Haha. The basement cliffhanger remains hanging for another chapter. :) I'm sorry. Don't hate me. Thank you for all the kind words – I appreciate each and everyone of you who takes the time to write a review or send a message. Almost 200 reviews? Crazy.

What a long-ass chapter this is but I didn't want to break it up since everything happens on the same day.

Not rated R. Yay!

* … * … * … * … * … *

When Finn wakes up, his body is stiff and it takes him a long moment to realize where he is. Mr. Schue's apartment. Will's apartment. The couch is horrendously uncomfortable and he can't believe he actually fell asleep and stayed asleep on it. It's cold and he pulls the blanket more tightly around himself.

The blanket.

Will's blanket.

He must have covered him up last night. The thought spreads a warm shot of happiness throughout his chest because it's something that Will would have done before.

The sun is streaming through the windows. It must be kind of late in the morning.

And shit. It's Friday. School must already be in session. He reaches to the coffee table and swipes up his phone, checking the time.

9:08 am.

He's fucked.

He ignores the fact that he has six missed calls from Rachel and three from his mom.

He stands and stretches. Folds the blanket and puts it on the back of the couch. He has to get to school quickly even though he knows people will probably look at him funny for wearing the same clothes two days in a row. He already skipped most of the day before. His mother is going to be pissed. He's sure that Figgins has probably already called and ratted him out.

His mother doesn't often get angry with him but he's sure he'll be grounded for this.

He moves through the apartment. He's already late to second period so he has a few minutes to spare before he has to leave in order to make it to third. He'll use the bathroom and check on Will before he goes.

Will is sleeping horizontally on his stomach across his bed, his socked feet hanging off the side, a blanket wrapped haphazardly around his middle as if he simply fell and passed out without bothering to right himself. He changed into sweats and a t-shirt and shaved before he went to bed and Finn is glad that he had the idea of buying the razors. Glad to be helpful.

With the beard gone and with his eyes closed, he looks almost normal. Almost like he was taken right out of Finn's memory. The only difference is the bruised mouth and slightly thinner face. Finn can look past that. Remember the man who brought him out to dinner after Quinn told him he was going to be a dad. The man who taught him how to dance and sing at the same time and how to tie a tie. The man who showed him that he didn't have to worry about what the jocks and popular crowd thought of him – he could live for what made him happy.

It's almost painful to look at him because Finn knows that man is just a memory and doesn't know if he's ever coming back.

He moves through the room and uses the bathroom. As he washes his hands, he smiles fondly at the bottle of shaving cream and razor that are sitting on the counter near the sink.

As he leaves, he notices Will's phone laying on the edge of the bed. It's blinking – missed call or text? He looks from the phone to the man. His eyes are twitching beneath his eyelids. He's dreaming. Probably not going to wake up anytime soon. Curiosity gets the best of him and he carefully picks up the phone. He wonders if Will has anyone to talk to. If he talks to anyone at all.

41 new text messages.

41? Finn frowns. He's a pretty popular guy himself and he never gets that many messages. He debates it but then clicks through the phone to the message screen.

41 new text messages and 41 of them are from Quinn.

Curiosity turns to something else. He isn't sure why but he needs to read the messages. He can't not read the messages. He knows it's wrong - an invasion of privacy. He can't help it.

3:05: I'm sorry! I was sleeping! Please talk to me! I need you!

7:05: Please

7:51: Please! I'm sorry I missed your text!

8:07: Don't do this!

8:10: Are you sleeping?

8:11: Wake up, please

8:12: I can't do this without you

8:13: I really want to talk to you

8:15: I need to talk to you!

After 8:15, each text says the same word. Please. 'Please' 32 times, only a couple of minutes apart.

The phone vibrates in his hand and he jumps, surprised, nearly dropping it. His eyes dart to Will. He's still fast asleep.

Finn opens the text.

9:14 am: Please

He reflexively hits 'reply'. He isn't sure what's going on here but he knows it's something big and he knows that Quinn is hurting. He can't let that happen. Can't let her feel anymore pain than she has already.

9:14 am Message to Quinn Fabray: He's sleeping, Quinn.

9:14 am Message from Quinn Fabray: Who is this?

