A/N – Again, thanks go to JannP for her tireless efforts in regards to this story. For this chapter though, she wasn't just my beta, she was quite literally (pun intended) a full-on Editor. Not that I didn't have direction here, but we had serious discussions regarding parts of this entry and I loved just about all of her suggestions. If you have not read her work, go do so. Her Finchel stories should be required reading for anyone who wants to understand how complex these two characters can be around each other.
Thanks and kind thoughts go out to all who have reviewed or favourited this story. I wish I could say it's close to being done, but those who have followed my fiction since '7 Steps' know that, for better or for worse, I'm just not good at writing short stories. I did one one-shot and look what's spawned from it! Anyway, enjoy.
Disclaimer – See Chapter 1, if necessary.
"FINN!" Rachel awoke with alarm and jerked herself into a half-sitting position, sweat pouring out of her pores and her heart beating rapidly. Her now-wide-awake mind frantically scanned her surroundings looking for the tall, handsome quarterback currently gasping from pain at being shot.
Instead she saw yellow walls, posters of famous Broadway shows on the walls, and a stuffed animal collection painstakingly arranged at the foot of her large queen bed.
She swallowed and took another breath before collapsing on the bed again. Having just had this dream three nights ago, she didn't expect it to happen again until next week sometime. Unfortunately, this time was much more vivid. Unlike the previous times when she had been an abstract witness to the entire event, this time she had an entirely different point of view in the dream. Somehow, the dream had changed to make her see the entire incident in the first-person point of view, staring down some insane gun-waving maniac and being forced to pull the trigger on him to save himself. Save herself? Well, however one categorized it, she felt like she was seeing everything through the eyes of a soldier—a specific soldier.
The eyes of Finn.
It's just a dream, Rachel, the logical side of her mind said. You should be used to this, by now. You're worried about him, but he'll be fine. The National Guard wouldn't let anything happen to him. Relax! He's a big boy and can handle himself just fine. He'll be back and in your arms before you know it.
Well, truthfully she wasn't still sure he'd leap into her arms once he got back home, but after the repetitive nightmares, she'd still settle for just having him back and safe as her friend if nothing else. At least then she could give him a hug and just be sure he was in one piece.
Noticing that her alarm was set to go off in under twenty minutes, she opted to just get up and get on with her day. She'd call Kurt later to see if he had any news about Finn; it was unlikely, since Finn had only sent one letter and a couple of emails to his family in the almost six weeks since he'd been gone, but she could hope. And it wasn't like she became too worried if there wasn't any news from Finn. Sometimes that alone relaxed her.
After all, no news was good news, right?
XXXXX
"Get up!" Burt kicked Kurt's bed roughly, causing the mattress to shake a bit.
The formerly-sleeping young man cracked open one eye to glare disapprovingly at his father. "Does the term 'beauty sleep' mean nothing to anyone in this family?" He groused tiredly.
"Not when you asked me to make sure you didn't sleep in past your meeting this morning. You've only got an hour and a half to get there. Knowing how long it takes you to get ready, that's barely enough time. Unless you want to be late and kicked off the show, I'd say it's time to get a move on." Burt placed a cup of coffee on the night table beside Kurt's bed. "Even got you some coffee."
Kurt sleepily pulled himself up and took the proffered c up, drinking deeply. He made a slight face and then glanced up at his father. "You don't seriously expect me to accept this swill as coffee, do you? "
"You're welcome. Yes, it is a beautiful day outside…and it's not my fault you don't like real coffee," Burt said with a small smile. He turned at the sound of the house phone ringing. He quickly walked over to answer it, but not before looking over his shoulder back at Kurt. "Up and at 'em, Kurtsie."
The small teen made a face at his father. This morning was just getting better and better. Being kicked awake, starting the morning with hot swamp-water swill, and then being referred to by his childhood nickname. Oh yes, Kurt just loved mornings. "Must you refer to me as that? You do know a curtsy is an honorific bow a woman gives someone of royalty, right?"
