Afternoon! Thank you all for the overwhelmingly positive response to our story. We are so glad you all are enjoying the angst. Here is chapter 2 with a little more insight to the psyche of our Finn. Flashbacks are in italics

Thank you to our lovely betas for all the work (joshsgrl and tjcrowfoot) you both are absolutely amazing!

Disclaimer: We do not own Glee

He looked at his face in the mirror and for a second—just for a second—he almost felt bad. But in that same second all the reasons he was this way crashed right back into him. He had reasons. He had good reasons. She had been the one who ruined everything; she had been the unfeeling prick first and that's why they were here.

All the crying in the world wouldn't change that.

He took a long, steady breath and looked at himself again. He didn't recognize his own face, really. He was the poster child for fucking baggage at this point and, awesome. She started the ball rolling. All he was trying to do was stop it and bury it and be done.

If he could make her cry or better yet make her hurt, then he deserved to do that; because it would still only be a tenth of the hell she'd put him through.

He couldn't hear her or feel her moving around in the room behind him, through the wall. She wasn't walking or anything, she was still in the bed, but the walls weren't that thick and Christ if he didn't start to feel guilty again. Fuck that.

One thing he still didn't have an answer for was if she even cared. Or was the guilt and the hell and all the bullshit… was that just his cross to bear? Maybe she didn't feel guilty. Fuck—he already knew she probably didn't care. She was just playing mind games. She probably had someone else to get back to, and not just any someone else either. He knew they lived together. He knew they were together. He'd kind of already pissed on that grave by not signing divorce papers. There were times like right now when he wondered just who that was punishing.

He could chase tail. He made a good living. He didn't need this bullshit. He could certainly do better, especially if he just choked down the feelings and didn't remember.

He couldn't remember how her glance made him feel like a hero. He couldn't remember how her face and her breathy cries when she said his name made him feel like a God. He just…he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember without remembering and that was a huge fucking problem.

The door was open. Should he close it? Should he…maybe he should just go. Maybe he could walk out the door and then this Twilight Zone bullshit would be over. Because he didn't like what he walked into. Could he just walk out, close the door, and come back in with a do-over?

They were laying in bed together. His wife. His…fuck, his wife and his best friend.

He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. It had been a long time since he cried about this bullshit; he preferred to spend his time with a punching bag and it was pretty obvious because he wasn't soft around the middle like those losers from high school he ran into every now and again. But being strong and being tough weren't the same thing. He had to work at both of them.

Not like he had much else to do anyway.

And when it got old, when working, and working some more, and working out got old, at least there were other options now. Being single had its benefits, even if he had waited until he was almost thirty to realize it. Shit, even with Rachel he had just jumped right on in. Fuck if he hadn't learned that lesson, all right?

How well did he even know them? It was pretty fucking clear he didn't know either of them as well as he thought. They knew each other better than he wanted them to. There was no going back. Only going forward. Moving out. Moving forward. Going out?

Going out was a good idea. He needed a fucking drink. Maybe if he had a drink he would fall asleep and he could forget this feeling. This day. His whole life.

Maybe if he just walked out the front door, it would be like a life do-over. You could do that, right?

In some ways, it was possible. And he learned. Sure, things weren't the same but different wasn't always bad. He had traded in the shit-hole apartment with rent split three ways. He didn't give her a fucking dime (another perk of not actually signing divorce papers), so he traded in sharing money. He had traded in late-night phone calls and text messages and words of love—for late-night hookups, fancy parties. He traded love for sex. He traded everything he was before. Now he was better—he was stronger, he had moved on and… and he wasn't fooling himself, but it was all he could do. He was still rebuilding and she just appeared to have gone on. It was total bullshit.

He wanted her to know how it felt to have everything ripped away. Looking back, it hadn't been at a moment's notice, but that's how it had felt. This was the best chance he had to recreate it. He could do this if she could. He could hold everything she wanted over her head and use it to destroy her; and then he could walk away.

Maybe then he would hopefully, finally just feel… well… anything.

He was starting to calm down. He spread his hands out on the counter and dipped his head into the sink before he turned on the faucet. He took a small drink of cool water and then let it drip down over his face to hopefully sort it out. Physical stuff like water and sweat always seemed to be the easiest way to cut through the bullshit for him. And really, that's all this was; one last round of game playing bullshit. He had to pull himself together. He couldn't care anymore. It might kill him. He pulled his head out of the sink and turned the water off.

So he employed war-time tactics. He'd studied all that crap in business school. Art of war. Rules of engagement. Whatever. That's all this was, and he had to leave the personal stuff out of it. All that was left of them—of what had once been the best part of his life—was a business deal; if he'd even though it was possible anything could be saved, he knew he was wrong the minute she asked him for a million dollars.