9:14 am Message to Quinn Fabray: Finn. He went to sleep late

9:15 am Message from Quinn Fabray: Why are you there? How is he? Tell me!

He's a bit taken aback by her question. He knows they must have become close while trapped together for two and a half months but something seems off about the messages. He has an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

9:15 am Message to Quinn Fabray: Meet me during lunch and we'll talk. I'm late and have to go.

9:15 am Message from Quinn Fabray: Okay. Choir room.

Finn erases his exchange with Quinn and places the phone back on the bed. Will will know that he read the texts that are no longer highlighted as 'new' but there is nothing he can do about that. He moves back through the apartment, grabs his jacket and back pack, and heads to school.

After he leaves, the phone continues to vibrate every few minutes with a new text.

* … * … * … * … * … *

Being late has its perks.

His mother called and reamed him out on his walk to the school. He told her he had been at Puck's house and just fell asleep. She grounded him for the weekend but didn't call him on his lie. He'll have to text Will and tell him that he can't come tonight to play X-box and they'll have to make it Monday instead. Finn doubts he will mind.

He arrives just in time to make it to third period history. It's a boring class but the teacher is scatter-brained and doesn't notice when the students are texting and not paying attention to the lesson. He sends Will the text. Doesn't get a reply back but then he wasn't expecting one.

After history, he shuffles down to the choir room for lunch. He would have made himself a sandwich but since he didn't go home last night, he'll just have to bum something off of Artie or Kurt. His stomach rumbles loudly. Kurt and Artie then...and maybe Mercedes too.

Quinn grabs his hand and pulls him into Will's office the moment he's through the door of the choir room. The rest of their friends stare quizzically at them but don't comment. She slams the door and shuts the shades, blocking everyone else out.

"How is he? Is he okay? He won't talk to me." Her voice sounds desperate. Pathetic. Her eyes are wild.

"He's okay, I think. He doesn't talk at all and he seems a little uh – out of it but, mostly, yeah, I think he's okay." He wants to reach out and smooth down her hair.

She nods. Wraps her arms around her middle. A habit she picked up from him. "And you? How are you?"

"I'm alright." It's not quite a lie.

She nods again. Looks him in the eye. Her clothes are too loose, her hair is wispy, her eyes are covered in too much makeup – no doubt to hide the dark circles underneath. She looks messy – not put together. It's disconcerting and his heart clenches a little because of it. "Why were you over there? At his apartment?"

"I went over with Coach Sylvester the other day to apologize for something and I was walking by yesterday and I...well, I missed him. I wanted to see how he was doing. I kind of just forced myself on him."

"What were you apologizing for?" She plays with a little Mexican flag on his desk. Doesn't look Finn in the eye. Her voice is calmer now.

"Uh, Rachel and I went over there a few weeks ago and it didn't go well. I just wanted to say sorry." He's not going to tell her the whole story. She doesn't need to hear it.

"Is that why you haven't been speaking to Rachel?" She bites her lip gently. Twirls the flag back and forth.

"You heard we weren't speaking?" His eyebrows shoot up. He didn't think she was interested in his life anymore.

"Of course. Kurt is a gossip monger." She smiles gently, "Are you going to try to work it out?"

"I...I don't know. I mean, if it was just that it would be one thing but everything that comes out of her mouth since...well...it was a rough summer. Not that you didn't have a rough...! I mean...I'm sorry!"

Foot meet mouth. His face quickly blushes a dark red that spreads down his neck.

She looks up then, the smile still on her face, softening her features, "It's okay. I know what you mean. And you know Rachel – if she's stressed or something isn't going right she becomes an obsessive little..."

"Drama whore?" She frowns and he continues, needing to explain himself, "It's just...while you were gone...you and Will, it's just, she seemed to want you back more for Glee and for herself than she did for you. Like she wanted you back so her career wouldn't be interrupted or something like that. That's what she would talk about, 'I'm putting up fliers with Quinn's and Mr. Schue's pictures. School is starting soon and Glee. What will we do without them?'. I just...it was wrong."

She thinks for a moment, dropping her eyes before looking back up, "Maybe she just wanted to return to normal and couldn't express it any other way? I don't think she meant it the way you took it. Although, I see why you took it that way."

