(Author's note: It's exciting to see some of the more subtle elements begin to emerge in this story. I loved rewatching each episode as I was writing; just as with the music inspiration, it made it a richer experience to see all the little details. I'm inspired by the constraints of canon, and I won't abandon them… exactly. Every piece is a surprise as I write it. Thank you for going along with my wild ride. Warnings in this chapter for fairly severe physical discipline and references to Finn's training regimen. Also, I'm so excited to introduce a new character — one you'll see on the show in season 2. Enjoy! -amy)
Episode 1.17: Bad Reputation, Part 3 - Finn, Kurt, Emma, Toby
Taking the bus to Carl's office on Friday after school felt like a march from a jail cell to the firing line. It had never felt like that before, not even when he knew he'd done something wrong and was going to get disciplined for it. He couldn't quite figure out why this was different, but it weighed on him the entire ride downtown. Of course, it didn't help to know he wasn't going to get to see Carl at all this weekend, or Blaine.
Angela was waiting by the door when he got off the bus. He could see her through the glass front window all the way down the street as he walked from the bus stop, a half-block from Carl's building. She looked sympathetic, and he felt an irrational rush of anger at the situation.
"Does everybody know I fucked up?" he demanded. She shrugged, locking the door behind him.
"I think everybody is a matter of debate."
He was already annoyed at himself for losing his temper with Angela. "I'm sorry. Of course he doesn't keep secrets from you."
She laughed, sounding genuinely surprised. "Finn, of course he does. I'm not his counselor, nor his friend. I'm his slave."
"You say that like he doesn't care about you," he protested, but she shook her head, still smiling.
"I know that's not true at all. It's just an entirely different kind of relationship. Consensual, yes, but don't think for a moment that it's egalitarian, or that I would ever want it to be. Dr. Howell's a demanding mentor, but this meets my needs just as it does his. We both get something out of the relationship, something important, that we wouldn't get from being friends."
He could feel his forehead furrowing as he tried to take this in. "Do you — have you ever been his friend?"
"That relationship never existed between us. I think it could have been possible, if I'd not asked for this contract. But that doesn't matter. You're going to have to believe me when I say this is what both of us want." She gestured at the back hallway. "He's waiting for you in his office."
Finn could feel every one of the artistically framed close-up photos of disciplinary tools regarding him on the walk to Carl's office, as though they were staring at him. Judging him. What kind of Top are you? the flogger seemed to say disapprovingly. You can't even make good choices for your boy.
But he's still my boy, Finn thought, clenching his jaw. I get to make that decision, even if I end up getting into trouble. And am I really arguing with a stupid picture?
He hesitated for one minute in the hallway outside Carl's office, his hand resting on the wood frame, and then took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Carl was sitting on the brick hearth, gazing into the fire. He didn't turn around as Finn entered.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"No thank you, sir," Finn said. He was about to say something else, but he thought better of it and just waited, watching Carl for any kind of a cue as to what he should do. He didn't have to wait long.
"Come sit down on the couch, Finn."
Carl reached for the poker and inserted it carefully between the drapes of the heavy iron curtain that hung before the hearth. The flames leapt up at his touch, and Finn watched him hungrily. I know how they feel.
"I'm —" He wanted so much to say he was sorry, to be back in Carl's good graces, and everybody else's. But it wouldn't be true. He just sighed. "Everybody seems to be angry at me, but… I don't actually think I made a bad choice."
Carl nodded decisively. "Me, either."
"What?" Finn blinked.
He set the poker down on the fireplace before turning around. Finn watched the light glint off the handle.
"What do you mean?" he persisted. "Then why am I here?"
Carl walked over and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing him. "Do you remember what I told you about who I was when I met Tess?"
Finn nodded. "You were in the Army, but you didn't want to be."
"I wasn't a recruit. I made a choice to join the ROTC as an undergraduate. When you become an officer like that, people have certain expectations of you, of the kind of person you'll be. You have to be responsible not only for other soldiers, but also for duties, administrative and otherwise."
He paused. Finn nodded again, not exactly understanding where this was going.
"You're good at that stuff, sir," he said.
Carl could not hide a wry smile. "I am now. I… was not, then. Being an officer, being in the Army at all, was a challenge, and one I wasn't willing to meet. By the time Tess got involved, I'd largely given up. I was doing little more than the bare minimum, and not with very much grace — and on top of that, I was doing everything I could get away with." He snorted. "Everyone I could get away with."
"You?" Finn felt baffled, and a little uneasy, but Carl just nodded calmly.
"Doesn't sound very much like me, does it."
"Well, no. But I guess… I mean, I can imagine that Tess… that she helped with that?"
Carl shook his head. "Actually, no. Not very much; not at the beginning. Consider that I didn't have any reason to trust her. Just because she saw something in me that told her I'd respond to disciplinary practices didn't mean that I had any idea about that, myself, or even believed in what she was doing." He tightened his focus abruptly, and Finn found himself leaning forward to listen. "But I believed in her. That she saw something in me that was worth that kind of time and energy, even if I didn't see it in myself… that made me listen to her, to do what she told me to do, even if I didn't know why. And, eventually, to start to develop my own discipline."
He reached over and put a hand on Finn's knee. Finn looked at the hand. His breath was coming fast now, as though the air had suddenly become too thin. He wanted to take the hand and hold on, but he waited.
"You, Finn. You're not starting where I did. You came to the table with a sense of yourself that I never had as a boy. You have confidence and intuition and leadership qualities — all things I had to develop over years of attention and hard work. Trust me, my ass paid the price for my missteps." His lip twitched. "Still does, with some regularity."
Finn shook his head. "I don't understand…"
"You've always had someone who believed in you. Someone who trusted that you would follow through on what you said you would do, and even when you did not, listened to you and offered you respect anyway. In my experience, that's rare." He squeezed Finn's leg. "Now, I don't know Patrick very well, but I suspect he didn't have someone like that growing up."
Finn thought of Blaine, that first time in the bathroom at Irene's coffee shop, saying it never feels like I have enough people. The protective rush of emotion he felt surprised him. He looked up at Carl. "Yeah. He doesn't have anybody like that now, either. It's like I told my mom; he needs somebody to be there for him when he can't deal with it on his own."
"You know I don't disagree. You can be that person for Patrick." Carl's face was solemn as he reached up to take Finn's chin. "But he is not the only person who depends on you. And I'm not talking about Puck or Kurt."
