ARCHETYPES - FIN L'HISTOIRE
A/N – OK I stumbled on this great story, it was a ONE OFF from an OG/2013 author who created a new pseud specific for this story.. And then appears to have never finished it. :(
The part that was already written sorta works as a oneshot already, but it doesn't seem like that was the intention according to the original author to stop where it did. seems like they got to the threshold and got cold feet before crossing the line… but i like crossing lines… :D
The original story ID on fanfic net = 9801518 author = IncognitoFinchel. I mean no disrespect to the OA, but I loved this and needed more. Author if you're still around and see this, PLZZZ contact me, I'd change it or take it down if you wanted.
As for the handling/setting of this story… OA suggested you decide the season, as the scene depicted herein is clearly 2x14 "Blame it on the Alcohol"which in MY view was 1.5 eps from RB writing "Get it Right" and 6 eps away from jr prom where I BELIEVE Finn basically KNEW he wanted to get her back - even if his stupid boy brain and pride was still tripping him up. So I'm going a little AU to finish this out, as it is a FIC after all. Original work is in the first chapter which i titled UNE. My new content begins at DEUX.
fyi - FFN does not seem to let you use the STRIKETHROUGH fonts, even though it is an option in the publishing tool. So where you see xxx(stuff written in brackets)xxx please read that as crossed out text!
hope you ENJOY! :)
UNE
The music pounded from the Berry's intense sound system in their Oscar room. Finn had never understood why they named their rooms – like, was there like a 'Steve' room somewhere? – but he'd long since stopped wondering about it.
The glee club was scattered all around, the party having broken up into mini-groups and conversations the way all parties seemed to, whether they started with twelve people or a hundred. He'd always kinda thought beer pretty much looked, smelled, and tasted like piss, no matter how many times Puck tried to convince him otherwise, but since Quinn used to drag him to every party ever thrown (something about his duties as quarterback or whatever) he'd gotten used to comparing party patterns so he wouldn't get bored. Kind of a lame hobby, but it passed the time 'til Quinn's curfew.
Tonight, he was the DD, and he found himself falling into old habits. He was a little surprised that Rachel's party wasn't any different (even though it was almost a completely different crowd than all those other parties). There were the people actually dancing – right there in the middle since the Berry's actually had a real dance floor. There was the make-out corner on the couch, and the hook-up closet in the laundry room, the chatty corner on the other couch, and the meaningful conversation corner which apparently was happening on the stage, once Kurt came over and shared his crush-drama. And then it evaporated once Blaine brought his drunk-chattiness over here. Parties were fluid like that.
Kurt pulled Blaine off of him then, which was why Finn hadn't seen her coming. "Finny, dance with me," Rachel whispered as she flung herself into his arms, nuzzling into his chest. "We had it going on, right? I wasn't making it up or anything?"
He looked anywhere but her as he nodded absently, trying not to notice the way she was beaming up at him. He hadn't seen her look this happy since – well, since they broke up. He wished he didn't care so much either way. staring up at him in adoration, like she used to before – well, before everything happened. She swayed a little as she leaned into him. "I would do anything for you, anything!"
He was suddenly bombarded with images of what anything might include and knew he needed to get off that train of thought. Having her crushed against him like that wasn't helping, either.
"Okay, Rachel," he said to distract her, "since this is your first time at this, I'm going to break it down for you." He sat her down on the edge of the stage and plopped a short-but-safe distance away. But her head still somehow found its way onto his shoulder. He ignored the warmth that spread from the spot. "Guys and girls fall into certain… archetypes when they get drunk."
He explained his way around the room, sharing more of his party-expertise, wondering idly if Rachel even remembered that the only reason he knew that word at all was because she explained it to him, back when seeing it on an English assignment turned into an explanation of the known boyfriend archetypes and then to her reasoning for why Finn was the very best kind - followed by some mutual appreciation in the physical sense. It was one memory in a thousand, but she must remember – Rachel didn't forget anything – which could only mean the memories weren't haunting her the way they were him. He couldn't help but resent her for it, just a little, and his voice rose.
"And then we come around full circle, right back to you. Rachel. And right now you're being the needy-girl drunk, hanging all over me, being overly lovey – it's not cool."
Immediately, she pulled her head off of his shoulder, and he could think a little clearer. But then she leaned in close so she could whisper right into his ear. "Well, what kinda girl is this?"