"Well, you are acting like a princess right now," Burt returned evenly. Kurt rolled his eyes but held his tongue as he heard Burt answer the phone. "Hel-lo!" Burt responded happily into the receiver. "Yes, she is. Just give me a minute and I'll see if she's finished. One second." His dad suddenly disappeared into the master bedroom. "Carole, phone's for you."
Kurt rubbed his eyes and downed another gulp of the not-coffee to try and caffeine-jump his system; he sighed and pushed his sheets off. Since he was still wearing his blue silk pajamas, and the house was quite warm with middle of summer temperatures as they were, he opted to proceed to the bathroom without his customary house-coat. Once he got to the doorway, he smiled wearily at seeing Carole, wearing a housecoat, smile, and mouthing a 'good-morning' to him before picking up the receiver of the house phone.
"Carole Hudson-Hummel speaking." She smiled a bit wider. "Yes, I am. Is he-" Kurt watched as Carole's face instantly changed from happy to suddenly horrified as her eyes went wide. "WHAT?" She practically yelled into the phone. "When? WHEN?" She swallowed and her hand went straight to her mouth. Her tears started and her eyes took on a far off look, her entire self focused on the words from the caller.
Kurt felt his adrenaline suddenly start pumping through him in worry as he watched Carole lean against the wall and breathe heavily, wet trails of tears trailing down her cheeks. "In Joplin, Missouri? What the-"
Burt was suddenly at the door, one hand on Carole's shoulder and a serious look on his face. He and Kurt exchanged a quick glance between each other, and a silent message seemed to pass between them as they watched Carole's horrified expression get even deeper.
Something's happened to Finn.
Her expression suddenly changed to one of slight relief, and she closed her eyes and nodded. She then found a piece of paper and pen on the small telephone table in the hallway and jotted a few things down. "Yes...yes, I understand. I'll be there as soon as possible. Thank you, Sergeant." She slowly replaced the phone into the cradle and turned to Burt, her eyes wide. "Finn's been hurt. He's in the hospital. I...I have to see him, Burt."
Although his face betrayed almost all the questions he wanted to ask, Kurt watched as his father simply swallowed, adjusted his ball-cap a bit, and then nodded. "Whatever you need, Honey. Just say it."
Kurt watched as his step-mother quickly wiped her tears from her face and went into her walk-in closet. A moment later, she returned to the bed and put a small, rolling suitcase on the bed. "I'll be gone for just a couple of days. I have to sign some papers and make sure he's okay and...once everything is-"
"What's going on, exactly?" Kurt asked from the doorway of the master bedroom. Carole stilled and turned up to see her step-son, then took a deep breath and stood straight.
"Finn was hurt during a deployment to help with tornado relief efforts in Joplin. He's in the hospital and just out of surgery. He's fine, thank God, but the National Guard needed to inform me of what happened to him because he's underage."
"How was he hurt?" Kurt asked. Even Burt looked up at Carole in askance.
The older woman stopped from pulling clothes out of her dresser and turned to both of them. "You have to promise not to say anything to anyone. Anyone! The National Guard investigation is still ongoing and they're trying to keep this from hitting the news out of state. Burt: nothing to anyone at your shop. Kurt: not a word to any of your friends, not even to Blaine." She stopped and began to wring her hands a bit. "I'm serious, okay? Not a word."
Kurt grew much more alarmed, and he stood to his full height, all traces of sleep vanishing instantly as he swallowed and held his breath, waiting for his step-mother's attention. After Burt nodded, Kurt did also. "I promise."
Carole took a breath and nodded. "Finn came across a domestic dispute. It ended with shots being fired. Finn was hit under his arm, but luckily it wasn't bad; he just came out of surgery."
Kurt reeled at the information, all at once worried for his step-brother but relieved Finn would be okay. After collecting his wits about him, he looked at Carole. "So...what's this about an investigation?"