He moistened suddenly dry lips. "I —"
"When you're in charge of somebody, you worry about them. All the time. You know this, Finn. Trust me, your mother spends at least fifteen minutes in the course of every day wondering if you're dead in a ditch somewhere, and trying to figure out how she'd go on with her life if you were." He ran his fingertips lightly over Finn's jaw. "She listens to you. She deserves to be given the same courtesy." Carl's fingers suddenly slid around his neck, gripping tight enough to make breathing difficult. "And you will not leave town again without telling her precisely where you are going."
"Sir," Finn choked, but Carl had already let him go. He pointed at the wall beside the fireplace without a trace of a smile.
"You took care of your boy. That was the right thing to do. But you made some pretty egregious errors getting there, not the least of which was driving away in the middle of the night, alone. If you'd have called me, I would have gone with you and waited while you gave Patrick what he needed, then taken you home again." He was taking Finn's arms and positioning them along the bricks as he spoke, nudging his hips and taking Finn's jeans down without a pause. "And keep in mind, we're not even addressing the fact that you put someone's property on YouTube without their permission."
"But she thanked K— ow!" Finn had to twist his head around to see what Carl had struck him with, because it wasn't anything like a paddle or a flogger. It had a whippy quality to it, and it sounded like a ruler, but… and then, suddenly, the afterburn hit like a hot poker. "Oh, fuck."
"This is only about the trip to Westerville." Carl calmly repositioned Finn as he shied away from whatever he was holding. "You'll answer to the rest after this weekend is over. Take a deep breath, now, and let it out."
It was almost exactly what he had said to Blaine, but this was no open-handed spanking. It made him want to cry, the pain was so intense. "Carl," he protested.
"Quiet." The order was not barked like Lieutenant Howell would have done it, but murmured gently. Finn closed his mouth, trying to still the quivering of his lip. "I trust you know I take no pleasure in this, boy — and nor will you."
Finn had no hope of getting through this punishment without crying; he could tell that after three strokes. By the fourth he was actively trying to get away from Carl's strokes; by the fifth, he was begging. Carl stopped there, one warning hand resting in the center of Finn's back. Finn was sweating through his shirt, but he could barely think about that. A word surfaced on his lips, and he kept it inside just long enough to consider what it would feel like to have a sixth stroke on top of the existing fiery, pulsating mass of his backside.
"Waterfall."
Carl's response was immediate. He stepped in against Finn's body, supporting him under his arm as he let Finn sag onto his shoulder, waiting while he shuddered and moaned. God, it hurt. Carl didn't move one inch away from him, but he wasn't making any effort to comfort him, either.
"This is what's going to happen," he said. "I'm going to wait right here with you, just like this. Then I'm going to give you one more stroke with this cane, and that'll be the end. You'll rest here on my couch until the four-twenty-two bus arrives. Then you'll go home, and I'll look forward to your call on Sunday after five. Is that clear, Finn?"
Finn closed his eyes.
"I'm going to need a response."
He wondered what would happen if the response were fuck no, get the hell away from me. But what he wanted was so far from that, he couldn't even consider saying it. He wanted the exact opposite of that: for Carl to wrap him up in his arms and never let go. But he couldn't ask for that, either. In the end, he just nodded, and replaced his hands on the wall, appreciating the scratch of the brick against his palms. He heard the shudder of Carl's own sigh. It was the first sign Carl had given that this was affecting him in any way.
But of course it is, Finn thought, with a flush of appalled shame. It's affecting him more, because he agreed to take care of me, and this is what he's deciding I need.
"I'm sorry," he cried, before the cane even struck, but he didn't flinch away from it, felt it penetrate, and dropped his head to rest on the wall. Carl stepped away, returned to his desk, opened the drawer where he kept his tools and put the tool away before walking toward the door. He paused there, looking back at Finn.
"It's not standard protocol," Carl said, his voice unsteady, "but things have never been standard with us, Finn, not in any sense. And I am…" He took a careful breath. "I am so proud of you right now."
The door closed behind him with a gentle click.
The room felt so much more lonely after Carl left. It was easy to imagine sinking down on the couch and crying until he fell asleep, or even going after him, seeking comfort. But Finn wasn't going to ask for that today. It was enough to know he'd done the right thing, at least in Carl's eyes. He picked up his jeans and struggled into them, easing them over his legs and bottom. He'd be standing on the ride home, no matter how many seats were available.
It wasn't until he was aboard the sparsely populated bus, pointed back toward his side of town, that Finn found himself unable to hold back a couple embarrassing, messy sobs — and he was pretty sure they had absolutely nothing to do with how much his backside hurt.
Cory and Duncan both had colds, which meant Puck was in charge of making them blow their noses. There was apparently some kind of magic involved in holding the tissue for them and coaching them to make elephant noises that Kurt couldn't fathom, but Puck didn't seem to mind handling it.
"It doesn't gross me out," he said, shrugging, when Kurt reacted with horror and nausea to Cory's flowing mucus. "Puke, diapers, whatever. It's all just body stuff."
"I'm going to take your word for it and stick to doing the dishes," Kurt informed him.
Puck forced both children into a steamy bath for half an hour, and by the time they put the kids to bed, they were both breathing freely. Neither one had much stamina for stories, which told Kurt that they probably really were under the weather.
"I'm going to get sick, too." He washed his hands a fifth time while Puck cleaned up the paper scraps from their boat-making craft extravaganza. Puck had related this story using a folded paper boat which involved ripping the boat to shreds. Duncan had made him tell it six times in a row, laughing maniacally each time the boat capsized.
"I'll make you chicken soup, if you do," Puck offered. "Or miso, if you like that better."
Kurt smiled, leaning over to kiss him. "I'd like anything you made, sweetheart."
Puck paused in sweeping under the table. "That thing you said the other day about us, getting tested." He glanced at Kurt. "Do you think we might… get sick? Doing the stuff we do?"
"I think there's some kind of a risk, being with Adam the way we are. I mean, we're the ones who are being risky here. Finn's not really doing anything with Carl that's putting us at major risk, but for all we know, Adam's sleeping with a different guy every weekend."
"Nah. I mean… you think so?" Puck looked skeptical. "Maybe when he starts his tour, he might, but… I think he'd say something. It's not like we'd get upset." He peered at Kurt. "Right?"
