A/N: I owe so many thanks at this point that I'm not sure I can remember who has helped and in what ways with this part. There are so many things that are different about it that I don't even know where to begin. If I'm going chronologically, it goes like this; Leo (wood-u-like-2-no) thanks for keeping the guys in check or trying to. And for encouraging one entire scene in particular. Lizzie (Paceismyhero) thanks for suggesting…physicality? I guess that's the best way to explain it. Jen (wants2beawriter) for making sure my cheese wasn't too cheesy. Laura (tjcrowfoot) for overall beta/proofing /comforting/making sure it didn't suck. Last but not least, holygoof101 for checking my medical facts.
Finally thank you to everyone reading, replying, reviewing, and conversing. The last couple of chapters' results have introduced me to new people and it's been amazing. We should do it again sometime. Like right now for instance.
Disclaimers: I don't own and I'm not affiliated with Glee. I do own a few of the characters listed, but if you don't know who I'm talking about you haven't read the rest of the story and you need to go back. I also do not own, but I DO love the song used , I Love You But I Don't Know What to Say by Ryan Adams from his super amazing top-5-of-2011-in-my-world album, Ashes and Fire.
Chapter Nine: I Love You But I Don't Know What to Say
Finn was looking over the chords Craig had scribbled down on the page along with some words, along with the words, and he was kind of half-assing something that might possibly work with it on the snare drum. Then again, he couldn't remember exactly what rhythm Craig had used singing the song so that wasn't helping. He was about to turn to the other guy and ask him to do it again when his phone rang.
"Okay, you've got to stop balancing that shit on the cymbal for fun when you're working," Brandon gasped out. "It's fucking loud when Rachel calls you."
Finn's eyes narrowed as he reached out and grabbed his phone. "It's not Rachel, it's my brother." He chucked the notepad at Brandon's head. "Play that again while I see what he wants. It'll just be a second if he wants to discuss ring color."
"What?" Brandon said, rubbing where the corner of the notepad had hit him in the forehead.
"Hello?" Finn answered.
"Hey, what are the chances you've watched any sort of news program today?"
"What's less than zero?" Finn asked, running his finger over the cymbal and listening to Brandon and Craig going through the song with one ear. Yeah, that was totally different than what he'd remembered.
"Well, you should."
"Why don't you just tell me the news," Finn said. "Since you have me on the phone and all." Finn sighed. The last time Kurt had called and said something of that nature, it was because Alexander McQueen had been in a car accident in Germany. Who cared?
"Are you sitting down?"
"Yes, Kurt," Finn said with about ten percent more patience than he actually had.
"Well, there's an office building in London that caught on fire."
"Okay, so?" Finn said, his automatic denial kicking in even as his heartbeat sped up and he stopped fiddling with the drum and stopped listening to what Brandon and Craig were doing.
"Well, it was news because it's apparently happening now. And they've shut down a number of thoroughfares that have trapped spectators at Wimbledon."
"Again…so?"
"Have you talked to Rachel? I think it's her office building."
Finn snorted a little. "Okay, look…I'm right in the middle of band practice. We find out on Monday if we have to do an EP and we'll have to be in the studio by the following weekend with three more songs so…"
"This is not another example of my being dramatic or what you term 'wasting time'."
It was the first time Finn had heard actual panic in Kurt's voice. "Why?"
"They said Matt Jones is missing," Kurt said. "Following a fire in his office that's still actually burning. That's the producer she's working with, correct?"
Finn didn't answer 'cause he was too busy trying to manage with breathing and sitting up straight and not having a heart attack since his heart was doing its level best to leave his body entirely.
"Finn."
"Yes, that's him…" Finn said, distracted from the conversation even as his mind was starting to race. He was at a garage. There was nothing…he had an aircard. His laptop was in his car. He looked over at Brandon and Craig, who both scowled when they realized he was leaving. "What else did they say?"
"Umm…" Kurt said. "I don't know. The story was short. Sam's kind of an MSNBC junkie so he was watching it and…"
"Focus," he said simply. "What else?"
