A/N: Thank you for reading my story and the responses! This chapter also tells Finn's past; his wandering journey in Europe (and there will be small Rachel's talks—a flashback within the flashback). I hope you guys will enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee and its characters.
Chapter 16 – From February 2011 to January 2012
They said that Karma was a bitch.
According to what he had read in the newspaper, Biff probably would be sentenced a maximum of 15 years in prison (his boss should definitely longer) at the court's ruling in three to four months. Quinn decided to raise her baby by herself, though she would certainly receive child support from Biff's parents.
As for Vanessa, well, sadly enough, she ended up in a psychiatric ward.
What was his Karma, then?
He didn't remember that he said that kind of things knowing Vanessa had been in the same room. He didn't know that Quinn cheated on him with Biff when they were in college, though he was fully aware that she did right before they broke up for the second time.
He would be told that he tended to avoid a problem or go with the flow, or was apt to place confidence in any person readily. But were those a bad thing?
Finn let out a long deep sigh on his bed, staring at the ceiling blankly before turned his body on the side to look at the object on the night table. His late grandfather's Hasselblad was staring right back at him. His hand unconsciously reached for the camera, but he immediately pulled his hand from it, realizing that he had stopped taking photographs since he moved back to Ohio.
He had sold almost of his cameras and lenses for Vanessa's child support and starting over (again) in Columbus. But that was not the point. The problem was that he didn't get motivated.
He was disappointed with himself.
So, he ran.
Ran away from Columbus, Ohio. Away from the country. Away from everything. Only with his duffel bag.
Just in case, with his Leica M4 and Elmarit 28mm F2.8, too.
He didn't know why he thought going to Ireland. Maybe, his mother had once told him that his family had its roots there.
He, however, hadn't been able to bring himself to go around the city since he arrived at Dublin Airport. He had pathetically locked himself up in a tiny dark hotel room for almost a week. The only thing he had done so far was looking down the street from the Oriel window of the hotel room, dozens of beer bottles never leaving beside him.
Lying down on the bed with closed eyes, he could still see his mother's uneasiness on her face despite he didn't say a word about what had happened to him—he just declared that he was going to travel in Europe alone, making an excuse, like, for photographing, trying to not make her worry more. Then he promised to call her at times, leaving his grandfather's keepsake in his mother's hands.
His mind drifted to Rachel and The Musicraker. Not only had Mr. Schuester given him a job, but he and Rachel had believed in him. Yet, he left them without explaining anything.
He disappointed them.
And he hurt Rachel so bad.
She couldn't be more saddened, if she saw him right now.
He started reeling the memory in his mind of which he first had been at her apartment, having the Xmas cake which she had baked, which was an awesome raspberry and chocolate one.
"I'm a Jewish, so I usually don't celebrate Xmas, but I like baking, so…" She emerged out of her kitchen, holding the tray with her hands. She served a large piece of the cake on his plate as she placed his plate in front of him before sitting at the table.
Finn gave a goofy grin at her before he took one big bite. "Holy sh–," he swallowed, "this is amazing, Rachel." He couldn't pause in his attack to the cake. "You would be a great pastry chef," he munched his last one bite, "I mean, if you wanted."
"I'll think about it." Rachel giggled.
After the leftover cake and coffee, they stayed sitting at the table with other cups of coffee. Then Rachel started.
"I'm so glad that you've kept taking photographs, Finn," Rachel bashfully said, "because not only can I see your works, but also so many people in the world can from now on." A big bright smile spread on her face. "I know freelancing is tough, but I want you to keep photographing, no matter what."
Her talk to him like that was, like, as if peeling one by one the outer layers of his uncertainty, and planting seeds of his hopes which would spread their roots firmly in the near future.
Finn slowly got out of the bed and pulled his Leica and some rolls of film out of his worn-out duffel bag before stepping out of the hotel room and into the street covered a cold rainy smell.
Somehow, he ended up frequent pubs, instead of drinking by himself in the hotel room. In Waterford, Dublin, Holyhead, London, Liverpool, Leeds, Manchester, Glasgow, Aberdeen.