"Sure. Yes — I mean, no. No." The thought was mildly distressing, but Kurt was pretty certain Puck was right. Adam would tell them if there was somebody else. Probably. He shook his head. "I can't worry about that. It just makes things more complicated than they need to be. He's coming to see us in a week, and that's enough for now."
Puck was quiet, puttering around the house moving things back to where they should be. Kurt knew it was usually a calming activity for him, but in this instance, he wasn't sure it was working. Eventually, he approached Puck and put a hand on his lower back, resting it there with intent. Puck stopped what he was doing and took a slow breath, closing his eyes.
"Do you know I love you?" Kurt asked gently. Puck nodded. "And do you know I'd take care of you, if anything happened to you?"
"I'm not worried about me," Puck said. He sounded a little surprised by the idea. "I just — you know, I guess I didn't think about how the kind of stuff I do could hurt… other people. People like you, or Finn." He frowned. "Or — my kid. Or Quinn."
Kurt slid an arm around his waist, letting Puck lean on him. "She's been thoroughly examined all year, Noah, by more doctors than I'm sure she's comfortable with. I suspect if there was anything wrong with Quinn, you'd know by now. And your daughter… it's always a wait-and-see, but last you heard, everything was fine, right?"
"She just had her 28 week visit." Puck shrugged. "I guess? Maybe I should be paying more attention to those tests and stuff. All I remember is she's got freaking eyelashes now." He gave Kurt a helpless grin, and Kurt smiled back.
"Have you been thinking about names?"
"I told Sarah she was going to have to help me pick, because all the names I've come up with so far made her punch me in the arm. I mean, what's wrong with a rock'n'roll name? Better to be named after something badass than a freaking Disney princess or some shit." He sighed, moving to the couch and sitting on the edge, like he wasn't quite sure how to relax. "But I guess I feel like picking a name too soon is kind of like a jinx, you know? I'm waiting. Whatever happens, we'll figure something out." He glanced around restlessly. "Did the kids brush their teeth?"
"Noah," Kurt murmured. He took Puck's face in his hands and kissed him until he went soft and loose and pliant. "You're doing everything right."
"No," he whispered, his eyes a little wild, "no, I'm not. I can't figure out how I'm going do this, Kurt."
He stroked Puck's head gently, trying to calm him down. "Do what?"
Puck shook his head, quick and violent. "Be a good papa."
"All right." Kurt gave up on the gentle. He put a hand on Puck's shoulder, pushing him hard into the seat of the couch, then climbing on top of him, staring down at him. Puck looked utterly terrified. "I've had about enough of this whining. Do you think I have a good father?"
"You — yeah!" Puck sounded startled, then at Kurt's glare, he amended hastily, "Yes sir."
"Yes. He's fabulous, even if he makes shitty eggs. So do you think I'm a good judge of what makes a good father?"
Puck just stared at him, until Kurt leaned over, pressing his nose against Puck's.
"Do you?"
"Yessir!" Puck gulped. Kurt felt almost guilty at the degree of satisfaction he got at making Puck respond that fast.
"You're completely right. I do. So you will believe me when I tell you you're going to be a good father."
Kurt punctuated his words with little pokes to Puck's chest. Each one made Puck jerk back a little more, releasing a bit more tension each time, until he just deflated with an uneasy laugh.
"If you say so?"
"Fucking right I say so," snapped Kurt. Puck's smile widened, and he relaxed still more.
"Would you promise me something, baby?"
Kurt sat up, both hands still on Puck's chest. "Probably."
"If I ever start being a total asshole again — especially to my kid — will you call me on it?" He flushed, looking away. "In a way that, uh, I'll hear?"
Kurt couldn't help himself; he had to kiss Puck again, savoring his shudders. He took his cheeks in both hands. "I promise, Noah. You can count on it."
(Author's note: while Finn is grounded on Saturday, Carl goes to Columbus alone. He talks to Patrick about his dreams about the boy from the club, and they exchange real names. You can read about it in chapter 5 of Breathing Room. -amy)
Finn woke Sunday morning to a knock on his door. "Finn, you've got a text from Carl."
Her voice sounded a little odd, so he didn't hesitate to scramble out of bed and throw on his robe before opening the door. She pressed the phone into his hand, stepping away as she did so.
"Bring it downstairs when you… just bring it downstairs. I'll make breakfast." She flickered her eyes down to his lower portion. "Do you need more salve?"
There was something unbelievably weird about his mother asking him about the welts left by Carl's caning, but at the same time he was genuinely grateful. The marks, which had looked ugly and red and scary as fuck by the time he'd gotten home, had faded to pale stripes once he'd applied the smelly, goopy stuff his mom had handed him. Don't worry about using it up, she'd said firmly, and he'd listened. He hadn't asked how she'd known he'd needed it, and he wasn't really sure he wanted to know. He'd accepted the glass of cold water she'd handed him, too, then had closed himself in his room and not emerged for fourteen hours.
"I'm a lot better, thanks," he said. "I don't think I —" Then he looked at the message on his phone, and froze. "Uh. Mom? Did you read —"
"I'm sorry," she moaned, putting a hand over her face, "I didn't mean to, I just — it was there, and I wanted to make sure it wasn't important, and — Finn, aren't you worried about somebody seeing that kind of message on your phone?"
He couldn't look at her. "I used to have it password protected, but I didn't think I'd have time to unlock it if Patrick texted."
She took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay. It's fine. I'm not going to…" Then she shook her head and looked up at him imploringly. "Yes, I am. Finn, are you sure this is okay with you? This level of… of control?"
Finn rolled his eyes, but he steeled himself and nodded, with emphasis. "Mom… he's really not doing anything I don't want. I mean, if anything, he's making me wait. That's… that's what this is about. This… discipline." He glanced over at his dresser, where the hickory-wood box sat, gleaming. "It was a birthday present. I'm not… we're not, um." He bit his lip. "Not for a whole year. Until I'm eighteen."
His mother was listening carefully, but at that, she made a little surprised noise, and looked again at the box. "Finn… a year?"
He looked at the floor. "Yeah."
"You think… do you expect you'll still want —"
"Mom," he begged. "Please don't make me think about this any more than I already am."
Now her expression was almost sympathetic. She sighed. "Okay. I'll back off. But you're going to tell me immediately if it starts to feel uncomfortable, or — or like something you don't want."