"Just they were trying to get more details, I just thought…"
"…that I'd want to know," Finn finished quietly. "I haven't talked to her since yesterday, Kurt. What…have you?" He only had half of his attention on the conversation as he slung the laptop bag over his shoulder and re-locked his car.
Kurt snorted out a laugh. "Are you serious? She hasn't talked to me since your festival on Saturday. I think she's still mad, even though you said she's not."
"I haven't talked to her," Finn repeated. He hurried into the garage and opened his laptop right on top of his snare drum, ignoring Brandon's scoff of disbelief even though he heard it well enough because that asshole was loud when he wanted to be.
"What the hell are you doing, fuckface? We're in the middle of rehearsal."
"Yeah, well…" Finn replied. "I'm calling timeout."
"What?" Kurt said.
"Nothin'…" Finn said. "I'll call you back, okay? I'm gonna try to call her."
"I already tried that. It goes straight to voicemail."
"Well…maybe she'll actually answer for me," Finn said; he didn't tell Kurt he doubted it because they'd barely been speaking, he was still kinda mad, and...well. Those details weren't important for Kurt to have. Not to mention the harassment was just sort of second nature at this point and he barely even realized the bite in his words because Kurt didn't react to it. "I'll call you back, man."
"Okay," Kurt said quietly. "I really, really hope everything is okay."
Finn remembered his heart was still beating but it might stop. Like, it was seriously trying to. "Me too. Bye."
"Finn!" Brandon said. "C'mon, man!"
"Just wait," Finn said. "That was…" he looked down at his phone and single-handedly keyed in Rachel's speed dial number (it was 5) on his phone. He held it to his ear and waited for it to connect while the homepage pulled up on his laptop and the aircard beeped that it was actually working. He held the phone with one hand and typed with the other, kind of wanting to throw up when he typed in London office fire and it immediately pulled up like seven hits from the AP and Reuters that were all labeled within minutes of his search.
About then, he heard Rachel's voice on her voicemail recording. He clicked on a headline that said Several missing and several injured in fire, spectators still stranded. He stomped his frustration when the voicemail beeped, and the stomp sounded deep and hollow on the bass drum, dumping his laptop a little into his lap and making him fumble to catch it.
"Rachel…hey, babe it's me…it's…please call me. Please tell me you're okay. I'm sorry I missed your text and whatever, just please call me as soon as you get this, okay? I really love you…like I really, really love you and I'm freaking out now so… just call me."
"What the fuck is going on?" Brandon asked, already moving. Finn's hand was shaking too much to redirect the mouse as he scanned the news story. It was short—too short for him. He needed to know more. He needed to know if Rachel was okay.
"Um…I don't know," he said. Brandon took the computer from his lap and looked at the story on the screen.
"So what if there's a fire?" Brandon said. "It's like half a world away and…"
"Rachel lives half a world away," Finn said quietly. "That's her office."
"How sure are you?"
"I've been there," Finn said sharply, seeing the picture of the office building with smoke coming out of it—even flames in some windows—and automatically going over the inside in his mind; he'd studied the building from the ground in front of it, looking at the numbers and hoping they matched what was on the text from Rachel; he'd smiled at the doorman and the receptionist as he walked past and thought about how terrible the gold paint on the wall behind her was; he'd held Rachel's hand in the stairwell as their steps echoed on the concrete and kissed her in front of the door to her floor. That time, she had been all he'd really seen or felt in that place, her presence totally invading his senses like it usually did. But now…now when he thought back on it, all he saw were flaws in the structure and reasons she could be hurt or worse: crowded but bustling streets where someone could run out of a burning building and get hit by a car…narrow stairways that wouldn't allow more than four people on the stairs at a time. Too many people, not enough space, and doors that were too heavy for someone as small as Rachel to open if she had people pressing against her.
Funny how he hadn't noticed those things before now. He kind of wondered how accurate the memory was.
"Fuck, man. I'm sure she's fine. I mean… what are the chances?"
