can get a two-bedroom apartment in Greenpoint for 1200 even. That's only 400 dollars a person; do you realize how cheap that is in New York?" She bit her lip in anxiety. That was a pretty tempting offer; 400 dollars was a fraction of what she was paying every month right now.
"No, Quinn. You know I can't. Where will Finn live when he comes home?" Quinn sighed loudly and Rachel knew that she'd said a big no-no. She had to learn to keep her thoughts to herself. No one else was as optimistic for Finn's return as she was.
"Rachel, listen to yourself. It's been six months since we found out he was alive and so far, he hasn't remembered a thing. No one even knows where he is!"
"But Carole said his memories would come back. . ."
"Rachel, you are in flat-out denial. You know it. I know it. Even Puck can tell; he noticed that you were still wearing your engagement ring at dinner last week." A burning pain in her heart throbbed steadily as she processed Quinn's words. Looking down at the shining band still on her left hand, she tried to block the truth from her mind, but she knew that Quinn was right. "Please, consider moving to Brooklyn. It's really not so bad in some spots, and the trains can get you to Manhattan super fast."
"Quinn. . . "
"Just think about it. And meet us at the Brooklyn Bowl at 10. DJ Fancypants is spinning, tonight is my 21st birthday, and I want you to be there. Unfortunately for me, you are my best friend here, and we're sharing a beer, even if your birthday isn't until December."
Letting out a labored sigh, she knew she couldn't get out of meeting Puck and Quinn tonight. At least she enjoyed the music there. The Brooklyn Bowl was a very hipster-y place, but she liked it. "Okay, see you at 10. But don't blame me if I get lost on the dreaded G train."
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"Fuck the G train!" Rachel screamed at no one in the dark and empty night. There she was, alone, in the middle of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, completely lost and wandering the streets. How could she get lost so easily? She knew she shouldn't have shared that beer with Quinn. This never happened to her in Manhattan. This is exactly why she didn't like Brooklyn: It was so confusing! Which way was north? East? You couldn't tell!
She knew she should have just crashed on Quinn's couch. But no, she'd wanted to curl up in her fluffy bed with a bar of dark chocolate and her DVD of Funny Girl, but that was never going to happen now. Now that she couldn't find the dreaded G train to get her off of this useless chunk of land!
She rubbed her bare arms; it had become chilly during the night and she was still in the clothes she'd worn all day long. She read the street signs in the dark, hoping that she would eventually make it back to the G train, but she seemed to be walking closer and closer to the East River, where every street was lined in nondescript warehouse buildings. The exact kind of place that made girls feel like they would get attacked at any second. She reached for her pocket an sighed in relief. Her rape whistle was exactly where she always kept it.
She stopped dead in her tracks when she walked up to a pier facing the East River and the New York City skyline. She cursed under her breath. She'd been walking in the wrong direction the whole time! Now she had to backtrack to the Brooklyn Bowl, then see if she could make her way back to the G train all alone in the dark.
She whipped out her cell phone as she turned around to walk back to the venue. Maybe she should call Puck and see if he could give her directions to the G train from here. Turning around, she saw a warehouse on the opposite side of the street that had it's lights on. Looking at the time on her cell, she knew it was odd for a company to be open this late; it was way past midnight and this was a very industrial part of Brooklyn. But she noticed many people coming in and out of the warehouse, and they were all screaming at each other in a thick and jarring dialect. She realized that they were foreign, and they were loading things into a truck from inside the warehouse.
She was about to turn around and walk away, knowing that none of this was her business, when she realized that two men from the warehouse had spotted her staring at them. They were definitely Middle Eastern, that much she could tell from their clothing and long beards. One of them seemed much younger than the other, and looked at her with pure hated in his eyes. She reached for her rape whistle and clutched it in her fist when the two men walked up to her on the street.
"What are you doing here?" She startled when the older man yelled at her harshly in a thick accent. Her feet felt glued to the ground when all she wanted to do was run. She was never taking the G train ever again after tonight.
"You wouldn't happen to know how to get to the G train from here, would you?" She felt like a complete fool as the two men glared at her like she was a fly in their food. One of the men grabbed her by the arm and she immediately put the rape whistle up to her lips and blew like there was no tomorrow.
The chilly night air was filled with the screeching of a whistle, and the men let go of her and ran back to the warehouse, loading boxes into the truck faster than ever. She watched, stunned, as two black vans suddenly appeared out of the night and onto the dark street. The truck sped off into the night, leaving thick black tire marks on the road in it's wake, as one of the black vans went speeding after it. The other van stopped right in front of where Rachel was still standing with her mouth agape. She almost fainted when about 10 men in Army uniforms came out with their rifles, heading into the warehouse and pulling people out of it and onto the street.
She just stood there and watched the scene unfold before her, unable to move. It was like watching a car accident she couldn't turn away from, as the soldiers pulled the people out of the warehouse one by one and lined them up on the sidewalk. None of these men in front of her were the ones who had stopped her. She would never forget their faces.
"Where is he? Goddammit, where is he?" With a loud roar, a man stepped out of the front seat of the van in front of her, heading for the soldiers in the warehouse. She was intimidated by the screaming she heard, and deep down she knew she should have left a long, long time ago. But something kept her rooted in her place. Besides the fact she still didn't know how to get to the G train.
She watched as the tall man looked through every person they had pulled out of the warehouse. "He's not here! We've been planning this for three months, what the hell scared him away?" She blanched in fear when she saw one of the soldiers point at her from across the street. She seriously considered running; she had no idea what had just happened, but she was pretty sure those men in the warehouse had not been good guys.
Slowly, the tall soldier turned around until he was staring right at her. Panic spread through her when she realized that she had somehow messed up something really important, when all she'd been doing was try to get home in one piece. He marched up to her with purpose in his step, and she had to crane her neck to look up into his face. The streetlight was dim, but she could make out some of his features. . .
Oh. My. GOD.
"Listen. I don't know what happened here, but you have just compromised a mission that we've been planning for the better part of three months. You just scared away an international terrorist who has the means to turn Manhattan into dust!"
Shaking her head slowly, she couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her eyes. Soaking in the image in front of her, she started to feel dizzy, overwhelmed. The broad shoulders, the various birthmarks and moles scattered across his face and neck. His Army uniform, full of impressive looking badges and a small, shining bass clef pin on the lapel.
It was him.
"Finn?" The name escaped her lips without her even realizing it. The look of shock on his face was more than enough proof that the person in front of her at the very moment was her long-lost amnesiac fiancé. She watched, stunned, as his expression morphed from shock to anger. She felt a large, strong hand grab her upper arm for the second time that night.
"How the hell do you know my name?" She started to feel light-headed, and his voice sounded like it was coming from far, far away. . . "Do I know you from somewhere?"
A distant memory of her and Finn took her out of the stressful situation and into the blissful ignorance of fantasy. The day that Finn had found her in the airport was the scene that was flashing before her eyes. "Excuse me miss, do I know you from somewhere?" He'd teased her for not recognizing him. Was she allowed to tease him now for not recognizing her? She could remember the feeling of his arms around her, swinging her through the air at their reunion. This reunion, was not so sweet.
The memory melted away as she returned to the dark street in Williamsburg. Cold, hard, unfamiliar eyes glared down at her as she struggled to stay conscious. But the events of the evening had finally caught up with her, and her vision started to go blurry and dark. The last thing she heard was loud cursing before she collapsed onto the street and fainted at her fiancés feet.
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Salut mes amis!
Reunited, and it feels so awkward!
Until Next Time. . . *sings* Don't Stop. . . Reviewing!
Merci Mille Fois
The Minsk