"I promise. Just… please don't read my texts again, okay?"
She looked like she was stifling a smile. "I'll do my best. Breakfast in ten."
It was enough of a promise. He believed she hadn't meant to, but that didn't stop him from having to relive, over and over, the torture of imagining his mother reading the words You'll insert the #4 plug before breakfast, but if it arouses you, remove it and try again after lunch.
It was enough to make the process completely unerotic for the first time, and when he went down for breakfast, he did it with the plug inside him.
His mother seemed to have recovered her composure, but she also looked way more curious than he was willing to deal with. He kept his attention on his plate of waffles, methodically eating them bite by bite until they were gone.
"Do you suppose Carl would like to come over for dinner this week?"
Finn looked up, surprised, but his mother was just watching him with mild interest. "I, um. Maybe? I mean, I could ask him."
"Maybe Puck would make a nice dinner. It would be — good, for all of us to eat a meal together before next weekend."
Before we all spend a weekend together at Tessera. He nodded. "That's probably true." Then he added, as an afterthought, "Thank you."
"I don't have anything against him, Finn." She tilted her head. "I just want to be sure you're not being taken advantage of. This level of power over —"
"Mom, I want him to have power over me," Finn said loudly. It drove her to silence.
"I get that, honey," she said quietly. "I really, really do."
"He would stop if I told him to," he insisted. "And I have. He's good to me. He's —" He had to bite down on a sob. "He's so good for me. Kurt and Puck both think so too, so I'm not totally insane, I swear."
His mom smiled. "I know you're not." She looked a little more calm now. "I don't think you would consciously choose something you thought was going to harm you. I just don't think a sixteen-year-old can really ever have an equitable relationship with a man thirty years his senior."
"That'd matter more if I wanted an equitable relationship." He looked meaningfully at her, and waited for her to nod. "You're really okay with me having somebody else in charge of me?"
She nodded again, more slowly this time. "I don't think I expected you to stay a child forever, Finn. I'd be okay with you having any kind of partner, as long as it satisfied you."
"And you trust me to speak up if I'm freaking out?" he pressed. She nodded. "Well, then, I don't think you can make the decision that this is bad for me."
"I'm not saying it is." But she obviously wasn't pursuing it further, and eventually the conversation wound down to small talk. Finn took his dishes into the kitchen.
When the doorbell rang, he paused, deciding to wait in the kitchen until his mom said something. He was technically still grounded. But his mom called his name anyway, and when he responded to the call, he found Rachel Berry standing in his front hall, her face blotchy and red with tears. He looked at his mom, and she frowned, but gestured to her.
"Not too long," she said, and left them alone.
"I'm sorry," Rachel said immediately, staring at his robe. "I don't have to — I'm just so —"
"Hey," he said quietly, and opened his arms. She went into them, huddling against him with desperate little whimpers. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to comfort her, stroking her hair and shushing her and waiting for her shaking to stop. But all too quickly, she pulled away again. "Rach, it's okay."
"You're —" she said, blushing, and looked away. "You're naked under there."
He wasn't going to say No, I'm wearing a pair of underwear, because it still feels totally weird to have this plug in without them on. "Do you want me to get dressed?" She nodded, still embarrassed, but Finn smiled encouragingly. "Be right back."
Pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt gave him an opportunity to consider why he was being so nice to Rachel when she'd ditched him for Jesse, but he felt comfortable with the answer by the time he got back downstairs. She was still waiting in his front hall, leaning against the wall, and looked up expectantly when he arrived.
"Would you tell me why you're here?" he asked.
She grimaced. "Finn, I'm sorry. I wanted to at least say that, no matter what happens."
"Apology accepted." He waited, watching her fuss and twist her hands, looking around herself for something to hold on to, but he wasn't offering. Not yet.
"I wanted you to know, I really wasn't trying to make a comment on your relationships with my Run Joey Run video. I respect your right to be happy, Finn."
"Thanks." Big of you, Rach. But he couldn't help but smile, shaking his head. "I am. Happy."
She nodded, clearly miserable, and although he would have been lying if he'd said that he didn't take a mean kind of pleasure in her discomfort, he wasn't going to drag this on much longer.
"I'm seeing this guy," he said. "A boy at another school." He wasn't going to qualify the difference between taking care of Blaine and being his boyfriend, because he was pretty sure Rachel wouldn't understand. She was startled, but nodded. "I told him that, in addition to the three other guys I'm dating, that I kind of have a girlfriend."
She stared at him. Then her stubborn I-want line appeared between her eyebrows.
"What?" she demanded. "Who? Is it Quinn?"
"No!" He laughed. "Rachel, I meant you."
Now she was really at a loss. "But we're not…"
He sat down on the bench beside the door, and she sank down beside him. "I don't really know why I said that to him. Except… I guess, even after all the crap between us this month, I must still want it. Want… to be your boyfriend."
She blinked at him. He thought for a moment that she might cry. "I… I don't know, Finn. I think I should… think this over. I mean, I've just had a traumatic breakup, and as much as I appreciate the value of drama in my life to inspire me musically, I just… I don't know if I can deal with the number of people involved here. Meaning more than two." She bit her lip, pleading with her eyes. "I really don't think I'm cut out to be anything less than somebody's one and only."
"I got that." He wondered if he should feel disappointed, but all he felt was a sense of patient control. Rachel would either come around, or she wouldn't, and either one was okay with him. He smiled, watching her react.
"You know," she said, with a quiet laugh, "that t-shirt and sweatpants thing on you isn't much better than the robe."
He shrugged. "Does that mean I shouldn't offer a hug?"
"Oh — no. It doesn't mean —" Before she'd even finished speaking, she was nestled close against him. As he put his arms around her again, he could feel her quivering response to being so close to his body. He knew how that felt. It was just the way it was for him, when he was in Carl's arms, or Puck's, or Kurt's. He brushed his lips over her hair, and she let out a shaky breath.
"You should probably go," he murmured. "I'm technically still grounded."
"Yeah," she agreed. "I probably should." She tipped her face up to his. "I'm sorry, Finn. Again. I don't know if I'll ever stop saying it, just… for so many things."
"Don't worry." He let her go, squeezing her hands. "You and me, we're okay."
"Yeah?" Her smile was a lot calmer now. Finn knew how that could be, too; body contact relaxed him just as much.