"I haven't… we're… what a stupid fight. A stupid waste of time and now they're and…" Finn was mumbling in his own world, thinking of a thousand times he should've called her and now…now he couldn't get a hold of her, now when it counted most. How many times could he have called in the last five days and she would've been so happy to talk to him? He should've just… whatever. He couldn't undo it. He called her again. It went right to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message, but immediately pulled his phone down and started trying to send her a text message, but his hands were shaking and his vision was starting to get too blurry.
Craig was there and took the phone out of his hand. "What were you trying to say?"
"Fuck…I don't know," Finn said. He ran his hands over his face. He could hear the message Craig was typing out—sort of. Blood was rushing through his ears and he could barely hear anything. It was like their life was flashing through his head and it was too short. There wasn't enough of it; there could never be enough of it.
Craig took the laptop from Brandon, then set Finn's phone on top of it. He motioned to Josh, who was just entering the garage from a drink run and bathroom break, and turned to Finn. "What's the first song you ever learned? The louder the better."
"What?" Finn said, blowing out a long breath.
"The first song you ever learned to play. What was it?"
"Ummm…" Finn took in another deep breath, gulping air like it was water. "Back in Black."
"AC/DC… nice," Josh said. He was moving around the room quickly, setting water bottles at everyone's feet. "What are we doing?"
"We're playing Back in Black," Craig said simply. "On his count." Josh just nodded and moved over to his normal spot, picking up the bass from where he'd left it.
"Craig…" Finn protested.
"Fine, then on my count," Brandon said, now that he had his guitar situated. To his credit, Finn only dropped the first few beats before he started in and just pounded the shit out of his kit. They took turns yelling out songs as the previous one faded, playing in a continuous stream of the most random shit ever—more AC/DC, a little Kiss, Pantera, a Justin Timberlake song they had all harassed Brandon about once, some Dave Matthews Band, Queens of the Stone Age …when Brandon decided to be an asshole and yell out "Hot For Teacher", Finn stopped; but at least he was laughing.
"Yeah, maybe if you want to fucking kill me," Finn said, struggling to get the words out as he was breathing hard and dripping sweat despite having lost his shirt at some point. "I need a break anyway."
"Fine, take a break…" Brandon said. "But don't touch your fucking phone. Just walk out the door and take a piss or whatever."
Finn looked at him with an unreadable glance but didn't even move toward his laptop, which had long since gone into sleep mode to preserve battery power, or his phone.
As soon as he was gone, Josh looked at the other guys confusedly. "What…what's going on?"
"Apparently, Rachel's office building caught on fire," Craig said quietly from the corner, where he was pinching a water bottle between his fingers and looked like he was just between drinks. "There's, like, no news about it so I wanted to wear him out."
Josh nodded. "That sucks." He looked back toward the door. "Hope everything's okay."
During Finn's third break, and again when he was forbidden by Brandon from looking at the phone that hadn't rung, Josh set his bass down. His fingertips were a little sore from the metal strings and, like Craig and Brandon, he was down to just a tanktop but still hotter than hell.
"I'm gonna go check on him," Josh said simply. The drummer had been gone for almost 20 minutes and they all knew he wasn't actually in the bathroom in the next building. The other guys nodded their agreement and continued drinking their water (because they needed at least a ten-second break from beer so they didn't puke with as hot as it was.) Josh grabbed a couple of water bottles and headed outside.
The air outside was a little better, even if they had the door and all the windows open to their little building. It was still hot and just kind of a miserable summer day. Josh's thoughts flashed a little to what it might be like for Rachel; he had no idea what the summer in London would be like, but it didn't matter how hot it was outside if the building you were stuck in for whatever reason was burning. A shudder rolled through him and he shut that train of thought down; he felt really terrible for Finn 'cause he was knew Finn wouldn't be able to stop thinking shit like that so easily.
Finn was leaning against the side of building, almost like he was sitting in a chair that wasn't there. His face was in his hands and Josh could see him breathing before he could hear it. And well, once he could hear what Finn was actually doing…it wasn't any better.
