A/N: This chapter is purely to advance the story in that I spat words at the screen until they stuck. Oh, and this chapter includes Finchel of a sort for those who can't stand it.

The leather stuck to her gloves. Tucking the football securely into her side, she lowered her body mass and took off like a shot. Tearing up the grass as she ate up the yards, her makeup was running into her eyes, her heart was thundering in her chest, forcing her breaths quick and hot out of her lungs, her calf was screaming at her, and a giant boy was bearing down on her… But Rachel had only felt as centered and determined during one of her showcases or performances.

Though the helmet didn't give her as much peripheral vision as she'd liked to have had, she tried to not concentrate on that. Instead, something told her to duck, and she did, a large shape sliding heavily along her back. A stray hand caught the side of her leg, but with only a small stumble, her sense of balance kicked in, and Rachel completed the last few desperate footfalls.

A couple of seconds after someone yelled, "Touchdooooooown!", Rachel was swept up into a crushing hug, Mike dropping her a second later for Puck to whack her on the helmet. "That's it!" Puck yelled, yanking out his mouthpiece and pumping his fist, "Just keep doing that!"

Trying to catch her breath, Rachel couldn't say anything through the giant grin on her face. Letting Mike and Puck lead her off the field, Rachel only managed to get out a, "I did well, huh?" when more strong arms were locked around her chest and she was whirled around as Sam laughed happily. "Told you!" he crowed, "With Rachel, we got this!"

"I have to agree with you."

Jerking around, making Rachel's head grow light with the sudden direction change, Sam did manage to keep her upright with a strong grab to her jersey. "Coach!" he straightened, able to stay steady when Rachel's hand slapped back against his abs to keep her footing. Taking a second to allow her calf enough time so it wouldn't hurt too much if she put weight on it, Rachel's recovered proud smile didn't dim when she met Coach Beiste's eyes.

"Then, if you agree," Puck's arm suddenly settled over Rachel's shoulders, though it was obvious he wasn't relaxed at all, "Why the hell are you letting Finn throw this whole damn game?"

"I'm beginning to wonder the same thing. Hudson!"

And then, in a whirl of raised voices and glares and almost foot-stomping, Finn yanked his helmet off, slapping it against the pad on his thigh. "You can't," he shouted, "I'm the quarterback! I've been the quarterback for two years. Sam just came in and stole it." His throat worked, "Cheesus gave it back!"

"Jesus?" Rachel spluttered, aware of Puck growling under his breath. His arm tightened around her, but it was Sam lunging forward, gloved hands slamming into the chest of Finn's shoulder pads and subsequent shove from Finn back that really spurred her into action.

"That is enough," she screeched, moving quicker than Beiste to between the two boys, seeing that out of the corner of her eye her coach had instead wrapped her long arms around Sam's shoulders, Puck rushing forward to push Finn back with his palm against his chest, "Finn Hudson! You have repeatedly shown a lack of basic maturity today." Jutting her finger out, she pointed it straight at his face, his eyes crossing to focus on it while her other hand worked furiously to strip her helmet off so she could better yell at him, "You want to know why you're being benched?"

Finn threw Puck's hand off of him, glaring at his friend. "Why are you all doing this to me?" he protested seriously, a look of complete betrayal taking over his face as he stared at everyone standing in front of him, "I don't deserve this!"

"One," Rachel started over him and an extremely unkind word from Sam, "You are throwing away all of the lead we gained in the first half. Two, you are not being a leader, Finn. And three, are you listening to yourself? This is not." She threw her arms out, "All about you. This is our game. Or, if you prefer me taking myself out of this, the football team's game."

"William McKinley High's game," Coach Beiste agreed, patting Sam's shoulder and stepping forward. Sliding her eyes to Rachel, and keeping them on her for a couple of seconds before turning to Finn, the woman spoke seriously, almost softly; frankly, it was terrifying even through Rachel's still running adrenaline, "Hudson, what were the past five minutes? Not of now. Of the game."

Finn frowned, looking confused and overwhelmed, the expression only helped by his makeup. "Uh… Off…fensive play?"

Beiste crossed her arms. "And what happened within those five minutes?"

There was a painfully obvious silence, and finally Finn, eyebrows crowding on his forehead as his panic grew, answered faintly, "We scored."

"No," Puck snapped, jerking forward, Rachel grabbing at his arm, "Berry scored. Dude. What the hell is up with your fucking – "

"Puckerman! Five laps, next practice." Cutting him off, Beiste turned back to Finn. Her voice was low, angry. "You know, Hudson? I don't see the problem here. It's simple. If you don't want off the team, you will step aside for Sam." Shaking her head, her demeanor relaxed enough for the beginnings of regret to show on her face, "I'm disappointed in you, Finn. And frankly, as I'm – and probably everyone else – is concerned, you have a lot of apologizing to this team if your selfishness helps cost us this game." Stepping back, she raised a finger to point at him and barked, "You got that, sparky?"

Finn's mouth dropped open. "But it's not – I didn't – you can't – "

But Beiste was done with him, already walking towards where Azimio and Karofsky were doing a bad job of looking like they weren't eavesdropping.

Artie wheeled himself forward, offering as he rotated himself to follow Beiste, shaking his head, "You did, man."

"And we can," Mike finished, giving Finn a judgmental, let down glare, joining Artie in heading for the sideline.

"Puck," Rachel whispered, tugging on the boy's arm. She knew she should probably get him out of there, her nervousness growing at the aggression still pouring off of him; it wasn't out of bounds that he'd do something brash, "It's not worth it."