What would a Broadway baby like her need with that kind of money? It just didn't fucking make sense. He assumed she'd had her big break. He'd avoided news of the theater world like the plague. His secretary made fun of him because he didn't even own a functioning television. The plasma was only good for video games and the occasional porn.

Well, whatever. The fact was he had the money to burn; it seemed like a small price to pay to get her out of his life, even if he was the one refusing to sign papers. He was the one who had held out and refused to give her any sort of money because over the years they were apart, he'd come to be worth a lot more money. It had all been lucky commissions and whatever, but that luck would run out if he had to actually go through a divorce with someone who was as demanding as Rachel.

Fuck, she'd probably just take all his money and then whine about him being too broke to pay attention. And then she'd probably try to tell him again she hadn't done anything wrong. But he knew better because he'd seen it with his own eyes. And it wasn't a one-time thing—he was sure. Plus, it wasn't like Puck hadn't won anyway. Puck had everything and Finn had nothing and Finn was determined to still come out on top.

No, it didn't matter who had done what then. All that mattered was who would do what now; and he was determined to win this particular battle. He hadn't seen the other one coming at all, but this one? This one he was prepared for. He just had to stay focused.

He went back out into the room and he tried not to look at her form, still huddled under the sheet, even if it was pulled right up to her chin now. He pulled on at least his underwear. There was truth to the marital advice about fighting naked—they'd never been able to do it. And God only knew at this point, he was ready for a fight. He wasn't sure what else they could even do anymore. So he got dressed to make the fighting easier. Well—if that was even possible.

He sat down on the bed and could see her move away from him. He scoffed and shook his head.

"There's really no use pretending you're the victim here, Rachel," he said simply. He pulled the television remote from the bedside table and the television snapped to life before she said anything.

"Who's pretending?"

He looked over at her. Her wounded tone, the sniffling—it was all pathetic. She was the saddest thing he'd ever heard and would probably be the saddest thing he'd ever seen (save the day he'd returned to the apartment and asked her to leave with the fifth of whiskey still on his breath). He steeled himself. "Well, you'd have to be, sweetheart."

"Well, by definition the victim is the wronged party. Given that you refuse to listen to me at all, the only victim here is the one you've created in your own head. You're the victim of your own stubbornness, because without it, we could be happy. We could still be happy with…" she trailed off with a heavy sigh.

"Right. My stubbornness is how you ended up in bed with another guy. How the fuck do you figure that, Rachel?"

"I was just that—in bed. I didn't cheat on you."

He scoffed. "Well…I know better than to trust you so… whatever. I'll take his sloppy seconds—and then after this weekend he can have mine and my money. I don't care anymore."

"That much is just obvious," she said. "You don't care about anything."

"Well, I figured at least one of us should give a shit about me."

Her words were quiet but exact. "And which one of us is that? You certainly don't care for yourself any more than you care for me."

"How do you figure that?"

She let out a long, slow breath before she rolled over to lay on her back. "I still know you, Finn. I know you won't show me real feelings or open yourself up to a real and constructive conversation about anything; and that's fine—I honestly don't care anymore. I told you what I wanted. You told me the conditions under which you would give it to me. Honestly, even though it amounts to little more than prostitution, I don't care. I need the money. You're the one in the position to give it to me. There is no pride in my reasoning. Furthermore, I don't have to explain it to you and I'm not going to waste my breath. So let's get this over with."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. She didn't care? If that was the case then his plan had no prayer of working and he had no hope for closure of any kind. No, he needed her to care. He needed her to want him with a blinding passion so that when he simply walked away she would feel like the world had crumbled around her, so just as in business, he realized, he needed a new game plan and fast. Fuck, but what. She claimed she knew him, but did she really? No, he wasn't the same man that she left broken. He was a shark and she was the pray not the other way around and all he needed was the right kind of bait. She may not know him, but he still knew her and that also made him realize that he really had gone about this all wrong. He couldn't manipulate her feelings through sex, although she did finally give in, so she must have still felt something for him, but he had to lure her in by romancing her, by making her feel that he wanted to move forward with her…yes, he needed them to take a trip down memory lane.

"Get dressed." He ordered harshly but rephrased his words when she glared at him angrily, "Sorry, look I shouldn't have been so harsh earlier. Why don't we go out for dinner?" Rachel tightened her hold on the sheet and eyed him suspiciously.

"Why would we go to dinner? This is just a…"

"A sexual thing?" He asked interrupting her.

"Right, I thought that was the arrangement. You got me physically for the weekend and I got the divorce and money in return." He grimaced slightly then sat down on the bed.

"Actually I believe my words were a weekend as a married couple. Married couples do go out together, don't they?" She sat up straight and he watched as she contemplated his offer.

"Well, I suppose, but…" He jumped off the bed and held his hand out to her (something he always did in the past, a gesture that always made her smile). She tentatively reached out and took it as he helped her maneuver off the bed while she held the sheet around her naked body protectively.