"Hey," Josh said, still walking from a safe distance. He didn't want to scare the guy. Once he got a little closer, he reached out the cold water. "Thought you could use a drink."
Finn's face was bright red and there was really no way of telling what was sweat and what was crying and whatever else. Josh frowned. Finn unscrewed the lid and poured a long drink into his mouth. Instead of re-capping the mostly empty bottle when he was done, though, he stepped away from the building, lined up, then threw it as hard as he could, letting out a grunt that sounded painful as he released it.
Josh watched it sail right into the back of Brandon's truck and then fought the urge to laugh. The truck wasn't particularly close to where they were standing though, and Josh thought it might be easier to go near any subject other than Rachel at this moment.
"Remind me why you didn't play ball in college again?" He asked, leaning against the side of building where Finn was settling back in, still breathing hard.
"I stayed in Lima for the first part. Got a scholarship there for some other stuff. I wasn't in Columbus at the right time and… well… you know how many people wanna be quarterback. No way I would've even gotten on."
Josh just nodded. "Coulda tried, though."
"I could've done a lot of shit differently…" Finn said. He scoffed a little and shook his head. "Doesn't change a fucking thing at this point."
"I wish I knew if she was gonna be okay and I could just tell you," Josh said.
"I wish you did, too," Finn said. The breath he let out was half crying and half just breathing. "I…she's…there's…and I'm losing…it's two of them. I…it's not just Rachel."
"Who else?" Josh asked, confused.
"She…um…" Finn sniffled again. "I think she's pregnant."
"Oh, shit."
Finn looked over at him, still breathing through his mouth because his nose wasn't working. "That's one way to put it. She hasn't told me she is but…but now…" he kicked at a rock and Josh raised his eyebrow again. The rock wasn't small and it didn't stay close; it also didn't go toward their cars so that was a good thing. "What am I supposed to do if she gets hurt or…or… I'm not even fucking there…I'm here like this is more important to me than she is… than they…" he lost it again and, bent against the building again, buried his face in his hands.
Josh was very quiet when he replied and he wasn't sure Finn would even be able to hear him, but he didn't know what else to do; he'd never seen Finn so broken-down and so not caring who saw him that way. Even when Rachel had first left, it hadn't been like this, and it had been pretty fucking clear something was wrong with him then. This was off the charts.
"I dunno what to say," Josh admitted. "If it was Katie and me…I… I don't even know what I'd want to hear so… you… you're done. I'm going to go get your shit and drive you home and we'll figure out what to do with your car later."
Finn didn't really say anything and Josh didn't expect him to; he went back into the garage and just quietly muttered that Finn was done as he gathered up Finn's crap and the mumbled an explanation about how done the poor guy really was before he left. Finn was already slumped in the seat of Josh's car when Josh got out there, looking absently out the window. Josh tossed Finn's phone into Finn's lap as he got in, and saw Finn half-heartedly check it, but otherwise Finn didn't move or talk at all. Josh couldn't blame him 'cause sometimes there just weren't words anyway.
"What in the name of God are you doing?" Katie asked, walking slowly into the living room. She'd gone to run some stuff over to the school, now that painting was done, and hadn't expected to see either Finn or Josh anytime soon (they were all freaking out over having three more songs ready for an EP even if they didn't know anything yet.) Instead, Finn was sprawled on the couch, with the television he never watched turned on; it was turned onto MSNBC of all things. His laptop was at his side and his hand was absentmindedly resting on the mousepad at the bottom of the laptop keyboard. His other hand held the television remote and his phone in a stack on his opposite knee.
"Trying to decide if I could earn enough money donating a kidney to get to London tonight."
Her eyes shifted to the clock above the television. "I'm guessing it's not a money issue but a time issue."
"Probably," he said simply. She perched next to him on the couch and saw the news story switch to a picture of what looked like absolute chaos in some random city. Only it wasn't totally random, according to the caption on the bottom of the screen.
Two confirmed dead, several missing after London office fire
Finn tensed and sat up all at the same time, his finger clicking at the volume and only catching part of the reporter's verbal comments.