Uh oh. He knew that hard edge to her voice. He'd sat through enough impassioned speeches to recognize when she was gearing up for an offensive strike. A sudden and intense feeling of dread washed over him, but a second later his brain had been wiped clear of any thought at all.
Her hand – which only a moment ago had been resting on his shoulder – was trailing slowly downward over the front of his shirt. He sucked in a breath as it crossed his navel, but it didn't stop until it reached his belt. She turned her wrist, and suddenly Rachel was palming him through his jeans.
He turned his head to look at her, about the only movement he could manage since every ounce of heat and blood in his body was rushing to pool under her fingers. She was looking steadily back at him, but it wasn't love he saw in her eyes now. It was something darker, something that made her eyes flash and spark like live wires.
"Rachel?" he grunted. He swallowed and tried again. "What are you doing?"
She smiled then, an evil little smirk. "Living. Now, take me upstairs."
She didn't know what could have possessed her to say that. Well, actually, she did - pink wine coolers, and then whatever else Puck kept putting in her cup.
She thought that she might be a little bit of an angry drunk too, because the second Finn told her she was being overly lovey, a burning fury had lit up her skin. Of course she was being overly lovey – she loved him, and he knew it, too – but if that wasn't what he wanted, then fine.
Rachel Berry always had a Plan B.
She didn't wait for an answer, but curled her fingers into his jeans for just a fraction of a second, feeling something twitch and swell faintly through the denim before she released him and walked as deliberately as she could for the stairs. She heard a scuffling noise a beat later, and knew he was following.
Had she been her normal self, she would have been delighted her party was such a rousing success. At least, she thought it was. She wasn't entirely sure what a successful party entailed, but everyone was clearly drunk, and loud, and she was pretty sure no one was thinking about leaving anymore. So she called this a victory.
The thought made her giddy. She broke into a skip, practically bouncing up the stairs as she held tight to the cup clutched in one hand.
She made it to the main level without mishap, but when she made to dash up to the second floor with the same vigor, her foot caught on the lip of the next stair, and she toppled forwards, her nearly empty cup flying out of her grasp.
She wondered belatedly why she wasn't on the ground and realized something thick and warm was hooked around her waist, keeping her on her feet. She knew those arms. Her hands came up to rest on top of his, holding his arm to her as she leaned backwards into his chest.
His warm exhale washed over her, his breathing heavy and audible, and the memory of why she had been running upstairs sluggishly returned. She had missed this, just being close to him, having him hold her, feeling his arms around her. For weeks, she'd been desperate to feel that again, but fear of more rejection and embarrassment had kept some of her more drastic ideas in check.
Her drunken self, it seemed, didn't have that problem.
Not when he was holding her close, stirring something deep inside her she hadn't felt in months, that same something that first awoke, bleary-eyed and stumbling, during their first kiss in the auditorium. Though her heart ached for him everyday since their break-up, she had tried to give him the space she knew he wanted, hoping some merciful force in the universe would let her get over him too. But now it was painfully obvious that her body had missed him as much, if not more than her heart. And it was her body that was taking charge now.
His other hand came up to grasp her arm, gently kneading between her shoulder and her elbow, and the sleeve of her dress felt like flimsy tissue paper between them. His touch set her nerves alight. Her head fell back against his shoulder, turning to breathe him in deeper, to press a kiss under his jaw. She had only meant it to be one, but she couldn't help herself. Feeling his pulse pound and race under her lips, tasting his salty musk, hearing his breathing hitch - it was too much, too familiar, too good to end. She traced a line down his throat and back up again. His arm slackened just a little at her waist, and she turned slowly, ungracefully, into him, working a hand up around his neck, into his hair.
She felt the moan start deep in his throat, bobbing his Adam's apple, humming against her lips. She couldn't wait another second. She lifted her head, using the extra height of the stairs to press her lips firmly, finally, against his. He never hesitated, opening his mouth and stroking her tongue with his, making her head spin. She leaned into him, and he adjusted his grip to hold her closer, one hand splayed across the top of her back, the other kneading her hip through her dress.