Glaring darkly at Finn, Puck only shook his head and turned, pulling his arm roughly from her grip, stomping over to the others. Trying not to feel hurt at the action, Rachel sighed. "Finn…" she trailed off as Sam approached from behind.

"You know, dude," the newly reinstated quarterback sighed, "You're not a bad guy, but you have a lot of growing up to do." Then, squeezing Rachel's shoulder, he gave her a small smile and stepped away to join Beiste as she called him over.

And suddenly, uncomfortably, she and Finn were alone.

"Why did they do that?" Finn almost whispered, the look in his eyes one of warring anger and disbelief.

Moving forward, Rachel put her hand on Finn's arm, her heart almost breaking at the hurt in her ex-boyfriend's expression. Even if they weren't together anymore, she still cared about him, and even though she knew she had been completely justified in what she had said, she couldn't help feeling guilty sickness rising in her chest. "Finn – "

"No. Don't touch me!" Shaking her arm off, Finn took a step back. "You were part of this, Rachel! You were one of them!" He shook his head, drawing in a deep breath before snapping, "You're supposed to support me, Rachel!"

What? "Support you?" Rachel asked. Drawing back, she crossed her arms. "I'm not your girlfriend anymore, Finn. You made that perfectly clear."

Finn blinked. "…So?" he tried again, "Don't I support you?"

"Finn…" Rachel whispered softly, sadly, her voice catching on his name, "Look around you. This? This is because you didn't support me when it counted. So no." She clenched her eyes shut, willing them not to tear up more than they already were, "You really don't." Swinging around on her foot, she was brought short by burning pain, almost instantly stumbling and falling.

"Rache!" And before she could register anything else, Rachel was in Finn's arms again, her ex-boyfriend having gone to his knees to pull her up and back into him, "Are you okay?"

Rachel froze. No… No. "Please let me go," she whispered thickly, every bone and nerve and muscle fiber vibrating inside of her for her to melt into him, to wrap her arms around him and never let go. She missed him. She missed him like she had never missed anything more. He was strong and solid, familiar, and under the smell of turpentine and makeup and grass and her own sweat, Rachel could smell him. It hurt. It really, really hurt.

His arms tightening around her, it obviously took Finn a couple of seconds to realize why the stroking of his hands down Rachel's arms wasn't appropriate. But when he did, he cleared his throat and shifted markedly away. "Uhm… Are you okay?"

Rachel forced herself to start concentrating on her own body instead of his. Her calf wasn't very happy, but it had subsided into only dull throbbing again, which, realistically, Rachel knew she couldn't trust until she stood on it again. Aside from that and slight impact awareness from her hip and palm that had slapped into the ground, her wrist was slightly tweaked. However, she rotated it back and forth, it was barely anything.

…The pounding of her heart and yearning in her body was something else, and it didn't – shouldn't – count.

But. Rachel cleared her own throat. "I'm fine. I just slipped. Wet grass, you know."

She needed to move.

She didn't want to move.

"You sure?" Finn's voice was deep, and Rachel's mind went crazy trying to figure out what it meant.

She wanted to see Finn's expression. If she looked at him, she'd know what he was feeling.

She didn't want to see Finn's expression. She didn't want to know what he was feeling. She already hurt too much.

"Well honeys, this is quaint," Santana's voice called from behind them, arch and sarcastic, "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to break it up."

Finn's hands fell away from Rachel's arms as he stood up, dropping one to help her up after a second. Slowly accepting, curling her fingers around his, Rachel forced all expression from her face as he pulled her up and immediately stepped away. Instead, she focused on slowly putting her weight on her calf. …Good. Didn't hurt worse than before.

Finn was talking again. "What do you want, Santana?"

"Cool your tits, Finntanfile. I'm here for Berry."

Rachel looked up.

Raising a zombified eyebrow at her, Santana crossed her arms.

"I don't know what you want, Santana, but – "

Shaking her head, Rachel stepped forward enough to slip slightly in front of her ex. "It's alright, Finn," she gave him a quick smile, blinking back towards Santana before her emotions could take her over again.

Opening his mouth, Finn evidently thought better of it and started towards Santana after a long, frustrated look at Rachel.

"Buh-bye now. Enjoy your fall down the popularity ladder," Santana smirked at him, wiggling her fingers in a taunting wave, her smirk growing even bigger as he growled, snapping his helmet from the ground into the crook of his arm, striding off towards the nearest water fountain.

Rachel couldn't help watching him go.

"You know… Not that I really care or anything," Santana walked forward, bending down to pick up Rachel's own helmet that had tumbled out of her hand when she'd fallen, "But you're still being pretty disgusting about the giant man-child."

Sighing, Rachel shook her head, eyes toward the sky. "My helmet?" she asked.

An inscrutable expression on her face, Santana looked over the helmet. "I'm surprised your nose fits in it," she stated matter-of-factly, her lips curling up as she handed it over to Rachel, "But no. That's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here? And thank you." Tucking her helmet under her arm, Rachel stared unamusedly at the other girl, "I really don't have a lot of time before I have to go back."

Santana raised her hand. "I know. When Sue wasn't freaking out over the Nationals, we actually cheered for the football team." Her eyes dragging down Rachel's body, she sat back on her heel. "You're still favoring your leg," she said flatly.

Rachel stood up straight. "So?"

"So." Santana stared at her pointedly, eyes narrowing, "If you insist on continuing to represent the WMHS female population in this insane suicide attempt, you better do something about it before you bring us back hundreds of years. Got it?"