"…have just received word that the fire is declared 'out' at least. They've still advised the roads nearby will be shut down for several hours; the train is not running through this part of town because the tracks are very nearby and they're trying to minimize traffic into this part of the city as the search continues for missing office workers who reportedly…"
He sat back and turned the volume down. As he sat the remote back on his leg, he separated it from his phone and tilted the phone up to see no missed calls or messages. He sighed and set it back down.
"That's Rachel's office, Katie," he said, his voice low and intense. "I can't get a hold of her. Her agent hasn't heard anything. I think I might've sent her dad to an early grave when I called to tell them. I don't…there's just nothing I can do."
"Oh, Finn," she breathed. She was watching him closely. He hit some button on the remote and it flipped to CNN.
"They made me play like thirty six songs or something and then sent me home. I'm so tired," he said. "But it's not like I can go to sleep. I just…I wish my head was tired. I wish…I wish she would just fucking call."
"Maybe…maybe she left so fast she got out but her phone was inside. Maybe she left her phone at home. Maybe…"
"…maybe she's hurt and I'm not there," he said. He sniffled and she had a suspicion he might be crying but she wasn't going to look over. She could feel the tension radiating off him in waves even though he was fully reclined against the couch. It was like a low buzz that surrounded him. She was tired just sitting by him. "Or maybe she's one of the ones who's dead. Laney said…Laney said they're still switching everything over from us getting married. I don't…they don't have our wedding license or whatever it is yet so I'm not official. Like, if something happens to her they won't tell me. They can't tell me."
"Who is Laney?" Katie said, reaching over and taking the phone and the remote from his leg. She flipped the television off and looked over to see his open-mouthed protest and yeah, he was crying.
"Her agent," he said. "I was watching that."
"You were just driving yourself crazy, Finn." She turned on the end of the couch to face him. "You know the only real information you're going to get is a phone call and you don't want to try flying there now in case you're on a plane when she finally does call. She will call."
"You don't know that."
"You're right," Katie said. "But I do know you need some sleep and if you wait until night, it won't happen." Her eyes flicked to the clock again; it was almost six o'clock. "What time is it in London? It was still daylight on the picture but…"
"They've been showing the same picture," he said. His voice was still eerily…steel. "It's almost eleven at night."
"Okay," Katie said. She pushed herself up off the couch and went into the kitchen. They had one cabinet that was the designated liquor cabinet; that's right where she went. She grabbed a shot glass that was a little larger than average and filled it to the brim with the nastiest thing in the cabinet. Like typically she wouldn't even touch that shit with a ten-foot pole.
She got back into the living room and he had the laptop in his lap and his hands kind of pulling at his hair.
"What?"
"Four. There are four people dead," he said. "It just jumped from two to four…God.. what if she had to jump? I mean… her office doesn't have a window, but Matt's does and I didn't even look like…she's on the fourth floor and I don't know if… can you just… what if she had to jump? She's like tiny and…"
"Finn!" Katie cut him off. There were still tears in his eyes and desperation in his voice and it was just so hard to watch because there was nothing they could do. She held out the shot. "Drink this."
"What is it?"
"Jager," she said simply. He took the glass but didn't drink.
"Gross," he protested. "No."
She pressed her lips together and put her hands on her hips. "If you don't drink it, I swear to God I will climb in your lap and pour the bottle of it down your throat."
He did the shot quickly, his face crumpling into a grimace. She raised her eyebrows and looked maybe even a little impressed.
"Shut up, I totally believed you would dump a bottle of it down my throat," he said. His voice was still choked. He got up to take the glass in to the kitchen. "Sorry…I'm just. I'm gonna be kind of a mess 'til I know something. And then I'll probably be on a plane."
Katie nodded. "I know and I can't even imagine," she said. She stopped him in the doorway with a hand on his arm. "And you know if you need it, me and Josh will be the first ones on that plane with you, right?"