Finn's chest hiccupped into hers with every sharp gasp for breath, the skin on her back burning under his wandering fingers, but she wanted closer, so she clumsily kicked a bare foot free of her skirt and hooked it behind his knee, pressing her pelvis against his. She felt the bulge in his jeans against her core, and the sharp pang that erupted from the spot overrode everything else, making her head roll back on her shoulders with a groan, her mouth falling from his as she clung to him just to stay upright. His hand dropped around her thigh and hitched it over his hip to steady her, then trailed across her skin until he cupped an ass cheek, gently squeezing it. She rested her forehead against his neck, unable to catch her breath as her body responded instinctively, rubbing against him as he rubbed right back.
"Finn," she whimpered into his collarbone, kissing him there.
Realization shot through him at the sound of his name, and he froze. He blinked rapidly to shake off the haze of want and need that spiraled all around him. He couldn't think clearly with her pressed against him like that, around him, but if he moved away she'd fall. He went completely rigid, trying to breathe in calm, cool air until his limbs were under control.
Rachel tilted her head back to look up at him, confusion and lust plain on her face. "Finny?" she asked. "Why'd you stop?"
"We can't," he croaked, shaking his head. He moved his hand from her ass to her knee, trying to lower her leg, disentangle himself somehow, but she redoubled her grip and hung on.
"Is it 'cause you don't love me anymore?" Her voice was small, and with her dark eye shadow and red, kiss-swollen lips, she could have been the Rachel of a year ago, trying to seduce him in a catsuit. "Is it because of the fireworks? Because you saw them with Quinn and not me?"
He swallowed. He didn't want to talk about this. "You're drunk," he said instead.
Her hands fisted in his sweater, pulling like he could possibly get any closer. "I don't care. I miss you. And I want you. I always want you. Even when you don't want me."
He looked up at the sloped ceiling, exhaling, feeling his heart thud. Why did she have to make this so hard? He couldn't be that asshole who'd take advantage of her. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop a second time. "Rachel, we're in the middle of the stairs. This isn't you. You wouldn't be doing this if you weren't drunk."
"But I'd want to." He could hear the unnatural shrillness in her voice, and he didn't want to believe her, but she just sounded so sure. "And I know – I know I'm never going to get you back or – or write a good song if I can't stop being such a boring stick in the mud. So I'm going after what I want, and living, like you said, and – just this once couldn't you wear something with buttons I could tear off?"
He smiled despite himself, even though he could hear how frustrated she was getting. "Rachel –" he started. But she ignored him and used her hold on his collar to smash her lips back on his, whimpering into his mouth. The next second her hands had given up on his sweater and dove straight underneath instead, grabbing at the skin of his back, tickling along the waistband of his jeans. He groaned against her lips, and her tongue plunged into his mouth.
He suddenly felt lightheaded, like he needed to hold onto something or they'd both go tumbling to the floor. Thinking to put them back on less perilous ground, he wrapped his arms underneath her thighs and held her against him, blindly running the last few stairs to the top landing.
It was only when he tried to put her down that he realized she'd used the trip to wrap both arms and legs around him in a vice grip, her dress now bunched around her waist. She ignored his attempts to unlock her legs from his back and licked a deliberate stripe up his neck to his ear. His vision tilted, and he leaned them both against a nearby wall, not sure how long he'd be able to stand if she kept that up. He needed to calm down, he needed to think clearly. He couldn't just –
"Rachel!" he said suddenly, alarmed because she'd rolled her hips against him just as she sucked on his earlobe, and he'd ground back against her without meaning to. He'd never been able to keep his cool around her – hadn't their first kiss proved that? She hadn't even been trying to seduce him then, and any self-control he'd learned in the last year was clearly no match for her determination.
She didn't answer him, but hoisted herself in his arms to nip at his bottom lip, running a hand under his shirt and along the top of his back. She withdrew her hand after a moment and tugged on his collar, nearly choking him, while her other hand yanked the hem of his sweater and T-shirt upwards. She didn't seem to realize that she'd never get either off when she was clinging to his torso like that.
"Rachel," he said again, breathlessly, holding her against the wall with his body so he could reach for her wandering hands. But his brain turned to jelly when he felt her chest flush, panting, against his. As if she knew just how to wind him up further, she turned her head to exhale hotly against the skin on his neck, still wet from her open-mouthed kisses.