Carole was breathing rapidly as she spoke, her voice wavering. "Because...Finn returned fire and it...he shot the other man in question."
"WHAT?" Kurt's jaw dropped open in astonishment. "Finn shot him? Finn? But he wouldn't..."
"I don't know more than that," Carole said. She continued packing clothes frantically, wiping another errant tear off her cheek as she went. "But he's in the hospital in Joplin and I have to get to him. "
Burt exhaled loudly and then turned into the walk-in closet to grab a small suitcase. He came back out and put it beside Carole's, then began pulling clothes out of his own dresser. Carole looked at him in askance and stopped packing momentarily. "What about the shop?"
Her husband shrugged. "Family emergency, Honey. I'm gonna be there for Finn while he's healing from a gunshot wound. Milton can run the shop for a day. He did it last year while I was out with my heart attack." Burt suddenly turned to Kurt and walked over to him. "Can you handle being by yourself for a couple of days? "
Kurt made a face at him, crossing his arms. "Of course!"
Burt nodded and clapped his son on the shoulder. "I'll leave some money on my dresser should you need it. I'm counting on you, Kurt. And remember what Carole said; not a word of this to anyone. Hopefully Finn will be cleared of any wrongdoing and simply go back to training." Burt turned back to his dresser and began pulling together some undergarments and t-shirts. "We'll be driving there, so if you need something, call us on our cells."
Kurt bit the inside of his cheek as he considered the situation. If the military was still investigating, it must have been very recent, likely within the last twenty-four hours or so. They hadn't even been informed that Finn's unit had been deployed to assist in the relief efforts in Missouri, and that tornado had hit there almost two weeks ago (he remembered because it was the same day Rachel and he had mailed Rachel's letter to Finn).
He felt sick, angry and helpless all at once that his new step-brother-in-arms was lying somewhere, injured, and there wasn't anything he could do for him. For one of the very few times in his life, he prayed silently to keep his step-brother safe during this difficult time for him, hoping something would hear him.
Suddenly, another though occurred to Kurt as he absently watched his Dad and Carole get their suitcases quickly packed with some clothes. If Finn's unit had been deployed soon after that tornado struck, that likely meant Finn had absolutely no idea that Rachel had sent a letter, let alone had he sent one in return. Once Rachel failed to get a response, she was going to be an emotional wreck. And given the circumstances of Finn's incident, there was now nothing Kurt would be able to say to alleviate her doubts or concerns without improper disclosure.
Kurt groaned inwardly and put his hands over his face. It was clear that between his stint as the costuming assistant with the community theatre and trying to keep Rachel sane regarding his step-brother that he was going to be ass-deep in drama for the rest of the summer.
He'd been stupid before to think he was on break.
XXXXX
Finn awoke in a white room. Well, it was actually just big, concrete bricks painted white. He felt strange; sluggish and slow and dizzy and everything else. He blinked a couple of times to try and clear some of the haze out of his eyes, then slowly turned his head to the side to see where exactly he was. For some reason, his brain wasn't acting as quickly as it normally did (not that many thought it was quick at all, of course). Was anyone else here with him?
"Ah, I see someone is awake finally." A pleasant female voice came from just below where he was looking. He lifted his head up slightly and saw an elderly lady furiously writing something on a clipboard chart.
"Am I dead?" He asked without preamble. If he was, he was definitely going to suggest a much more pleasant welcome into the afterlife; a bed in a white concrete room wasn't cutting it for him, and he was usually pretty relaxed about that kind of stuff.
The elderly lady laughed a bit, which highlighted the laugh lines along her face, and then shook her head. "You're in the Freeman Hospital Surgical Recovery Room. And no, you were never in any real danger of death—the bullet clipped under your arm. All things considered, it was probably the best bullet wound one could hope for…other than being shot in the ass, of course."