After walking around those towns, he just entered a local pub, sat on a chair at the bar counter, and listened to some stories which guys who happened to sit next to him told. Most of them grumbled about their good old wives. Some bragged about their exploits. Some told their life story.
They didn't seem to care that he didn't give them any responses (he just nodded, or occasionally, 'yeah,' or 'that's bad,' or 'wow,' or 'hmm-hmm,' or something as his responses). They just talked. As if talking to the wall.
And some of them said 'I'll buy you a drink in return,' after having finished their story. He politely turned them down and asked whether or not he might take a picture of them instead. Most of them affirmatively nodded without reluctance, patting him on the back or shoulder.
That completely became his daily routine.
He didn't pay much attention at first, as to what they really were talking about. He had not talked to anyone for a while, so just listening to somebody's talk (and giving some responses) was kind of his way to interact with the world at least. Or, you could say that it was the way to fill the hole in his chest, the way to avoid the feelings of loneliness and emptiness.
One day, when he looked into the viewfinder, he realized those who spoke to him were not so different from him. They too were avoiding the feeling of loneliness or tiredness for some reasons, even if story to be told was a brag.
The more he released his shutter, the more he realized that they did sorry for him more than he should for them (not that he felt sorry for them though). Or, sometimes, he saw himself in them, and they seemed to see themselves in him, too.
He felt something small click inside his stomach.
Over the course of his drifting from one to another small town in Germany, the Netherlands, and Belgium, the scenery got changed from gray to multi colors to green, and his daily routine became some kind of a lifework—he utterly got devoted to it, telling himself that he would show these photographs to Rachel someday.
Meanwhile, the films to be developed began piling up, his money for transportation, accommodation, and food (mostly went to the beer) running out, though he became some master of beer.
Now he was… where was he? Uh, right, Namur. When standing at the Brussel Central Station, some stranger had suggested that he go to Namur, seeing his camera in his hands, saying that he could take a beautiful picture there, although he attempted to explain that he was not a landscape photographer.
So here he was. Wandering in one of the traffic-free streets, to look for some (decent) DPE store and a cheap inn.
"American?"
Finn whirled around to face a middle-aged man who was wearing a familiar T-shirt, which was totally the same one as Finn was, the Journey T-shirt he had bought from the Revelation Tour in 2008. They shared chuckles at the coincidence.
"Did you go see them in the United States?" Finn curiously asked.
"Oh, no, no. I saw them in Paris." The guy bald on top informed.
After they had a small talk about the Journy's 2008 tour, the guy named Victor Verhoeven asked simple questions; where he traveled around in Belgium (and other countries), why he did that, what he came to Namur for. Finn simply and honestly answered to them.
"Oh, in that case, you can come with me. I own a small pub, and an inn accommodation upstairs. If you help to tend at the pub, I'll let you stay and pay a little. What do you say? You can kill the two birds with one stone, right? I know you're a good guy. There's no bad person in Journey lovers."
While Victor chuckled at his own words, Finn was at a loss for words for a moment, surprised at his generosity.
"I, um, I–" Finn scratched his head sheepishly, wondering if he should take his offer or not. "I don't speak French, nor German, Dutch." He hesitated.
Victor dismissed him off with a waving hand. "Don't mind. Besides, we have a job that you don't have to talk to customers." He nodded in the direction where his pub was, encouraging Finn to take the offer.
A small smile crept on Finn's lips.
"I'll take you up on that. Thank you."
The pub, Les Furieux, had a very cozy and homey atmosphere, floating Classic rock play from a jukebox. It was packed almost every night since Jupiler Pro League. Busy, but enjoyable for Finn to help Victor, whose warmth really touched him.
He learned a little bit about French language and things Belgian; he had dropped his jaw the first time he had witnessed Lukas, Victor's seventeen years old son, had a beer more often than not (most pubs had a drinking age limit of 16 years old!). And of course, Belgian beers (Victor took him to the breweries, Abbaye de Floreffe and Brasserie Du Bocq).
The time passed quickly more than Finn thought it would. It had been almost four months since he arrived at Namur. Winter has been just around the corner.
"Victor…" Finn called out, after he had wiped the counter with a cloth.