Finn latched onto her in a tight and totally uncharacteristic hug. For her part, she was totally stunned and couldn't do anything but eventually get her arms around him and hold on when he totally fell apart, mumbling something into her hair about a stupid fight and how he might never get to talk to his wife again.
He knew he was going to fall asleep 'cause he was totally exhausted. He'd turned up the volume on his phone as loud as it would go before he plugged it into the wall because he wanted to make sure he'd hear if it rang or notified or did anything more than just, like, exist.
Before he fell asleep, though, he tried one last time; he sent her some song lyrics that had been floating through his head all afternoon, hoping she would hear and she would answer. He didn't even really care if they stumped her and he wasn't positive where they'd come from (unless it was another one of those super slow songs from Craig's piano lessons before all the stuff with Rachel happened), as long as they made her say or do something to tell him she was okay.
I promise you I will keep you safe from harm. And love you all the rest of my days. When the night is silent and we seem so far away; I love you and I don't know what to say.
With help from the shot of Jager (followed by others in semi-regular intervals, plus some Xanax they probably shouldn't have given him) and the hyper-emotional constant baseline, Finn actually slept for the better part of the next two days. He didn't sleep well, plagued by bouts of mumbling, tossing and turning, and even yelling in his sleep, but he slept at least and Katie kept her own hand leashed to his phone, periodically answering texts from the same few names she recognized—Kurt, Mom, Berry Dad #1, Berry Dad #2. The band continued to practice half-heartedly without their drummer, and no one bothered to fill him in on even the little bit of news they could find. There wasn't much, but even what was there wasn't particularly encouraging.
No one was listed as missing anymore, and a total of five people had died. They said twenty-two had been injured, and seventeen taken to the hospital with various injuries, but were not giving any sorts of statistics about them. The fire had been started, directly below Rachel's office in the office of a political action group, by an opposing group making a statement. They had reportedly used particularly harmful chemicals to aid in starting the fire and it had rendered the building a total loss when all was said and done.
Overall, life was going on. People had talked about how the interruption to train service had left spectators stranded at the last Wimbledon match of the year until Finn's friends were ready to punch the spectators in the face for discussing their inconvenience, but even then it was only on the British news outlets they'd scoured on the web for details. Katie kind of marveled at how something that seemed so huge in their lives (really, more Finn's life and only hers by extension) was barely even on the radar of anyone or anything else.
The second morning after the fire, Finn walked slowly into the kitchen. It was Saturday now and he'd been holed up in his room—kind of sleeping but mostly worrying—for the better part of two days. He hadn't eaten that she knew of, despite several attempts to force-feed him, and she'd had his phone the entire time. The only thing he'd kept in his room was his iPod and it wasn't one of the ones that would connect to the internet or do anything 'extra'. She kind of thought he'd been listening to the songs Rachel had written about him over and over, but she didn't really have any proof.
"Morning, sunshine," she said cautiously. "There's still coffee if you want some."
"Thanks," he said in a rough whisper. He went for milk instead, pulling the carton out of the fridge before reaching in the cabinet for a cup. "Anything?"
"No," she admitted. "Sometimes no news is good news, right?"
He let out a short, breathy laugh that wasn't really a laugh. "Quit trying to be, like, cheery. It really doesn't suit you."
"Not sure moping suits you, either," she said. This time at least his laugh was kind of real.
"Well…I decided something."
She leaned against the countertop with her arms folded against her chest. Humor was much easier with the two of them. "Didja now? Enlighten me."
"I don't think she's dead," he said quietly.
"Finn…"
"No, just listen. There's this…I dunno…" he took a drink from the milk he had poured. "Just this thing. And I can always tell…like it's…it's kinda weird."
"The thing tells you she's not dead," Katie said dryly. She put her hand to his forehead. "I mean, we waited hours and all, but maybe we shouldn't have given you Xanax and alcohol in the same…year."