"But then everyone would call me Forrest Gump, and Frankenteen is bad enough," Finn groaned and let his head fall back into the pillow behind him, a touch of nausea coming to him as his shoulder flared in pain when he shifted himself. "Fuck, this hurts."
The nurse shook her head and retrieved a needle from the table beside him. "Language, my young friend. Never a need for that word."
Bet you've never been shot, have you? Finn grumbled inside his mind. The nurse had complete control over is well-being, though, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
He watched as she approached with the needle, but then (much to his relief) she suddenly turned towards his I.V. and used that line for the injection. "I thought, given your size, we'd need a stronger dosage than normal. Let's see if Mr. Demerol can take care of your discomfort, shall we?"
Finn nodded a bit, then settled back down and anxiously waited for the painkiller to work. He had been given Demerol when he had sprained his ankle in football camp two years ago, and it had worked wonders for him. Just as he felt the drug quickly work through his body (and make him feel extremely tired in the process), he heard the nurse absently speaking to one of her colleagues before drifting peacefully off to sleep.
"Yes, he'll be fine. Unlike the other one."
XXXXX
Hours later, Finn found himself staring out the window of his hospital room, thinking he was quite possibly the luckiest person alive. Not many people could claim to have gotten shot and come through it to the other side with what was essentially a flesh wound (though a major flesh wound, as the nurse had explained). His left shoulder and under his arm still hurt like hell, but he couldn't complain too much when he thought about it. He still had the full use of his left arm (or he would once it healed), he was still able to walk, and what he was most grateful for was the fact he was shot on the left side; well away from his throwing arm for football. Had the bullet taken a different direction, his football days could have been eliminated altogether.
Yeah, he was one fucking lucky asshole.
So why did he feel nervous and unsure about everything now? Why did it feel like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders? Like, somehow, things were about to take a drastic turn for the worse? Hadn't the worse already been dished out and flown by him without more than a slight tap on the left shoulder to mark its presence? What was this crushing sense of dread and warning running through his mind and heart right now? Why was he so uneasy and worried?
"Next time you wanna get hurt, jump out of a tree or something, 'kay Huddie?"
Finn looked over and smiled genuinely to see his short, Hispanic friend, Marquez, standing at the door with Omeasoo right behind him. "Marquez! Omeasoo! How are ya?"
"Better now that I've seen you awake, you lucky son-of-a-bitch." Marquez nodded to him. Both he and his Native friend smiled at the quarterback before coming in and plopping themselves on the visitor chairs. Omeasoo sat respectfully in his chair, back straight and only leaning slightly against the backrest. Marquez, however, threw his feet automatically onto the corner of the bed beside Finn's prone form.
"Everything okay?"
"Oh, you know," Marquez began in a nonchalant drawl, "just getting interrogated seven fucking different ways 'bout your shoot-out at the 'Suburban Corral' and all that shit. It is what it is, these days."
The tall Gleek grimaced at hearing this. "Sorry 'bout that. It's not like I wanted to exchange bullets with someone, though."
Omeasoo smiled a bit himself. "Tried to warn you, Hudson; never mess with Native mojo."
Marquez laughed genuinely at Omeasoo's comment, and even Finn chuckled at the response, but another flare of pain suggested he be careful just how hard he laughed. His new friends in the Guard always seemed to have a way to make him feel better. Whether it was some snide comment, genuine concern, or just a desire to lighten the mood, they always seemed to know how to get him to smile and relax.
"So, where are Graham and Wayfor?" Finn asked.
"Right here," Graham said as he walked in, also dressed in civilian attire. "Well, I am. Candi will be along in a few." He started shaking his head as he gave Finn the once over while standing at the side of his bed. "You look like shit."
"And feel about the same," Finn replied, using his right fist to bump knuckles with the other boy. "I'm kinda surprised you and Wayfor aren't sneaking off somewhere for some… alone time."