He nods although he is still not convinced. A silence spreads and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind in order to fill it, "So, how are you?"

"I'm...okay." She says haltingly and it doesn't quite sound like a lie – more like a lie that she's convinced herself is true.

"The text messages?" He brokers the subject uneasily but it's the reason they're here. He wants to sit. His back is still stiff from sleeping on the couch but he refuses to sit in Will's chair. He doesn't feel worthy of it.

"He...he won't walk to me." She repeats her earlier comment, voice barely a whisper.

"41 text messages? Why would you send that many?"

She grimaces and wraps her arms back around her middle and he has to resist the urge to hug her. To protect her. "He texted me last night. It's been weeks. A month, maybe more, since he's spoken to me but he did last night and I missed it. I missed it."

"If he did it once, he'll do it again. You have to give him time. He seems...really messed up..."

She nods but doesn't elaborate. They stand in awkward silence. She hugs herself tightly, trying not to cry. He stands tall, staring at her with sad eyes. Something clicks inside of him. A realization.

"Do you...uh, do you love him?" He's afraid to know the answer. Needs to know the answer.

Her eyes soften, "I love him. I know I shouldn't. I know that I wouldn't if...if we were never taken and never made to spend those months together but Finn, I love him. I love him so much it hurts."

"And he...does he love you back?'

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably not. If he did, I don't know if he still does." It's a whisper. A confession. To him. To herself.

"If he did, why wouldn't he still?"

"Because..."

Too many mistakes. Black eyes. Red. Everything is red. A shot. Becky. Dead eyes. A tear, a kiss. Her hands are being held down, everything hurts, she can't breathe. Red, red, red.

She closes her eyes and winces at the onslaught of memories. Opens them and it's Finn's concerned eyes staring back at her, "Because things happened. I...just can't. I can't talk about it now. Not yet."

He nods, not quite understanding but willing to move on. "Did you...um...did you guys, you and him, did you..."

"Did we what?" She knows where this is going. Cringes inwardly.

"Did you sleep with him?" He winces as he says it.

"Did I sleep with him? I'm not going to answer that." She bites her bottom lip.

"Why not? It's a simple yes or no." He says it a little louder than he meant to.

"It's none of your business."

"I think it is."

"Why? Because we used to date?" Her voice cracks a bit. She can't help it.

"Because I care about you. I care about him too. I just want to know..."

She interrupts, "The grizzly details? A lot of things happened. Mostly bad things. Nothing that happened had anything to do with...that. He wouldn't...we didn't...he didn't want to and wouldn't have..."

He narrows his eyes, "I'll take that as a 'no' then." There is a sense of relief in his voice. She stares at him, not giving anything up.

"Do you think...do you think we could be friends again? I miss you." She squeezes his hand a little.

"I would really like that, yeah." He smiles and it reaches his eyes. She smiles and it does not but he thinks that maybe one day, it could. "Maybe when things get easier, I could bring you over to his apartment with me. Like a sneak attack."

"I don't know if that would be the best idea but maybe." She smiles softly and he steps forward and pulls her into a hug, cradling her small body against his chest. She hugs him back tightly and when they pull back her green eyes are glassy.

She stares into his eyes for a long moment before clearing her throat and looking away. "We should...we should get back out there before they start listening at the door."

He smiles because he knows that Mercedes would and Kurt probably already is. He grabs her hand, squeezing gently, and pulls the door open just in time to see Kurt scrambling back to his seat.

* … * … * … * … * … *

Will wakes up sore but that doesn't make this different from any other day. The sun is high in the sky outside. He slept late. Fantastic. That means there is less time before he can go back to sleep. He pulls himself up and glances at the phone laying next to him, instantly remembering his mistake from the night before.

He texted her. How could he do that do her?

Monster. Devil. That's how.

He grimaces. Turns off the phone without reading her replies. Unwittingly also missing the text from Finn. He uses the bathroom, stares at the bottle of shaving cream and the razor as he washes his face and hands and brushes his teeth. It clenches something tightly in his abdomen. Another mistake. He shouldn't have excepted those things. Should have pushed Finn away.

Finn.

Crap.