He could've sworn he'd been sober ten minutes ago, but now he felt just as drunk as she was. He was too big for his skin, sure he was about to burst at any second. His insides were fluttering and squirming, and he couldn't be sure if he was about to puke or if he just desperately needed to kiss her. There was a weight in his stomach that seemed connected to the tingling itch in his palms, one he was frantically trying to soothe by rubbing his hands along her arms, hoping to get her attention since he seemed unable to actually push her away. He was having a hard time remembering why he'd ever wanted to in the first place.
"Please, Finn," she said into his neck, tightening her legs around his hips so that her heels dug into his ass. "Please touch me."
The ache in his stomach seemed to drop suddenly lower. His head drooped under the weight of exhaustion and want. He started to protest, to remind her that she was drunk, that they were broken up, but she clasped his face gently in her hands – more gently than she'd touched him all night – and tilted his chin back so she could look at him. He stared back, taking in her swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and hair that looked beyond disheveled. (Had he done that? He couldn't remember.) Her gaze was surprisingly steady and clear.
"I know what I'm doing," she said firmly, almost sadly, like she knew he would try to talk her out of it. "Just please."
He swallowed, watching her gaze roaming his face, like she was waiting for him to decide. He felt her thumb run along his bottom lip, and then he couldn't watch her anymore and his eyes fell closed. It wasn't fair.
It had been over two months since they broke up. He thought they were both starting to move on, could maybe even hope to be friends again without it being awkward. But here she was, clearly not over him and making him feel things he'd been trying to stomp out or ignore – which obviously hadn't worked. If anything, he thought the time apart had only made him want her more. Absence makes the heart get blue balls, or something, right? He wasn't strong enough to push her away. The most he could do was ask her to stop, and that obviously wasn't going to work. Did he even want to say no?
Well, that was obvious too. Underneath the confusion and the lust and his (not so subtle) erection all vying for his attention, he recognized an overwhelming surge of relief. As angry and hurt as he'd been all this time, he'd never not missed her. Being with Rachel had always felt so right and special, and now having that back, even just for a few minutes – he'd probably be overjoyed if he thought it could last. But it couldn't, right? He wasn't ready to jump back into a relationship with her yet, no matter how much he missed her.
He opened his eyes and looked at her seriously. "I really, really want to say yes, Rachel. You have no idea. But I'm not ready to – we broke up and I can't –" He sighed and tried again. "This can't mean what you want it to. So I can't."
She looked suddenly near tears, but she nodded, letting her hands fall from his face. "I get it." She looked down at their bodies, still locked together against the wall. Finn suddenly realized his arms were killing him. How long had he been holding her? Thirty minutes? An hour?
"But what if it didn't mean anything?" Rachel said suddenly.
Both his eyebrows shot up. "Do you mean –?" She held his gaze evenly. He gulped. "Is that a good idea?" he asked slowly.
She rolled her eyes with all of her usual flair. "I'm tired of being Miss Responsible and overthinking everything. It's gotten me nowhere. I just want you, and I don't care if it's a good idea or not. So?"
He didn't like that bitter edge to her voice. It didn't sound like anything he'd ever heard before, and he was afraid neither of them knew what they were getting into here. But his pulse had picked up again, and her fingers were raising goosebumps on his skin as they stroked absently at the base of his neck. He already knew what his answer had to be.
"Okay."
DEUX
Three more steps Hudson. That's all you need to take to make it from this wall you've glued the both of you against to reach her bedroom doorway. You can do this.
Rachel's hands didn't stop doing their damndest to try and make his brain disconnect from the top of his spine. She was tickling the back of his neck, twisting the short hairs at his nape with one hand and rubbing his earlobe with the other. But that wasn't the worst challenge to overcome in order to make any other bodily function work in tandem with his thrumming heartbeat; no – that would be the strategic placement of her tongue. Currently it was flicking little flutters just below his other earlobe in a spot that only she seemed to know about. Then came her hot breath that followed the soft wet flickers and was sending a signal down south, akin to that of a 911 emergency call to a fire department, and Finn was now desperately in need of rescue.
Three steps. Using muscle memory, he adjusted his grip on her so he wouldn't drop her (or y'know, collapse while trying to walk with rubber knees), he managed to will his left foot up off the ground and plant it firmly in the direction of her room. Upon doing this, Rachel bit down on his pulse point and sucked. Hard.