Graham made a face. "Sure, we're gonna worry about that while you're lying here in a fucking hospital bed with a gunshot wound. That would have been real mature."
Omeasoo nodded in agreement with Graham. "That's more Marquez's style."
Marquez shrugged casually. "Depends how hot she is; not like Huddie's going anywhere for a couple days." This brought forth another round of laughter from the foursome and Finn could feel himself relax a bit in the company of his friends.
"So, how does it feel to take a bullet for king and country?" Graham asked as he sat down on the only remaining chair in the room.
Finn shrugged with his good shoulder. "Could've been worse; I don't want to do it again. But, like, four inches to the right and I might not even be talking to you guys, right?" His tone was light and playful.
"Right." Graham and Omeasoo shared a quick glance between each other and then looked away quickly. Finn frowned at the seemingly secret message passed back and forth between the two, wondering what exactly they meant, but before he could ask another figure entered in through the door to his hospital room.
"Surprise!" Wayfor said, coming over to Finn's bedside and leaning down to give him a fond hug which he returned with his good arm. Once she pulled away, she grinned and put a gift bag on his bed. "I got you something to make you feel better; had it made special. A new t-shirt you can add to your collection."
Finn raised an eyebrow at his friend before removing the tissue paper on the top of the gift bag. He reached in to find a white t-shirt with black letters, not unlike the one he wore during the Glee assignment a few months ago. The message on this t-shirt was decidedly different, however. In big black letters across the front, he read clearly and out loud.
"JUST SHOOT ME!"
The other four burst into laughter as Finn rolled his eyes and tossed the t-shirt at Wayfor. She laughed genuinely and then folded the t-shirt for him and put it back in the gift bag. "I remembered you told me about your Glee assignment and-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Finn shook his head in mock irritation, even as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth enough to give away the fact he wasn't really bothered by it. After all, Marquez and Wayfor had been the first to administer first aid on him until the ambulances arrived like seven minutes later (it'd felt more like a lifetime—or longer.) He passed out just after hearing they had arrived at the hospital and hadn't woken up until in the recovery room. "Can't dance. Can't duck. I get it. Not good moving my body around, I guess."
"Which is strange because you rocked the football game," Graham mentioned offhandedly as Wayfor settled herself on his leg.
Finn grinned wickedly. "Football's not the onlyplace where I can use my size to my advantage."
"Ahhh!" Wayfor immediately put her fingers in her ears and closed her eyes. "LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA! T.M.I.! T.M.I.!" She said over and over again as the other four all began laughing yet again. Well, Finn tried to laugh, but his injury stabbed through his shoulder muscles again. Stupid bullet-hole. He thought as he winced and moved a bit to get more comfortable.
After a few more moments of playful banter and one nurse's visit to check on his progress, Finn saw a large black man in full uniform walk up to the door with a folder and his military cap under his arm. The other four soldiers, immediately stood at attention upon seeing their Sergeant, but he waved them off almost immediately.
"At ease, maggots," he said, more out of habit than insult. "I know you're all on your day off…but I need you guys to beat it so I can talk to Hudson alone."
The others all nodded and smiled or waved to Finn as they exited the room. Sergeant Banks waited for them all before closing the door to Finn's hospital room. He sighed and placed his cap on Finn's rolling dining table. "How've you been, Hudson? Feeling holy yet?"
Finn bit his lip to keep from laughing again at the joke, but he really didn't want to show his pain to his superior. After a smile, he shrugged again with his good shoulder. "I'm okay, Sergeant. I guess we need to talk about the...incident…for a report or..."
Sergeant Banks nodded. "Yes, but I'm happy to report the investigation has all but concluded already."
"Investigation?" Finn asked, his eyebrows going up in surprise.
"Whenever an incident involves gunfire outside of hostile territory, the Military Police conduct an investigation." Banks explained as he sat down in front of Finn. "It was very quick this time because all eyewitness stories match. They still have to formally question you, of course, but at this point it's more of a formality than anything else. You were obviously acting in self defense. It's good news to hear the decision has been all but made official even before they got around to talking to you."
