"What are you thinking about?" Carol asked him a few weeks later, putting down the book she was reading.
Finn kept his gaze on a tree out the window. It was raining and he liked the way the leaves turned sliver when the wind blew. "About dad."
Carol sighed. "Good thoughts, I hope?"
Finn shrugged. He wasn't really sure what he was thinking. He just knew that he now completely understands what could have driven his father to do the things he did…and that hurts.
"How's the leg?"
"It's fucking missing," he snapped. Carol gasped and he looked at her. "Sorry. It's okay, just a little sore."
He'd been working out with the new prosthesis for a couple of weeks now. He'd been relieved at the ease with which he took to it; his fears really had been unfounded. Rachel said that he was naturally graceful, but he figured she chose to forget what he looked like when he tried to dance.
"I know it's hard, baby," Carol said, "but you're doing so well."
Finn didn't say anything, looking back out the window. They thought he was doing well. He grinned his big goofy grin and joked around and did his therapy exactly like he was supposed to and everyone assumed all was well. It couldn't be farther from the truth.
Depression had grabbed him and he couldn't shake it. He knew he had a lot to be grateful for- Rachel, the baby, his family and friends, his life- but he still spent hours at a time feeling like he was smothering. The counseling appointments he'd been forced to go to hadn't helped, and he couldn't say anything to Rachel; she was dealing with enough.
He still couldn't sleep, and when he did he tossed and turned violently. His nightmares were always vivid and horrific, and when he woke up he expected to be lying back on the ground in Afghanistan.
After the first night she'd tried to sleep with him, he and Rachel had both agreed it wasn't a good idea. He knew it hurt her that she couldn't help him, so he kept most of this stuff to himself. He wondered if his father had done the same…had he felt trapped? Like he couldn't break away from the things that had happened to him and there was no hope for him?
Finn fully believed that his dad had wanted to die, and there were times that he felt the same way. The realization frightened him.
He was in a dark mood today, and glad that Rachel had had a doctor's appointment so he didn't have to be around her like this. If only his mother would go away, too. Maybe they saw more than he knew; maybe that was the reason he was never allowed to be alone.
"Why are you here today?" Finn asked her casually.
"Well, Rachel had an appointment and I didn't want you to have to be alone."
Finn looked at her. "I can't be alone?" he asked.
"Well, you can, but why would you want to be?" Carol said, smiling at him.
"What if I do want to be?"
Carol's smile slipped and she looked at him. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked him quietly.
"I would like some time alone to think," he told her. Noticing the look on her face, he smiled half-heartedly. "You know I love you, right?"
Carol stood and walked over to him, kissing him on the forehead. "I love you too, Finn," she told him. "So much."
After she left, he continued to look out the window. Maybe it would be best for all of them if he really did just end it. They were having a baby; Rachel wouldn't need to be worried about taking care of him. And his life insurance policy would help them out more than he'd ever be able to. And he could finally get away from himself; from the pain and the fear and the guilt. Maybe it was selfish sticking around.
But how would he do it? He looked around the room, uncertain. Hell, he could just hang himself, he decided. He'd call for the nurse before he did it; it always took them a few minutes to get into the room anyway, and by that time it would be over. That way, Rachel would never have to see it.
Slowly Finn stood, wincing at the soreness in his leg. They'd made a good choice with the carbon fiber blades, not that it mattered now.
As he walked towards the bed, he realized he was crying. Well, he should be, shouldn't he? If there was ever a time to cry, this would be it. Reaching the bed, he looked down at the sheets, trying to figure out how to do what he needed to.
"Finn," he heard from the doorway.
His eyes shot to the man standing there. "Puck?" God, his friend looked awful. He'd known Puck had burns on his neck and face, but nothing had prepared him for this. Even with the burns, though…it was Puck. Finn's heart leapt with joy. "Puck!"
Puck came into the room and hugged his friend, not ashamed of the tears rolling down his face. "It's good to see you, man," he said.
"It's good to see you too," Finn said, pulling back and looking at his friend. "Damn, man, you gonna be okay?" Finn realized that the relief he felt was more than just seeing his friend alive and well…how could he even think about hurting himself? What the fuck was wrong with him? Realizing what he'd been about to do almost floored him.
"Fuck if I know," Puck said, grinning. "You should see the attention the nurses give me, though."
Finn smiled, focusing on his friend. "They think it's sexy?"
"Hell, everything I do is sexy," Puck told him, looking so much like the kid Finn knew from high school that he couldn't even see the scars. Puck shrugged. "They're going to do some crap with skin from my back…or thigh…or something. Maybe it'll help."
Finn sat down on the bed, motioning to the chair by the window. "You're out of rehab and all that?"
Puck nodded. "I'm a free man," he told his friend. He lifted his left arm, wincing a little. "Limited mobility, shit like that."
"Can you still play?" Finn asked him.
"I'll always play," Puck told him. "I just can't play for as long."
Finn thought about that. "I'm glad it was my leg instead of my arm," he said finally. "I wouldn't want to give up the drums."
"They make some creepy fake arm too," Puck told him, eyeing Finn's new leg. "I wondered if you'd get the real looking leg or not. Quinn said you wouldn't care."
"How is Quinn?" Finn asked. He'd talked to the woman a couple of times on the phone, but he hadn't seen her.
"Driving me nuts," Puck told him. "She's back in New York now, trying to make up the classes she dropped. I hope she can."
"So are you two…what?"
Puck shrugged. "No clue. She was dating that tool Brody when we were hit."
"Brody, huh?" Finn said, annoyed without knowing why. He bet the man would have moved right in on Rachel if he had died. Or killed himself like a dumbass.
Puck nodded. "So…uh…how you doing?"
It was Finn's turn to shrug. "I don't know, man. Not good." It felt good to be able to say it. "It's been…dark."
"Yeah, for me too," Puck said. "I can't sleep, keep having terrible nightmares."
"Me too," Finn told him.
"I'm seeing some chick counselor. She's pretty hot, but I don't want to talk to her. I don't really want to talk to anyone. They wouldn't get it, you know?"
Finn nodded. "Same."
"I realized that I remembered you being pulled away from the crash," Puck said. "If I had known that sooner, we could have been looking for you."
Finn heard the agony in his voice. "Not your fault," he told his friend.
"I feel like it is," Puck told him. "I lie in bed at night and think about it. It's eating me alive."
"I killed Bobby," Finn told him.
"What?"
"I thought I knew what I was doing but I didn't and they killed him." Finn explained what happened.
"Wasn't your fault," Puck said when he'd finished.
"Feels like it," Finn told him.
"Yeah, that's the kicker," Puck told him. "We're our own worst enemies."
They were both quiet for a moment, thinking. "Think we're going to be okay?" Finn asked him.
"No," Puck told him. "I don't think we will be."
Finn nodded. "That's what I was afraid of."
"But at least we can be fucked up together."
"Always."