Stopping himself from placing the chairs on the tables, Victor shot up his head to see the tall young photographer's face before nodding knowingly. "Finally came."
"Yeah." Finn got out from behind the counter before approaching the pub owner. "Thank you, for everything." He clasped hands with Victor before hugging him tightly. "I'll never forget."
"Don't say that, Finn." Victor hugged Finn back before pulling himself away from the taller guy, still his hand holding Finn's tightly. "It's not like you'll never see me again. We'll welcome you anytime, you know."
Next morning, Finn said his last goodbye to Victor and his family as he gave him a framed black and white picture, in which the regulars and visitors, also Victor and his family, all looked up at his camera, lifted their beer glasses up high in the air in return.
"I hope you'll bring her next time."
"I hope so too."
His last destination was in Prague. Why? Because the conversation with Rachel at the exhibit of Josef Koudelka at the end of the last year was engraved on his heart. He remembered that Rachel had animatedly talked about Koudelka.
Also Prague was one of the most beautiful cities in the world. He wanted to look around the city; you could see more of its golden age than of its scar by the invasion now on the way to the hotel from the airport (he did remember attending a class in college where a professor zealously had expounded on the Warsaw Pact Invasion of Czechoslovakia).
And of course, Czech beers and pubs.
"Dobrý den, mohu vám nějak pomoci?"
As Finn pushed the door of a local bookstore, a chirpy voice came from the back of it.
"Um," Finn took a pause, not knowing how to show his intention wanting a copy of Koudelka's photography book in Czech. He hurriedly pulled out a small English-Czech phrase book, which he had just bought at the airport, out of his back pocket, before frantically flipping through it to find an appropriate phrase to use. "Hkedám…"
"I speak English." The shop girl declared with small giggles. "How can I help for you, sir?"
Sir? Did he look like an old dude?
Finn glanced at his own reflection in the shop window out of the corner of his eye, before rubbing his unshaven scruff with a hand. He cleared his throat and faced the shop girl with a forced smile. "Yes, uh, do you have any copy of Josef Koudelka's photography book? 'Gypsies'?"
"Sure, we have Czech edition, French, and English one. I bet you would like to get an English one." The girl decided, before heading for a shelf on the back without waiting for him to respond.
Having gotten a copy of 'Gypsies,' Finn returned to the hotel. Lying on the bed, he slowly opened the photography book, remembering that he had seen some footages from The Great Tradition of Photojournalism playing at the Koudelka's exhibition back in the country. That was very interesting images.
On the way to the exhibit, Rachel continued talking about Koudelka, looping her arm around his.
"He is a really, really brilliant photographer, Finn. Some criticize badly, but you know what I love the most? His approach to his own work. He said, 'I don't care what people think. I refuse to become a slave to their ideas.'"
"Your photographing style is different from his, you know, he's a kind of photo-documentary photographer, but I think you two have a lot in common. I mean, in life and philosophy..., he lives simple, thinks simple, work simple, just takes photographs all the time, in sunshine or in rain."
"You know what one of his girlfriends, the mother of his son, said to him about his works? She said, 'you go through life and get all this positive energy, and all the sadness, you just throw it behind you and it drops into the bag you carry on your back. Then when you photograph, it all comes out.' I feel the same kind of energy through your photographs."
Now her words really sank in. Finn started to replay every moment and every conversation that he had with Rachel.
"I really love your photographs, Finn. When you are photographing, you somehow open people's heart. You are really great at taking an up-close and personal look at them. I think that's because of your personality."
That was the next morning Finn and Rachel had spent a night together. It made his heart swell whenever he remembered it.
He wanted to see Rachel again. He had to see her again. He didn't know whether she would forgive him or not, but he needed to see her.
He was ready to go home.
A/N: I don't think that any exhibitions of Koudelka were staged somewhere in the United States at the end of 2010 (I believe that it might have been in 2008 since the year was the 40th anniversary of the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia and the 70th anniversary of his birth). When Josef Koudelka took photographs of 'Gypsies,' he used Exakta (single-lens reflex camera) which is the important plop in the movie 'Rear Window' directed by Sir Alfred Hitchcock, by the way.
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