Finn sighed quietly in relief, grateful to hear that he wasn't going to be interrogated the way his friends had. Now all that was left was to heal and get back to working on this deployment. He had only one question left, really, about the whole ordeal. "Sarge, is that Carl guy who clipped me in custody now? I just need to know they got him away from that lady he hurt. "
Banks frowned at him, and was quiet for a long time. Finn felt the tension in the room suddenly grow thick, and he continued to stare at his sergeant, waiting for an answer.
"Sarge?"
"How much do you remember, Hudson?" His sergeant leaned back in the chair, regarding him with slightly narrow eyes.
"Uh...I know we were in a standoff, and we exchanged gunfire. I know he went down about ten seconds before me. But Omeasoo called it in right away, and then he and Graham were on top of him doing CPR. There are so many ambulances in Joplin right now that-"
He was cut off as he caught Banks' gaze at him, never wavering. The big black man sighed quietly and then leaned forward in his chair, looking at the floor for a moment before turning is eyes back up to Finn's.
"His full name was Carl Waverly. He was a low-level manager at a security company here in the city. Apparently, the police have responded to his home for domestics before." Banks shook his head slightly and spoke gently. "He didn't make it."
Finn scrunched his face up in confusion as he looked long and hard at his superior. "Didn't...what do you mean? Didn't make what?"
Banks pursed his lips a bit before saying words which would haunt Finn for the rest of his life.
"He's dead, Hudson. You killed him."
No words in his young life had ever coursed like venom through his veins; they chilled him to a complete and utter degree. All at once, he felt sick to his stomach and dry in his mouth, and every part of his body went completely numb. His mind recoiled as the words replayed through his ears and across his eyes at light speed to the point where Finn could hardly focus on anything else. The words all but consumed him completely.
He's dead, Hudson. You killed him.
He's dead, Hudson! You killed him.
He's dead, Hudson. You killed him!
He's dead, Hudson! You killed him!
His breathing grew rapid and he swallowed back the poisonous feeling that washed up the back of his throat in an icy wave, but he was too frozen with dread to move. Nothing could have prepared him for the shock of being told that he had taken a life.
A life! A person's LIFE! YOU TOOK A PERSON'S LIFE!
He's dead and you killed him.
He's dead.
Finn mind whirled faster and faster, the storm building like a tornado as he sat there, staring blankly at the wall of his hospital room. The grief he felt for his victim washed over him utterly; he couldn't swallow it back down and he finally gasped as the intense nausea built up inside of him. He quickly threw off the covers of his bed and tried to raise himself, but just as soon as he had attempted to get up off the bed, Banks was there and stopped him with a steady hand on the chest, gently pushing him back to a sitting position on his bed. In his other hand he held a garbage pail, and no sooner did Finn recognize it than did he vomit the contents of his stomach into it. After retching a couple of times, all he felt were dry heaves, and he pushed the pail away. With Banks firmly gentle hands guiding him, Finn collapsed back onto his bed, ignoring completely the pain it caused his left shoulder. He couldn't help but feel he deserved the same seven times over. It would be nothing compared to what he had done to Carl. Carl Waverly. His wife with the wild eyes. None of their lives would ever be the same – and one of them. Well… apparently, one of them was gone entirely.
He was just trying to help. He didn't…had he made everything worse? It kinda felt like it.
"I...I...I..." Finn stammered, but couldn't find any words to adequately express every feeling and emotion running through his mind. He tried to swallow again, but couldn't and coughed in the attempt. Banks handed him a small glass of water, which Finn sipped at quickly; it didn't do any good, either, really.
"Slowly, Hudson. Like football practice, 'kay?" Banks pulled the cup out of Finn's grasp after he'd had about half the contents, but Finn didn't feel like drinking anymore anyway. His mind was still swirling, a storm of grief, anger and regret. How in the hell had it all come to this? All he had wanted to do was get away from Lima, get away from his heartache and maybe try to understand his Dad a little.