He swatted her hand away from his face. "I've just always been able to feel when something was wrong or when she was super happy or … or… I don't really know how to explain it. It's weird. But I don't think she's dead. I think I panicked, like, 'cause she was panicking but…"
"You're right; I think you cracked," she said. They both heard his phone ring, like with a certain ring tone, and stared at each other. He totally knocked his cup of milk over and she didn't care. She was glad for the distraction of cleaning it up when he went to answer the phone that was sitting on the coffee table in the living room.
His phone said it was her; the ringtone said it was her. His heart pounded in his chest. He licked his lips a couple times and tried a deep breath, but he wasn't sure how much good it actually did.
"Hello?" He answered.
"Finn?"
He was only pretty sure it was her. Her voice sounded very, very different. But it was something in the way she said his name. He dropped down onto the couch.
"Rachel?" He asked. Sue him for making sure.
"Hi, babe," she said. "I'm…I….something happened to me."
He let out a hard laugh. "Yeah, I… I heard."
"How?"
"It was on the news," he said. "Like…MSNBC."
"Why were you watching MSNBC?" She asked, her words still coming slowly.
"Because there was a fire in your office," he answered like that should actually explain it. "You're…I…"
"I'm okay," she said eventually.
"You don't sound okay."
"Neither do you," she countered.
"I'm probably gonna be sick when we hang up—which is gross 'cause I just drank some milk."
She laughed a little and it sounded like it hurt. He tried not to picture, like burns or whatever all over her body or… one of his students had been caught in a house fire and burned his hand and part of his arm trying to get out, and he'd had to have all this treatment and wear a special sleeve and…she couldn't go through that if he wasn't there to help her. He wanted to start looking for a flight, even while he was on the phone, but he couldn't make himself move. He couldn't even ask what, exactly, was wrong with her.
"I broke my voice," she said slowly. "I always wanted Santana's raspiness and…"
"It sounds terrible on you," he said and she laughed again. "What…what happened?"
"I…well…" she started. She let in a breath and God, he could hear it. "There was so much smoke. And the doors locked weird and a bunch of us got stuck in a stairwell." She paused and took a couple of long breaths. "Some guy pulled the hinges out of the door and that's how we finally got out but…but it was so much smoke. It was like every breath just burned and…" she pulled the phone away as she coughed and then brought it back.
"Anyway, they brought me to the hospital and I don't really…I don't really remember that much of it. They put a tube in my throat and knocked me out and…" she was taking a break to breathe again. He hated it; his wife didn't have to stop and breathe. It just wasn't her. "And anyway…they took it out this morning. I'm so lucky… just so…I'm sorry I didn't call faster. I just couldn't…I was…"
"I'm so happy you called now," he said. "Are you…are you really okay? Like—both of you?"
"Huh?" She said. She sounded tired. "What do you mean both of me?"
The stupid madness and not-speaking as much as he should've to her seemed like a different week, a different month… a different lifetime… shit, a whole different guy. "Kurt told me."
In a firm voice that sounded more like her than the rest of the phone call, she started demanding information. "Kurt told you what exactly?"
"He said you're...we're…pregnant."
The coughing fit was long and violent and he totally cringed. It sounded painful; miserable actually. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke. "I'm not pregnant and I'm going to kill him."
"Oh you're… you're not? Did…I don't…"
"Kurt told me to take a pregnancy test because I was sick," she admitted. "I didn't want you to feel guilty for being gone so I didn't tell you I was sick and then the test was negative and…I had a doctor's appointment at some point but…" she paused and breathed a little. "I think I missed it, but the doctor here this morning said my symptoms were all stress-related and there were a few things on my blood test that correlated. I was going to tell you about it when I knew what it was."
"I was mad before…" he admitted. He felt like a jackass. "I was mad you told Kurt and not me. And that's why I didn't even say I love you in that text and…and then I missed the question and that was… I love you. I love you so much."
"Thank you," she said. "And I'm sorry. I love you, too."
"You need to go so you can rest," he said. It wasn't a question. And he was totally telling her what to do. And he thought she probably ought to get used to it. "Text me anything else I need to know, okay? And I want to know everything."
"Okay," she agreed. "I love you."
"I love you too, babe."