"Yeah. I'm your friend, Rachel, whatever happens." He realized he actually meant that, and her grateful smile showed him that she knew it.
"Finn," came his mom's voice from the family room. It didn't sound upset, but Rachel scrambled for the door anyway.
"Thank you," she mouthed. Then she called, "Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson."
"Bye, Rachel," his mom called back. She waved, flashing a grateful smile, and hurried down the steps to her car. Finn watched her go. When he turned around, his mom was standing there, watching him warily.
"Did I hear you say you and Rachel are dating again?"
"She turned me down," he informed her. She raised an eyebrow.
"You don't seem too miffed."
He tugged on the string to open the slats on the blinds, switching off the porch light from the night before. "Rachel's going to do what she wants to do, mom. I can't do much about that."
But that wasn't quite true, either. He'd seen the way she responded to every word he said, even more than usual. His intuition told him it was because she was lonely, reaching for something familiar after what had happened with Jesse. She wants me, he thought, and it was true, no matter what she decided to do about it. And that meant he was the one with the power in this situation — and he'd come pretty damn close to abusing it. It made him a little uneasy.
Finn went and stood close to where his mother was working, her most recent yarn project spread out on the new coffee table in the family room.
"I'm still not used to seeing all the new furniture," he said, when she looked up. "It looks a little funny next to dad's old chair. I mean…" He sighed, rubbing his neck. "Sorry. It wasn't really his chair, was it?"
His mom shook her head. "It just happened to be in that picture. He came by the apartment to visit you a couple times. There's a reason why we don't have any other pictures of the two of you together. I wish I'd kept your baby book, but I gave it to —" She cut herself off, staring at her lap. "It doesn't really matter, I guess. I have memories. I don't need pictures to remember what you looked like."
Or her, Finn wanted to say, but it looked like memories might be a little too painful to poke at right now. It was a strange feeling, to realize how much he'd gotten wrong about his own first year of life. He tried to imagine that woman sitting in the chair, holding him the way his father was in the picture.
"So… I never had a father, huh?" he said at last. "Not one that mattered."
She shook her head again. The sadness on her face hurt his heart. "He — he really was a good man, Finn. It wasn't anyone's fault, what happened."
What happened? he wanted to ask, but he didn't. He just nodded.
"Do you wish you'd done it differently?" he asked instead. "Looking back on… being a mom, by yourself, the way you did it?"
Her smile was grim. "I won't lie. Being a single parent… it was really, really hard. My parents weren't at all happy with me choosing to keep you instead of giving you up for adoption. I was learning to think for myself for the first time ever, and I was — well, I suppose I was trying to be my own boss, instead of letting my father or anybody else do it for me."
"Being in charge of yourself," he murmured. He cocked his head. "Because you wanted to be, or because you thought you should be?"
Finn was pretty sure he wasn't imagining the quiver in his mom's lower lip as she considered the question. "Because I was sick of the alternative, I suppose. But… I was also terrified to let myself have what I wanted. I decided I would rather be judged for being a single parent than for being a — for having a black female lover. Nobody would have understood what we were doing, Finn."
He wasn't sure how to recognize the weight of the sacrifices she'd made for him, how to let her know he understood what that felt like, even if he hadn't ever been a father himself.
"You do what you have to," he said, "when you're responsible for somebody."
She nodded, her smile a little easier now. "And I was so glad to be your mother, Finn. I loved you so much, it never felt like a burden. I had to be with you; that was the only thing I thought about."
Finn spent the rest of the morning in the basement playing his drum kit. He'd finished his homework yesterday, and video games were off limits, and there was only so much enjoyment he got out of reading for fun without Puck or Kurt there to read with. He brought the picture that Cory had drawn for him, the one of Puck's "not-borned-yet" child, and stuck it on the edge of the snare with a piece of tape. Whenever he struck the drum, the picture vibrated a little, but it stayed there, Cory's almost-three-year-old crayon figure of a person he'd never met — a person that Puck already loved, maybe more than he himself could comprehend.
He took a deep breath, reaching out to touch the edge of the paper. He'd done it once before, when he'd thought she was his. There was no reason he couldn't do it again.
"Hi," he whispered. "I'm… I'm not your papa, but… um. I know him, your papa. He's my — my best friend. So I guess you and me, we're going to be… something." He felt like an idiot, but he didn't want to stop, so he just pressed on. "We're going to be something, to each other, because I'm taking care of your papa, and that means… maybe I'll be taking care of you, too. Kind of." He swallowed. "I love him a lot. A whole lot. And I just want you to know I'm not going to let either one of you down."
He didn't think he was ready to sing a song to her again, not the way he'd done when he'd thought she was his, but he could kind of serenade her like this, giving her his own rhythms, just the way she'd beat a tattoo on Quinn's stomach the last time he'd touched her. For just a moment, he could feel her, as close as his own heartbeat.
Finn rested a hand on his own chest, and thought, maybe this is how Puck feels when he wakes up missing her. He wished he could call Puck right then and tell him about it — or, better yet, go over to his apartment and show him. Before he realized what he was doing, he was scrambling to his feet, mounting the stairs as fast as he could go.
"Mom?" he called. "Can I please, please be not grounded anymore?"
Puck actually went to almost all his classes on Monday. He couldn't bring himself to break his losing streak in math, but the rest he showed up for, mostly on time, listened to the lectures and took notes. It made him feel kind of proud, mostly because he knew Kurt would be proud of him for doing it.
Something about having Finn show up at his apartment was the most totally fucking awesome thing ever. The first time Finn did it, he'd asked in advance if Puck wanted him there, and Puck had had time to get worked up about it enough that when Finn walked in the door, it had started with immediate, passionate fucking on his couch. But eventually Finn had gotten around to asking him to get his collar. Time had kind of slowed down after that. He was pretty sure several hours had passed by the time Finn had uncuffed him from the headboard and put him to bed.
Sunday night, Finn had arrived with barely a ten minute warning, but Puck had gone right away to get the collar and had met him at the door. He felt like he should get down on his knees or something like that, but knowing what a stickler Carl was for protocol, he didn't want to pretend he knew shit with Finn when he obviously didn't, so he just waited, staring at him defiantly. Finn opened the door, saw him standing there and kind of froze in the doorway. He made this noise in his throat that made Puck's knees get wobbly, and just came at him, leaving the door standing open.