This? This was so much worse than any kind of pain he might have had staying in Lima. This was worse than anything.
He's dead. It's my fault. I killed him. I killed someone. Like…dead. Really dead. Not coming back dead. Dead.
He's dead, Hudson. You killed him.
"I've seen a friend go through this before," Banks said to him, still standing beside him, his expression gentle and understanding. "It's called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. There's a debriefing team…Critical Incident Stress Management…should you want to talk to someone. I highly advise you take advantage of it when you're ready." Banks nodded and then grabbed his cap and file folder. He turned to leave, but turned back to Finn to look at him before exiting. "You're a good soldier, Hudson. Best recruit I've seen in a long time. You made a difficult decision with no time to think it through. For what it's worth, you did the right thing, no matter the consequence."
Finn checked his breathing, fought to keep his voice steady. He tried not to blink because who knew what would come out if he did? He narrowed his eyes instead.
"How can you say that? Have you ever had to…?"
Banks frowned, before glancing away. "No."
"Then how? How can you stand there and say you know it was the right thing to do?"
The big black man smiled a bit before securing his cap back on the top of his head and then shrugging. "Simple. You're still alive."
Sergeant Banks crisply walked out of the room, leaving Finn to wonder if he could ever share his superior's belief, but somehow doubting it. And really doubting he could ever talk enough to get himself there.
XXXXX
Returned! Rachel could still scarcely believe it. Her long thought out letter, her painstakingly crafted masterpiece of heartfelt pleading and honest emotional revelations had been returned unopened. But what she didn't understand was why it had been returned. She had checked address closely with what Kurt had provided and of course it matched. There was no reason as to why it should have been sent back to her with nothing but a red stamp on the outside declaring in big, bold letters
RETURN TO SENDER.
Is that really it? Rachel thought morosely to herself outside of her synagogue as she tried to eat her lunch, glancing up now and then to ensure her campers were behaving at their picnic circle. Is that the official end of any hope to be with Finn again? Should I see this as a sign that things between us will never work out and simply move on?
"Hi, Miss Berry."
Rachel was pulled out of her sullen thoughts and looked up to see who had spoken. She smiled a bit when she noticed Kale standing there, watching her curiously. "Kale, hi. Do you need help with something?"
Kale shook his head. "No, I just thought I'd see if you're okay. You seem sad today."
She swallowed a bit and turned from his penetrating gaze, one that seemed to see past all of her acting skills and defences; it reached right down into her soul to reveal her true self. Was she this obvious to everyone? She truly hoped not. "I'll be fine, Kale. I just...I miss my friend in the National Guard."
Kale glanced down to the envelope in her hands, then looked back to her and smiled. "Oh, yours was returned too, was it?"
Rachel regarded him sharply. "Uh...what do you mean, 'too'?"
"We got back something we sent to Travis." Kale spoke quickly and then sat down beside her on the picnic bench, putting his juice box on the table in front of him. "A little box with some stuff in it, like a picture I drew and some trail mix my Mom knows he likes – you know with the M&Ms in it? That was all sent back home to us, too."
The young brunette scrunched her face in confusion. If Kale and his Mom were getting stuff back from Travis, that meant it wasn't just Finn who was returning her letters; it meant his troop was probably unavailable and not at Camp Grayling. And if they weren't at Camp Grayling, that meant they could be anywhere; anywhere the U.S. military deemed necessary to send them.
But where would that be?
Rachel nodded and then pulled her cell phone out from her pocket. "Thanks Kale. That makes me feel a bit better. I was thinking my friend didn't want me to mail him a letter."
Kale scoffed at her before getting up and grabbing his juice box. "Wouldn't be a good friend then, would he?" Before Rachel could respond, Kale was already running over to where Hannah Puckerman was playing hacky sack with some of the other girls.