He finishes up and moves to the living room. The blanket is folded up and Finn is gone. He wonders whether or not he made it to school on time. Remembers that he's stopping by with his X-box later. He could ask him then...but he won't.

This is the worst part of the day. The loneliest part of the day. He should be at school teaching Spanish. He should be working on routines for Glee. Instead he sits in his silent apartment and stares at the wall. Or sits on the fire escape and stares at the street - at people driving by and getting on with their lives while he can't.

He misses the few weeks after he left the hospital where it was easy to slip into unconsciousness and stay there for most of the day. When he could shut off his mind and lose several hours at a time.

It's getting harder and harder to do that.

He runs his fingers along a dusty shelf.

He'll clean. That will take up a few hours. He grabs a bottle of Windex – the only chemical smell he can stand these days and sets to work. Emma would scold him for using the wrong cleaner.

He scolds himself for thinking about her.

He takes his time. By the time the dust is removed from everything, the windows are cleaned, the dishes are done and put away, the hall closet is organized, his bed is made, the bathroom scrubbed, and the floors are swept and mopped it's getting dark. It's nearly seven thirty. Finn isn't coming obviously. He doesn't know why that hurts so badly. He shouldn't have been looking forward to the company.

Doesn't deserve it.

But he's so damn lonely that it physically hurts. It's pathetic.

He's pathetic.

He isn't tired. He can't sleep. His eyes move to the closed door of the craft room. He hasn't been in there since he's been back. He knows what's behind the door – the half-built crib and the stuffed bunny. The changing table and little pink dress that his...not his...baby was supposed to wear home from the hospital.

He should clean in there too. He needs to steel his resolve and just do it. He stares at the door.

His eyes move from the door to the liquor cabinet and zero in on a bottle of scotch that his father bought him for his wedding.

He needs to steel his resolve indeed.

Pathetic.

* .. * … * … * … * … * … *

Sue is feeling much better after going through her detox regimen. Several cold baths to bring the fever down, specially made vitamin smoothies to boost her immune system, a handful of maybe-not-so-legal cold and flu pills that she keeps in her nightstand for just such occasions, and she's good as new.

She decides to take one more day off of school to catch up on paperwork that she's missed over the past few days. It takes nearly all day but she feels accomplished and much less stressed afterward.

She has the entire weekend free so when the clock rolls around to 8:30 pm, she doesn't even think twice about heading out to check on Schuester. It's funny how the biggest thorn in her side the previous school year has become one of her biggest projects. She wants him better and not just so she can destroy him while he's at his strongest. She genuinely cares about his well being. At first it was just because she wanted him well so he could help Quinn. Then it was because he seemed so alone - the job of helping him fell to her because there was no one else to do it. He won't let anyone close. She had to force herself on him with her key and her temper. That's just her nature.

It's something more now. Maybe something maternal?

She's never had the feeling before so she doesn't know.

She'll make him a quick dinner and they can watch a movie. Not a musical. After vomiting for twenty four straight hours, no. She can't stomach the thought. Fuck musicals.

She walks up to the second floor. Some asshole has their music blasting. The building isn't that fancy but it certainly doesn't give off a 'Friday night party vibe'. As she gets to his door, she realizes where the music is coming from and sighs.

She uses her key, pushes open the door, and closes it behind her. The stereo is so loud it almost hurts her ears. Someone is going to call the cops. As she walks by, she turns down the volume half-way. It's still loud enough to hear throughout the apartment but not in the hallway outside.

And then she realizes with a start, that he's singing. She hasn't heard him sing since...since the prior school year. Maybe that disastrous song he used to fake seduce her or maybe there was one other time? She can't remember right now. Not with his voice wafting through her head.

He's in the second bedroom. She pushes the door open. He's underneath a crib with a screwdriver pulling pieces off and tossing them haphazardly across the room. A changing table lays in pieces across the room. He's singing "Paint it Black" on key but something is off...

"William?" She says it loudly enough for him to hear. He startles, smacks his head on the underside of the crib as he sits up.

He rubs his forehead as he looks at her and then he's standing, a giant grin on his face, "Sue! I missed you!" He trips over a stray crib piece as he moves towards her. Pulls her into a tight hug...

What the fuck?

But then she smells the unmistakable odor of liquor and she gets it. "William, what the hell are you doing?"