That first night, Finn had chained him up and used Adam's paddle, which had been exactly what Puck had expected. But last night had been different. It hadn't been violent, or even harsh, but Puck hadn't been that aggressively snuggled since the night Finn had slept over and Puck had woken up with bad dreams. Sunday night, Finn had taken Puck to bed, wrapped him up in his limbs and held him there while he talked to him about his daughter. Puck hadn't quite known what to do with Finn acting like that, but he hadn't really felt like safewording out of the hold. He hadn't minded the conversation either. And once Finn had gotten it out of his system, he'd gone ahead and cuffed Puck anyway, and everything had been awesome.
Until just before Glee, when Finn got a text that made his face go white. He looked at Puck.
"What?" Puck demanded.
"It's — we're supposed to go over to the office after school. All of us."
"Shit." Puck nodded at the phone. "What'd you do wrong?"
"Nothing!" Finn yelped. "I haven't — I didn't do anything." Which might or might not have been true, but the way Finn was acting, all jumpy and anxious, Puck was guessing it wasn't.
"Well, I guess we'd better show, then, huh? You want me to tell Kurt?"
Most of Finn's communication at school with Kurt went through Puck. They figured they could get away with a certain amount of casual contact because of Glee — not to mention Carole and Burt's thing, which seemed to be more and more public these days — but it was easier to just let Kurt talk to his boyfriend. Nobody questioned Finn and Puck hanging out, even after the crap they'd been through, but it seemed pretty unlikely that anybody would accept Finn and Kurt becoming BFFs.
Puck came in and flopped down in the chair next to Kurt, where he was engaged in conversation with Mercedes, and rested a hand on Kurt's knee. Kurt took it, which seemed to be a signal for Mercedes to grin at them. Puck didn't mind.
"I still think it's a demeaning fundraiser," Kurt was saying. "I don't think most people would really get the positive aspects of it. It just seems like an opportunity for boys to treat girls like property. And, seriously, I wouldn't expect you to be okay with something that has the word slave on it."
But Mercedes was calm. "Who says the girls have to be the slaves? As far as I know, it's an equal opportunity fundraiser. And if I can get some boy to carry my books and do my dishes, you think I'm gonna feel bad about that? Nuh-uh."
"Well, I think I'll pass." Kurt leaned into Puck a little, nudging their shoulders together, and Puck leaned with him, brushing his lips against Kurt's ear.
"We have to go to Carl's after school."
Kurt didn't react, other than stiffening up a little, but he nodded, and stayed beside Puck for the rest of the rehearsal. On the way out, he linked arms with Puck, walking more closely than he normally would.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Dunno." Puck shrugged. "Finn seems kind of freaked out, though. I wasn't sure if I should offer him a ride or just let him take the bus."
"No," said Kurt, glaring at the cement of the sidewalk. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and thumbed a text. "We'll all drive together."
Finn took a few minutes to arrive at the Navigator. He climbed into the back, frowning at Kurt. "You think this is a good idea?"
"I think it's better than you perseverating about whatever we're about to do on your own. This'll be faster. Do you have any idea what —"
"No." Finn sounded tired. He ran his hand through his hair. "Let's just — just go."
Puck figured a little redirection couldn't hurt. "What was that slave thing Mercedes was talking to you about?"
"Oh, that." Kurt sniffed. "The Cheerios are hosting a student slave auction. It's a fundraiser for Nationals. Talk about bad taste. Like the Cheerios need to raise any more funds?"
"So, people sign up to be — what, exactly?" Puck raised an eyebrow at Kurt.
"To do whatever tasks the person who buys them want them to do. There are some restrictions, and everybody still has to go to class. Nothing physical." He paused, looking suspiciously at Puck. "… Why?"
"Hey." He shrugged. "Sounds right up my alley, don't you think?"
Kurt started to laugh, but stopped abruptly when he realized Puck wasn't. "Are you serious?"
"No, I'm not fucking serious. It's just a fundraiser, whatever."
"Hey," Finn murmured, sliding a hand over the shoulder rest to grip his arm. "You could do that. If you wanted to."
Puck glowered at his lap, trying not to be pissed at Kurt, who hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. He was sure of it. "Maybe I will."
"Noah…" Kurt sighed, his hand joining Finn's on his arm. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"It's not a big deal," he insisted. "Just — whatever."
They were all silent as they pulled into the parking lot beside Carl's office. Finn went in first, holding the door for Puck and Kurt, but once they reached the desk, he slowed, falling back beside them. Angela wasn't anywhere to be seen.
"Carl?" Finn called. A moment later, he appeared, wearing his Dr. Carl scrubs.
"Thanks for coming on such short notice, guys. I didn't expect to get the kits in the mail until Thursday." He beckoned for them to follow him down the hall into his office. "Did you pee before you came here?"
"Uh… no?" Finn's panicked voice stopped Carl in the hallway, and he turned back to look at them again.
"This is about the STD testing, Finn."
"It — oh." Finn laughed, and took a relieved breath. "Of course. I forgot."
"Yes, we can get it all done and send it back tomorrow, and they'll have the results for me in a couple days. Adam agreed to have his own testing done separately and to bring his results with him."
Kurt blinked. "You've been talking with Adam?"
"We've had several phone conversations." Carl picked up three specimen cups with orange lids and handed one to each boy. "Bathroom's at the end of the hall."
It wasn't a big bathroom, but they crowded in together, taking turns at the toilet.
"I don't know how I feel about him talking with Adam about this," Kurt grumbled, washing his hands. "Without us."
"I think he's just used to taking care of things without asking permission," said Finn. "It's not a reflection on you or how responsible you're being."
Puck screwed his cap on tight and flushed the toilet, switching places with Finn. "See, I never would have thought about that. When people take care of stuff for me, it just feels good."
"Even people you don't trust?" Kurt asked. Finn gave him a look.
"You're saying you don't trust Carl?"
"No, I'm saying — oh, never mind." Kurt didn't look like he was in any frame of mind to be rational. Finn obviously wasn't impressed with Kurt's answer, but he wasn't pushing for more.
It didn't bother Puck when Kurt and Finn argued. He supposed it was because he'd grown up in a household where everybody argued with everybody else. As long as nobody was yelling or swearing too much, it still felt civil to him.
