The soft kiss had sent a white hot jolt through Hanlon. He could almost hear the sizzle. It was like he was on fire just from the brief touch of her lips on his, but as he gazed into her deep brown eyes, he could see his life, see what he had been and what he could be. A feeling of loss overcame him as he pulled back, coolness once again overtaking him, and he didn't want to feel that again, and before Rachel could say anything, he swept down and kissed her again, this time more firmly, and this time she responded. A flash of a picture, like an old home movie played in his memory, it was an autumn night that was crisp and he was kneeling on a sidewalk kissing a shocked, younger, Rachel and then suddenly moving through her and looking up at her. How could he have moved through her? How would he remember kissing Rachel Berry when he didn't even know her until a few months ago? But the warmth of her lips moving against his made all of those questions disappear as he moved to pull her closer to him, allowing her warmth to overtake him, soothe him.
As he moved in to deepen the kiss, Hanlon felt the warmth leave his lips and a chill immediately overtake him again. His eyes flew open as he felt himself start to fall forward, just like in the memory, but this time he wasn't looking at Rachel, he was looking at the quilt that had just covered Rachel, as she had suddenly disappeared. The slam of his front door ricocheted through the brownstone like a gun shot, bringing him out of the sublime stupor the kiss had put him in.
Rachel had left, more like fled, his brownstone. Was the kiss that bad? Was it that awkward? Did she not have any feelings for him? Maybe she cared about that Finn? Thoughts like those flooded his mind, pushing the memories he had just had out of the way. As he looked around, Hanlon saw Rachel's pea coat and beret still sitting on the chair he had set them on. On instinct he grabbed her things and set off out the door, ready to find her but knowing where she would go, the same place he would if he was upset. With the crisp air of the autumn night surrounded him, he came to his senses. So he decided to head to Malachi's store with the excuse of dropping off her things, since she was scheduled to work tomorrow evening, so, his feet set on auto-pilot, walked down the street towards the Zammars.
As he turned onto the block Zammars was on, he saw the familiar glow from the store front, since almost all the other stores were closed. The light was a beacon, drawing him closer, but he stopped abruptly and crouched behind a mailbox when he saw a petite brunette come out the gilded door, her eyes puffy from crying and wearing one of Malachi's hand knitted cardigans. Had he made her cry? Had he upset her that much? When she had hailed a taxi and left in the opposite direction, towards NYADA, Hanlon stood up, to a loud pop in his knee and a pain shoot through his leg as hustled down the sidewalk to his destination.
The door swung open before he could even touch the knob and was welcomed with, "What took you so long son?" Malachi's normal jovial demeanor was replaced with a preoccupied look that was setting deep lines into his high forehead. Before the shock of Malachi's clairvoyant statement registered, the sage old man began to talk, "Hanlon, I know that you are always right behind Rachel. It's been like that for a long time now, and it isn't going to change."
"But…"
"You and I need to talk son. We have a lot to discuss and I'm not sure how much I'm to reveal to you now, but we must talk," the urgency in Malachi's voice caused Hanlon to nod dumbly and follow the old man toward the back of the store, where his cramped, overstuffed office was located.
Hanlon was thankful for the scarred kitchen chair that Malachi kept for visitors to his office, because with all of those memories running through his mind, he was exhausted and just wanted to sit, and did, with a thud, but Malachi wasn't going to have any down time. He went right into his talk, "Now son, there are things I know that I can't tell you, because you are to learn of them yourself, but what I can say is this, you must trust these memories you have, even if they seem odd, or like you're in another person's life. They are so very important to you, and they will eventually bring you happiness in the future, but only if you believe in them." Malachi's soft voice caused the scar along Hanlon's temple to throb, almost in cadence with the man's voice.
Confusion and pain wiped any thoughts of Rachel out of Hanlon's mind, "What the hell are you talking about Malachi? What memories?"
A hand, gnarled from years of playing instruments and arthritis, covered Hanlon's bouncing knee, stilling it, and bringing a warmth to him that only Rachel had elicited from him before and taking the pain away. Looking up from the hand on his knee, Hanlon relaxed under the soft blue gaze from his boss, almost going into hypnotic stupor, Malachi's warm voice washing over him, "Christopher Finnegan Hanlon, you have the honor of doing something that only very few people on this earth get to do, but you must let the memories that are hidden away in the deep crevices of your memory come to the surface. There are many ways this will happen, a touch, a word, an object, a person, but don't fight them and don't be scared of them. Just let them come to you. It's important that you do. Now that's all I can say to you without being called back before this is complete, so relax, and take it all in."
The warmth Hanlon had felt through his whole body was now just on the top of his head, where Malachi rested his hand as he mumbled something in Hebrew before removing his hand and the coolness returning, bringing Hanlon out of his relaxed state.
Hanlon just sat there letting what Malachi had just said, sink in, "What are you waiting for my boy? You need to go after her."
"No. No I don't. I need to go home. I messed things up. I scared Rachel. She ran from my house! She's just a wee special girl and a great friend and I messed it up," thrusting her pea coat and beret he had kept hold of at Malachi, "Take this and give it to her, please? I'm not going to be in tomorrow. Sorry." As soon as the coat was no longer in his possession, Hanlon jumped out, tripping on the chair and ran out of the store. His heart racing, mind whirling and his scar throbbing.
The slam of the heavy oak door resonated through her entire dorm room, and if she wasn't in such an emotional mess, she would have admired the dramatic effect it gave, but at that moment, the sound just crushed her heart. Rachel felt too warm, too confused so she ran to the window and opened the window to allow the icy autumn air to cool her off, to soothe her soul, to feel the way she felt only in her dreams, when he had held her in his arms and kissed her.
Banging her hand on the windowsill, and wincing at the sharpness of the pain, Rachel walked to her bed and crumpled into sobs again as she clutched her head in confusion. He had kissed her. Actually kissed her like how a man would kiss his woman, and it had been wonderful. It was like she had always kissed him, the softness of his lips, and the pressure of his on hers, how his cool, sweet breath felt against her skin, but that familiarity scared the hell out of her. She didn't even know him, so why did if feel like she had known him all of her life? Why did images of Finn Hudson race through her mind as Hanlon kissed her so tenderly?
With all of the thoughts of Finn Hudson and Hanlon and kisses and confusion and everything else ricocheting through her mind, Rachel opened her window all the way, cooling off her room completely and snuggled under her comforter, still dressed, hoping that some sleep would settle her mind and hopefully give her some answers.