He lets her go but keeps his hand on her shoulder while gesturing around the room with the other, "Now, you see here. I was cleaning because of the...the dust bunnies..." He giggles. His voice is scratchy from disuse. "And then I had this room left and I had to take down the crib because...because..." He moves and places both hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eye, "because there was never any baby."

He giggles again but behind the drunken haze there is something in his eyes that makes her wince.

"Where is the liquor, William?" She's going to put an end to this. She doesn't want him sullen, silent, and hurting but this...this isn't right either.

"Are you going to drink with me too!?" He hugs her again. Lets go and moves away, swiping up a large bottle of scotch from the floor – a third of it missing. "I called my mom and she said she'd come over for a drink! My mom...my mom likes to drink." He raises the bottle and takes a swig, wincing as it burns its way past his bruised lips and down his throat. "And she hasn't been over in..." He rolls his eyes up in thought and huffs, the smell of his breath making Sue cringe, "I don't even know...like years or something..."

He trails off, clearly forgetting what he was talking about in his stupor. He sits back on the ground and picks up the screwdriver. "Did you turn down my radio? That's...that was...you tricky girl!"

"William..." She trails off. She has no idea what to say.

"Blue jean, baby. L.A. Lady. She married a music man!" He sings loud and clear and if she pretends, it's her curly-haired nemesis on the ground singing, not the shell that returned.

She leaves the room, muffling his boisterous singing behind the door. She'll wait for his mother. She's never spoken to the woman but she did see her at that Acafella thing. Drunk and hanging over Josh Groban. She wonders if it's a regular occurrence.

She doesn't have to wait long. The banging of crib parts and the singing are still wafting from the other room when the door bell rings. She stands to open the door at the same time Will pokes his head out from the bedroom, the bottle of booze firmly in his hand. "That's my mom!" He bounds to the door, all drunken happiness and energy. He swings open the door and his mother is standing there with a puzzled look on her face. A bottle of scotch tucked into the crook of her elbow. Sue takes the moment to turn off the radio.

"Look, it's my mom! And she brought more scotch!" He takes the proffered bottle and sets it on the coffee table as she moves into the apartment and shuts the door behind her. He doesn't hug her like he hugged Sue.

"I see that." Sue wants to shake the woman for being an idiot.

"Will, what's going on? Are you feeling better?" His mother is sober, surprisingly. She burps. Maybe not sober but not completely hammered either.

"Oh, I'm feeling great!" He giggles and then repeats the word in his best Tony the Tiger impression, "GRRRRR-reat!"

"He's drunk." Sue says, taking a small reflexive step towards him without meaning to.

"I can see that." She snaps, taking a long pull from a flask in her purse. Will raises up his bottle in cheers and takes a swig - some of the amber liquid sloshing over the side. He giggles again.

"Your traumatized son is drunk." Sue says more firmly, willing this woman mentally to do something. Anything.

"Whatever gets him through the day," It's all she says. Sue stares at her in horror.

Will laughs and takes another drink. "I think I found it. This...this here," he holds the bottle up again, "this is what I needed all a long."

"William, put it down." Sue needs to put an end to this. It isn't right.

"What? No." He laughs again but there is something else there. Something in his eyes that Sue can't quite explain, "My mom wants to have a drink with me. Right, mom?"

"Will, maybe you should stop." His mom looks uncomfortable, like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"Maybe I should...what? I thought you'd want..." He cuts himself off, brow furrowing. He takes another sip of his drink.

"I don't want this." She gestures around the room, takes a pull from her flask. Burps. She's a walking cliché.

"What? I have wine too. I could..." He starts to walk towards the liquor cabinet but she puts her hands up and he stops.

"No. I don't want this." She gestures between them, "It's too hard. Maybe when you're feeling better..."

"But I feel fine." It's almost, not quite, a whine. A longing.

"Well, then maybe when I feel fine..." She mutters. She raises her hand to snatch the bottle away from him and he flinches back slightly, reflexively, clutching it to his chest. And that's when Sue sees it. That flinch isn't the reaction of a traumatized man, it's the reaction of a little boy who was smacked around one too many times by a drunk mother. A little boy looking for acceptance and not finding it again.