They returned the three specimen cups to Carl. Carl took Finn's hand and swabbed it with a sterile wipe. "The three of you looking forward to this weekend?"
"Yeah, definitely — ow!" Finn jerked his hand back, obviously too late, and Carl recaptured it, fastening a band-aid around the tip of his middle finger. "You could have warned me."
"I would have, with anyone else," he agreed serenely. "Kurt, are you ready?"
Kurt let Carl swab him and stab his finger without comment, then watched closely while Carl did Puck's. "I think it'll be an amazing weekend."
"Tess brings it up every time we talk. If I didn't know her better, I'd say she was nervous." He grinned, an all-too-uncommon expression on his face. Puck thought it totally changed the way Carl came across, not to mention taking about fifteen years off his appearance. He grinned back.
"You think James would let me shadow him in the kitchen, if I don't get in his way?"
"You'd have to ask him. Weekends are their busiest time, but I suspect you could arrange a time that works for him." He finished depositing the finger-sticks into cups of solution and set them aside. "These are the HIV tests. We'll get the results for these in about a half hour, if you want to wait around for them. Otherwise I can call you. The chlamydia and gonorrhea tests, I have to send in. You can't reliably test for herpes without a pelvic exam, so unless any one of you is exhibiting symptoms, I think we'll have to assume you're clean."
"I can make dinner at my place while that's waiting," Puck offered. He reached out and tugged on the sleeve of Carl's scrub top. "Okay if you leave that alone while we eat?"
Carl looked startled. "I — yes, sure. If you're inviting me?"
"Dude." Puck gave him his best what-the-fuck look. "You're my boyfriend's boyfriend."
The last time Puck had seen Carl blush like that, it had been under Tess' watchful eye. "Well, I… thanks. That'd be fine."
Carl agreed to meet them next door in about fifteen minutes. The way he said it, it sounded like the delay was to keep people from noticing the four of them leaving the office together at the same time and heading to the apartment next door. But then Finn decided he would stick around to keep him company.
Puck nudged Kurt as they headed out the door. "They're totally making out in his office."
"Not really our business, sweetheart," Kurt said, but Puck knew there was no way Kurt wasn't thinking about it. He grinned at Kurt and watched him scowl. "Come on. You're going to have to put me to work if you want to have anything ready by the time they come over."
Will called this time, before showing up at Emma's house. He'd been a little surprised by Emma's revelations about her choice of reading material, but even more surprised by her outburst at school. Of course, it had turned out to be Sue's fault for inciting a riot and spreading misinformation, but that didn't change the fact that Emma had clearly been hurt by his actions.
"You don't mind if I come over?" he asked.
"No, Will," she said, sighing. "I just don't know how much I should trust what you tell me."
"How about I tell you what I know, and you can decide what you want to do after you hear that?" he suggested. "If you still want to call me a slut after that, I'll leave."
"That was inappropriate of me. I'm sorry."
"Well, it was inaccurate, in any case. I don't think you need to worry about apologizing, though. I'd rather, as my friend, that you listen to what I have to say."
When he got there, she invited him in, smiling when he took his shoes off without being prompted. As the conversation didn't really have any easy beginning, he just jumped into something awkward. "So, your… your therapist."
"Yes." She took a deep breath. "He's been helping me deal with my… my situation."
"Using… that thing you were telling me about. I mean, you didn't say that at school, but I was assuming…" He paused expectantly, and after a moment, she nodded. "Does… did it help?"
"Yes? I mean, somewhat. I don't expect a cure-all. I've been handling it myself for so long."
He nodded. "I'm just… I'm really proud of you. For looking for help."
"Oh." That seemed to throw her. "Will, I'm not sure you should be proud of me for paying a man to do that to me."
"Why not? If it works, it works. You said it was a study? That there was some evidence behind it?"
"I don't think I should have to justify myself to you." Now she looked resentful again. He sighed.
"Let me try again. I wanted to tell you what actually happened with me and… everybody."
While Emma poured them both glasses of iced tea, he summarized the last few months between himself and Toby, including his brief encounter with Shelby ("I still don't know why she wanted to seduce me if she thought I was gay?") and Toby's own indiscretion, but ended up having to take further leaps back into his own past when she asked him if he'd ever had other male lovers .
"The three years Toby and I were apart, after I married Terri? It was brutal. I got a little self-destructive before I finally decided I needed to know if I really did want other men, as opposed to just wanting him." He shook his head, feeling more embarrassed by this than by anything that had happened during the current year.
She didn't even pretend not to be interested. "What was your conclusion?"
"My conclusion was it wasn't as simple as anatomy. I was still in love with Toby. I really wanted him, and sleeping with a bunch of anonymous men wasn't going to change that. So I gave up, after a few unsuccessful attempts." He shrugged. "Eventually, he landed in Lima when Cory was born, and I came to find him. I really don't want to go through that again."
"Of course you want to make it work. You still love each other, even if there's been betrayal." She took a sip of her tea. "I don't think it's anything you can't work through."
"You think I should trust him after he slept with another man?"
"Come on, Will." Now she was smiling at him. "You were going to do that with me, and he said it was okay."
He frowned. "I guess? You really think that's the —"
"Will, I don't think it matters if it's the same. You love him, and you actually want to work things out. Doesn't that mean more than a failed attempt at communication?" She pointed at the door. "This isn't prime-time drama. Things don't have to be black and white. Go talk to him."
She didn't pull away when he hugged her, and even snuggled into his embrace for a few moments. Maybe the sessions with her therapist had been helping after all.
Toby picked up Wade at her house. He asked in advance if he should come to the door or just honk the horn, because he knew what it was like to have parents who really didn't want to see a man like Toby show up at their son's house, but Wade told him to come right in. Both parents seemed willing enough to let him drive Wade to the Dayton PFLAG meeting, so Toby counted that as a point in their favor.
"They're not a hundred percent okay with it," she told him on the way back to the car, "but I think they had to have known since I was a kid, on some level. It would be hard to grow up in a house with me and not notice that I'm not…"
"Not a boy?" Toby suggested. Wade shrugged.
"I'm not really sure what words I should use, but at least in my head, I'm pretty clearly not a boy."