His gasp was accompanied by his eyes rolling back in search of a visual of the inside of his skull. Before he realized it, his right hand was sliding up her back, long fingers feathering through her hair and upon reaching the back of her head, pulling her mouth to his. As he crashed his lips onto hers, his right foot managed to find it's way forward, and her hand found its way up under his shirt to caress his stomach.
He can see her darkened room from the corner of his eye, the door hanging ajar. One more step forward and he's over the threshold. But she's got her tongue in his mouth right now and his brain can't hear past his engorged crotch. He pulls back from the kiss and exhales "we're here Rach."
"Oooh Finn… hurry.. I need you.. I want you inside me," she moaned in his ear.
He feels sorta like he's in a sci-fi movie he'd watched recently, since the distance between where his feet were rooted to the floor and her bed seemed to disappear in a literal blink of the eye, not to mention the door being kicked closed by some supernatural force of… whatever. Just like magic. Or teleporting. Like he blinked and the time-space continuum bent to his will and moved the bed to them.
He tried to gently drop her down on the bed, but those long strong legs of hers still had a throttlehold around his waist and he stumbled forward landing on top of her. He automatically shot his arms out just in time to keep the full load of his large frame slightly hovering above her so as not to crush her. She giggled as they bounced and her lips found their way to the crook of his neck and her fingers were trailing up his back, tingling his spine with their fluid movements.
He took a sharp intake of air, which was tinged with the scent of her heady alcohol laced breath. Suddenly there was a reconnect in his databanks, like his brain finally rebooted and reminded him: she's quite drunk. But she wanted this, begged for it. She said she knew what she was doing. She'd already said this wouldn't mean anything, right?
Even if all the above reasoning was true, it doesn't change what Finn knows in his heart of hearts – it won't NOT mean anything to her, even if she's not so drunk that she remembers it all or only parts of it. Even if she remembers none of it. He'd remember. More importantly, he knows this girl, he knows her heart as well as he knows his own. At least he did… does? Shit. Could she have changed so much in just a few months? It's either the alcohol begging him to get lucky, or Rachel Berry has decided to get off the Prude Express to go barreling tongue first into sexytown. This is what you call layering complications on top of complications. A wreck on a wreck.
Then her tongue slipped into his ear and she whispered "I wanna feel you touch me Finn… pleeeease."
He just about blew it right there with moaning the sound she just made to punctuate that statement. His mouth ground against hers, plunging his tongue in repeatedly, sliding, smooth, swirling, tasting the sweet and familiar and feeling the fire of the booze from her mouth dancing on his own tastebuds. He grazed his teeth along her jaw and ravaged her neck, sucking along the column of it until he reached her ear. "Rach, um, I can't really move here... Uhh, you've kinda locked me in a sort of super hot prison here."
"Okay Finny… sorry," she simpered, as she began to loosen her leg lock and peeled her left leg back to relax it on the bed, keeping the right wrapped around his left thigh while simultaneously grabbing his hand and pressing it firm against her left breast.
Finn's whole body kind of went rigid and his mouth dried up. His eyes locked on hers, even in the dark of the room he could see she meant business. But that look on her face acted like a trip wire to a hidden stick of dynamite. Suddenly, the vault of memories he'd tried to seal shut and lock away flashed behind his own eyes at warp speed; even closed, his eyelids betrayed him. The images just flooded on through in an infinite stream. Auditorium picnic… bowling date… hallway lockers… stairwells... Choir room… closet… shade tree at the park… checkered quilt at the lake… the bleachers… his truck… her swimming pool… his bed… and here. Right here. Her bed. This bed where they both had their first experience rounding third base together (over the clothes so far - mostly). The girl he was with in all those pictures was his everything back then. Was she still? Or could she be again?
With his free hand he stroked her hair back away from her now rather damp forehead. Shaky as it still was, his ragged breath became just a little bit more tempered. He could feel her running her left foot up and down his jean-clad boneless leg, and her dress was still bunched up to her middle. He could feel the heat of lust soaking through from her onto his bare stomach, since she'd finally managed to expose it and keep it that way.
He wants her with every atomic particle in his giant body. And he knows the love she feels for him never died, just like he knows his love for her never died either. He'd need an Avenger or and X-man to come and like, erase his memories or something to make those feelings completely disappear. Even if he was lucky enough to have one such gifted superhero in his back pocket, what good would it do? He'd just see her again and it would start all over 'FROM THE TOP' as Mr. Schue would say.