"Okay." She sets her resolve, "Okay. You need to leave."

His mom stares at her for a moment before laughing, "Who the hell are you lady? This is my son! He invited me!"

"Yeah, where were you all these weeks then?" She snarls. This woman is quickly grating on her last nerve.

"I was...I tried. He's stubborn. Always was." She mutters again and takes another drink. Will stares between them wide-eyed but says nothing. "You think it's easy? I never wanted this. I know who you are and I envy you. Not stuck with some kid or husband and you can do what you want. Those clips on the news. Sue's Corner. That's what I should have been."

Will takes another drink. Sue can see that he's heard this before. His mother confessing in a drunken state that she never wanted him. He winces slightly but there is hardly a reaction.

"Okay, go. When he decides he wants to see you again, you can come back." Sue points towards the door.

"But..." His voice is small and his mother cuts him off.

She narrows her eyes and takes another drink, "Fine. I don't need this shit. I don't need your shit." She points at Will and he takes a small step back.

"I...I just wanted you to have a drink with me..." He drops his eyes and Sue wants to smack the woman hard.

"Maybe when your shit isn't so fucked up. This is just like the time in middle school when you came home crying..."

He's eyes scrunch up, "When Grandpa died?"

"You moped for days. Or when Terri told you about the baby not being real. God, I would have been so happy if I were you." She takes another swig, "Lucky bastard."

Sue moves forward quickly and pushes the startled woman out the door, "Come back and I'll call the cops and tell them you're driving drunk." She slams the door and turns slowly. The room is deathly silent and some how she misses his drunk singing.

"William..."

"Something bad always happens when I speak." He whispers, words slurred, and takes another swig and then she can't help it. She's moving forward and taking the bottle from him and wrapping her arms around his middle. She isn't the hugging type but she'll make an exception right now.

He backs up quickly, pulling away from her, "It's fine. It's not like..." He bites his lip, retreating into the familiar.

"It's not like she hasn't said it before." She finishes, "I don't want you to drink anymore. I'll have you committed to a rehab facility." He nods, not sure if she's joking. She's not. He puts the bottle down next to the full one on the table. "I'll make dinner."

She forces him to sit at the kitchen table and drink glass after glass of water as she makes grilled cheese sandwiches. A child's comfort food. They eat in silence. He keeps his eyes on his plate. Fiddles with the crust of the sandwich but eventually eats all of it.

"Okay. We'll watch a movie and then you can go to bed." He nods and she follows him to the living room. She picks out White Christmas because it's safe and happy – momentarily forgetting her promise to herself about no musicals. She glances at his face from time to time. He doesn't look safe or happy. Downright miserable is more like it. She wishes he could get his happiness back without a liquor store coursing through his veins.

The movie is almost over and he's sobered up enough to feel ashamed. Sue notices him glancing at her from time to time before he stands and heads for his bedroom. She gives him a couple of minutes before following.

He comes out of the bathroom, dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt now. He lays down on his bed and turns away from her. She gingerly sits next to him, places her hand on his shoulder.

"You can leave." He says quietly, hardly audible.

"Not yet, buddy." She knows he's mostly sober now and doesn't want to scare him off of talking. She keeps her tone passive even though she's still angry at that woman for doing this.

"Everyone leaves. Nobody wants me." It's less than a whisper. A confession muttered on a breath. And she knows he's not just speaking about his mother but the world as a whole. Whether it's true or not, he thinks it is. It breaks her heart.

"Listen, William. Your mother is an alcoholic and also possibly insane. I suspect your father is an enabler. That doesn't mean that you aren't wanted..."

"She never wanted me."

"I don't have children, William. Never wanted them but if I did, I'd be very proud if my son turned out like you. "

He's quiet for a long time. She keeps her hand firm on his shoulder. When he finally speaks, his voice cracks and she can tell that he's trying very hard not to cry. "Don't go? Just for tonight?"

She borrows a pair of sweat pants out of his dresser and changes in the bathroom. They're almost the same height and they fit surprisingly well. She lays behind him and reaches out to place her hand on his back. He lets out a shaky breath and then stills. His breathing evens out a couple of minutes later.

She's awake most of the night listening to his even breathing.