Toby smiled at her. "Well, no one knows better than you, darlin.' I think you can assume you're the expert on you." He eased the car out of the driveway. "I'll say right up front that I'm no expert on transgender, though, so you'll have to expect I'm not going to know everything. On top of that, I'm damn curious, so I'll probably ask a whole bunch of nosy questions. You don't have to answer any of them, and if I hurt your feelings or make you uncomfortable, I want you to say something, okay?"
Wade nodded. Now she looked nervous. "I'll do my best."
"It's not a test. And when we get to the meeting, you don't have to say anything either. You're just fine bein' my guest today."
But at the PFLAG meeting, Wade was as personable and outgoing as Toby had ever seen her at school. She sat right down beside several other girls and struck up a conversation. Toby had never been so happy to be ignored.
When the facilitator, Chris, invited the group to explain why they were there, Wade didn't hesitate.
"I'm a girl," she said, tipping up her chin. "And nobody knows."
"Well, that makes nine of us who know." Chris reached a manicured hand across the circle to shake Wade's hand. "So glad to meet you, Wade."
She made a face. "Wade's the name my parents gave me, but… that's not the name I use for myself in my head."
"You get to use any name you like. My own parents named me Christian December Holliday, because they had a horrible sense of humor." She rolled her eyes, making the kids laugh. "I always say, at least they didn't name me Jesus!"
Toby wasn't sure if he should pretend not to be surprised, but he was. "Would it be offensive to say you're a very convincing woman?" he asked her.
"I'd be thrilled to know I've convinced you of something that's true. I love to be right." Her teasing grin was infectious, and Toby couldn't help grinning back. Wade was smiling too. "So my point is, if you don't like your name, you get to decide if you want to change it — and that goes for everything else about you. You, and nobody else, get to decide."
After the meeting, Toby managed to pry Chris away from the kids long enough to shake her hand. "When I asked my mentors in Louisville for a referral, they said you had a great rapport with students," he said. "They sure as hell were right."
She gave him a sunny smile back. "Why, thank you. That Kentucky thing of yours is absolutely adorable. Did you cultivate that? Because it sounds pretty convincing."
"All right, all right," he sighed. "I warned Wade I wouldn't always say the right thing."
But she was laughing. "Toby — it was Toby, right? — you don't have to say the right thing if you say it in that accent, because trust me, I'd let you get away with murder."
"Your flirtin' is lost on me, darlin'," he assured her. "I'm as gay as a goose."
Chris cocked her head. "Uh, wouldn't that be 'gay as a gander?' See, that's what I'm talking about. Adorbs." She took his arm. "As it happens, I've had plenty of practice seducing gay men. It sucked to have to come out twice, first as a gay man and then later to say oh, wait, sorry, got that wrong. But I think I always knew. Maybe I thought being a gay man would be more socially acceptable than being a woman." She shook her head ruefully. "Honestly? I still wonder that sometimes."
"Hey, you got to come out twice, I got to come out zero times. Nobody in my home town had a closet my size. I did my best from day one to shatter stereotypes by becoming a dancer."
"Dancer, hmmm?" She considered him. "What kind of dance?"
"All kinds. Jazz, ballet, tap, modern. I've been teaching at the Denver School for the Arts until recently, but I'm at Carmel now."
She was getting excited. "Tell me you teach private lessons? Because I have a client I've been seeing for about a year now in Mansfield. He's almost thirteen, and his mother's willing to travel to find the right teacher. He's wicked talented, but Jake needs a strong male role model."
"I've been considering taking on some private students," Toby said. Even as the words came out, he realized that they were true. He had been thinking that, and the idea was enough to give him a charge. "I'd be happy to meet your young man. No harm in tryin'."
Wade talked a mile a minute on the way back to Akron, happily chattering to Toby about the kids she'd met and the conversations they'd had. "Chris and two of the other counselors in her practice host this online message board for LBGTQ teenagers?" She bounced in her seat. "I think that'll help a lot."
When Toby dropped her off at home, she hugged him hard.
"You're glowin' a little, there," he cautioned. Wade laughed.
"I was just thinking how my Aunt Felicia always said, 'A tiger can't change its stripes?' And I wasn't sure if she was talking to me, but… I think maybe my stripes are showing for the first time. I'm feeling lucky for the first time since I got into Vocal Adrenaline. Thanks to you, Mr. Grey."
Toby actually hummed Bohemian Rhapsody on the way back to his house. After all the work he and Shelby had put into making it work as a showcase number for Jesse, to have to recreate it without Jesse had been almost too much to contemplate. They'd tried other songs, but they simply hadn't had the same punch, and in the end Shelby and Toby had decided to stick with it, using an assorted ensemble cast to make it work. As much as he hated to admit it, there wasn't anything as brilliant as Jesse singing angry Queen. He was thoroughly sick of the song by now, as was often the case with the songs he chose for his students to perform; it was a reasonable sacrifice, but he generally didn't want to hear those songs for a good six months to a year afterwards. Today, though… today it felt okay. Like maybe there wasn't so much to worry about after all.
He drove past his house and went the extra mile to stop at Starbucks. More than twenty-four hours was an unacceptable amount of time between coffee breaks. But when he pulled into the parking lot, a familiar figure was hurrying out to his car, not even looking at the road. If Toby hadn't been watching carefully, he might have run him over.
"Jon," he murmured, watching him drag an arm over his eye as he struggled in his pocket for his car keys. Toby pulled into a parking space and climbed out of his car just as Jon dropped them, swearing loudly.
"…of all the days to — god dammit!"
"Hey, don't worry yourself," Toby called, bending down to reach for the keys. He could see them just under Jon's front tire, beneath the toe of his boot. Jon took a startled step back.
"Toby." His voice was pained. "Oh, fuck, Toby." He gave up, mid-stoop, and leaned back against the car, his elbows clutched against himself. "I'm so sorry."
"What is it?"
He was breathing hard, like he'd run a long distance. Toby felt a wave of uneasiness overtake him.
"What?" Toby repeated. "Are you all right?"
"No. I'm not. And you might not be either." Jon stared across at Toby with haunted eyes, and when Toby tried to reach out to him, he jerked away. "Don't. Don't try to make this okay."
"Oh, Jon," he breathed. He didn't need to hear Jon's voice to know what he was going to say, but it was the pleading expression on Jon's face he couldn't handle. Fix this, the expression said, but Toby couldn't, and that was the worst thing about it. This wasn't something that could be fixed. It was something Jon would be living with for the rest of his life.
"I tested positive."