Rachel smiled at his 10-year-old's insight before turning her attention to the cell phone in her hand. She quickly dialed Kurt's number before bringing the phone to her ear.
He picked up almost immediately. "Rachel, darling. How are you this fine Friday afternoon?"
She sighed a bit. "I'd be better if I hadn't found my letter to Finn returned to me."
The pause on the other end of the phone raised the hackles on the back of Rachel's neck; she wasn't sure if her friend was still there and not answering or if he had maybe put his phone down and walked away for a moment. Finally, after a long few seconds and just before Rachel was about to confirm his presence on the other end, Kurt spoke. "Is it in Finn's handwriting where it says 'return to sender'?"
Rachel shook her head, even though she knew Kurt couldn't see her actions. "No, it's just stamped in big letters with red ink, like it's from a large mailroom or something."
"Hmmm." Kurt was obviously eating his own lunch, so Rachel waited until he finished chewing before expecting an answer. After a moment, Kurt continued. "Well, maybe his unit is unavailable for some reason."
Her eyebrows went up in surprise at Kurt's voice and inflection. She had gotten to know him quite well since January. They had bonded over their love of Broadway and confided in each other the pains both were experiencing in their love lives; him trying to start one with Blaine, and her trying to win back Finn. She felt she knew Kurt better than probably anyone—other than a certain tall, lumbering male lead in Glee—and the tone of Kurt's words left her to believe he knew more than he was letting on.
"What aren't you telling me, Kurt?"
She could feel the sudden tension on the other end of the phone, and his chewing stopped completely. After another long, multi-second pause, Kurt sighed quietly. "Please drop it, Rachel."
"Drop what? What's going on?"
Kurt took another heavy breath. "I can't say."
"Can't, or won't?" Rachel shot back, a bit more harshly than she intended.
"Can't and won't." After another long moment, Kurt spoke again. "I can tell you Finn never received your letter and doesn't even know you tried to mail him one."
Rachel sucked in a breath. "Where is he, Kurt?"
Kurt's voice came through stressed but firm. "Please don't ask me, Rachel. I can't answer; not the least of the reasons why is that I promised Carole and my father I wouldn't."
Dread and fear began coursing through her mind and settling into her stomach. This was the first time Kurt had ever intentionally hidden something from her, especially in regards to his step-brother. Whatever had happened to Finn, it was serious enough to be kept within his family. And there weren't that many things which could have happened to anyone that required the entire affair be kept so quiet.
"Can you at least tell me if he's okay?" Rachel asked weakly, circumnavigating many other direct questions she'd rather be asking her best friend.
After another pause that seemed like an eternity, she heard Kurt's voice. "Yes. As far as I know, he's fine."
Relief flooded through her, and she released a breath she didn't even know she was holding. She wanted so much more information that she had been given so far, but she also knew Kurt was being adamant about keeping his promise to his parents, and Rachel couldn't imagine herself ever asking anyone to break a familial promise. For now, she'd have to accept what little information Kurt had given her.
Finn was no longer at Camp Grayling and had left before she mailed her letter. But wherever he was and whatever had happened, he was still alive and his family was informed. She could deduce from that he was in good health but involved in something either he didn't want to share, something the family didn't want to share, or something the National Guard didn't want to share.
The question running through her mind now, however, was why? What could possibly have happened that would be of such magnitude that only Finn's immediate family could know?
"Look, Rachel, I'm sorry but I have to go. The Director wants me to help with a costume fitting for the two leads. I'll call you later, okay?"
Rachel sighed. "Okay, Kurt. Let me know more if or when you're able, please?"
There was another pause, but then Kurt spoke again. "I will if I can, Rachel. You'll be the first to know." With that, she heard the call disconnect, leaving her wondering just one thing.
What happened to Finn?
Well…one thing that, she had a feeling, was everything.
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