"Come on, what is the worst that can happen?" He asked as he fought to regain control of this conversation. Rachel's eyes narrowed in response, but when she let out a sigh he knew he had won the round.

"I…I guess I could eat something." He offered her a smile, hoping it appeared genuine to which she smiled tentatively, almost shyly in return reminding him of how she smiled at him when he picked her up for their first date. He cursed himself for not being able to bury those damned memories and the feelings that went with them. Feelings were what weak men were controlled with. Feelings are what left him debilitated after she crushed him. No, he needed to keep her at bay, but close enough that she dropped her defenses and trusted him again. He let out a breath, dropped her hand, and ran his hand through his damp hair.

"Good, so I'll change in the bathroom to give you some privacy." Her smile faded and her lips formed a thin line as she glanced towards the bed. "I'm sorry I pushed things so hard. We should take things a bit slower, so you are more comfortable."

"While I appreciate your sudden concern for my feelings, I am somewhat confused as to what you are trying to accomplish."

"I don't follow what you are asking." He said now leaning against the wall. He needed to keep a physical distance between them.

"What I mean is we made a deal. I am what they would call a sure thing, so I am not sure why you are all of a sudden trying to make me feel at ease. I had hoped you might somewhere deep down still harbored positive feelings towards me, but your behavior has proven otherwise. In other words, I know you hate me, so there is no need to, in your words 'pretend.'" So she still knew him. He was just going to have to up his game.

"You're right. I should never have said anything about you pretending to be victim and you were also right that I can be quite stubborn, so consider this an olive branch of sorts."

"An olive branch?" She asked hesitantly and he knew he was getting there.

"Yes, think of it as my way of trying to build a bridge. I mean we are finally going to get a divorce, why waste the last weekend angry."

"I…I don't know what to say. I just don't know if I can believe you. I mean one minute you are coercing me into having sex and the next you are telling me you want to be what…friends?" He shrugged slightly and continued his closer.

"How about I sweeten the deal for you?" When she raised an eyebrow he continued, "I promise that I will give you the million and the divorce as long as you spend the weekend with me." She shook her head in response.

"That is already what we agreed on, so I am not sure where…"

"No, I mean you spend the weekend with me as my wife. No sex involved, unless you are the one to initiate it." He smirked when her eyes widened and began coughing almost violently, "Are you okay?" He asked sitting down next to her. She nodded as she gasped for air.

"Why…why…?"

"Why the sudden change of heart?" He asked casually as he gently rubbed circles on her back to help calm her down, not wanting to admit that just touching her caused his body to warm.

"Yes."

"Look, I am not going to lie and say I don't want to have sex with you. You are as beautiful as always and we have a very intimate history, but you don't seem to want that and I am definitely not going to force you in anyway. It was wrong of me to try and manipulate your feelings. Regardless of how we ended things I should have just offered to help. No questions asked. I mean you would have done the same if the roles were reversed right?" Rachel nodded mutely and he could tell she thought he was sincere. Maybe he was the better actor.

"But…but why then not just give me the money and divorce without any false pretenses?" He stood up with his back facing her.

"I never said I wasn't selfish Rach, you of all people should know that. I am just trying to be understanding and sensitive. I always thought you preferred that side of me."

"You always were, at least with me anyway." She replied softly, "That's why when you kicked me out I was so shocked. I…never expected you not to believe me." He swallowed the knot in his throat. He was not going to let her soft voice and fake words get to him. He knew what happened. He saw it, he lived it, and now he was going to bury it.

"Let's not discuss what happened in the past. Let's just go out and get to know one another again. Sound good?" He asked finally turning to face her then immediately wishing he hadn't. He took one look in her tear filled eyes and felt that familiar spiral, the one where he knew he could get lost for an eternity. The spiral that caused him to be blindsided by her betrayal. She must have noticed his far away look because she cleared her throat and looked away.

"I'd like that. I mean it would be nice to find out what you have been doing for the past 5 years, although I might not like what I hear. I do read the papers and all."

For some reason the fact that she knew about his promiscuity didn't give him a satisfied feeling, rather he felt his stomach churn with self-pity. Damn her for making him feel ashamed. He didn't want her fucking pity. He wanted to see the warmth and love. No, no he didn't really want to see love in her eyes…he just wanted it temporarily, so it would even be sweeter when at the end of the weekend he'd see utter despair. Yes, that is what he wanted. He wanted her to hurt, not to see her look at him like he hung the moon. Right. He hated feelings.

"Well, I'll just go get dressed and see you in a few. Oh and Rach…" he paused when she looked back at him curiously, "…you never know, you might just be the one attacking me by the end of the night." As soon as her jaw dropped he turned on his heels and high tailed it back to the bathroom. He may have won this round, but he was definitely going to need to keep reminding himself of everything she had done to him if he was going to maintain the lead.