Because looking at her right now, in this pale moonlit bathed and very familiar room, it's not her legs gluing him to her. It's not even her arms, or her words or her sheer will power. It's himself. It's the two of them together. He didn't even have to be in this house tonight. He certainly didn't have to be in that stairwell a minute ago, and he definitely didn't have to be where he finds himself at this moment. What does this mean?
As he rakes his fingers through her hair fanning it out her hair across the soft pillow top mattress, his hand sorta brushes on some papers laying up at the head end of her bed. She hears the rustle and suddenly it's like a switch flipped. "Wooopsie! Oohh Finny, no no.. you don'wanna seee those.. It's, it's not sexy-yyy at aaaall. Not like you are… but I tried. Really hard. Just like you said. I wrote it all down too.. and, but you probably won't like it anyway and. Still. I did it. I tried to find what you said I needed to feel. Where the music lives… it's where the pain was hiding too though… but yooooouuu won't wanna see that now. You should just look here instead," and she pulls him by the cheeks toward her chest.
A sudden wave of concern hits him. Finn gently grabs her hands and pulls himself up to face her. "Wait a sec Rach… hold on. I can't understand what you're saying.. and what I said? What are these papers, what did you write about?"
She squirms a little, a few traitorous tears trying to make their way from the corners of her eyes to the waiting bed linens below her cheeks. She sniffles once and wipes her eyes on her sleeve.
"You… or, well, really… us, me. I don't –"
"Rachel, wha…?" he thinks for a moment and eventually connects the drunken dots of dialog. He's thinking now about headbands and orphans and a hopeful look on her face as he critiques her efforts. "Is this your original song?"
Her eyes are sparkling in the moonlight and boring a hole through him. "It doesn't matter Finn. It won't matter. Jusss, please, I want you right now. We have thisss right now, even if it'll be gone tomorrow –"
"Sure Rach. but, I wanna look at it first, okay? Please?" He can feel the pain in her pleading expression cracking through her previous coat of pink-powered liquid armor, and he just knows by her reaction that there's something on that paper he needs to see. Now.
"Finny, you'll proll..bably.. Ummm.. you'll, you can…but I - I don't think it's, no it's not finished but…" she finally lets out an exasperated breath in defeat. "Go ahead."
He rolls over to sit up next to her on the bed and reaches over to her nightstand to flip on the small lamp. He sees the picture of them from sophomore year regionals still in the frame where it's always been, faithfully. She rolls to her side with her back facing him and he glances at her wondering why she would want to hide this from him if it's the original song she's writing for sectionals.
He scoops up the four loose pages from the bed and realizes she's even got the sheet music written – or started at least. The words on the top of the page halt him: 'Get It Right.' Crossed out before those three words he can make out 'I keep trying but maybe I'll never.' He starts reading the music, and just a few lyrics along with it, unconsciously tapping out the drum rhythm on his leg.
Flipping one page, then the next, reaching the end of what she's written so far. Looks like she's been mostly working on the music for the chorus. He looks over at the photograph of the happy couple smiling back at him and remembers their journey to that day. Yeah yeah, listen to me with all the freakin puns. Then he sees a notebook with more words on it on her nightstand.
Can I start again, with my faith shaken?
Cause I can't go back and undo this
xxx (I'm so very sorry I broke us Finn) xxx
I just have to stay and face my mistakes
But if I get stronger and wiser, I'll get through this
xxx (if I let you go, maybe you can be happy again?) xxx
What can you do when your good isn't good enough?
And all that you touch tumbles down?
Cause my best intentions keep making a mess of things
I just wanna fix it somehow
xxx(but how if you won't let me.. I guess it's time to accept it's really over)xxx
But how many times will it take?
Oh, how many times will it take for me to get it right?
So I throw up my fist, throw a punch in the air
And accept the truth that sometimes life isn't fair
xxx[our love was like breathing rarified air]xxx
Yeah, I'll send out a wish, yeah, I'll send up a prayer
And finally someone will see how much I care
xxx [Even though I blew it out of stupid pride and jealousy and ego
and things that don't even matter now because…
I IRREVERSIBLY SCREWED UP.!
I hurt the one person I'd have rather died for than hurt.
He gave me his heart and i was a reckless petulant child with it
I don't deserve him now - not that I ever did in the first place
Maybe I never really had him at all?] xxx
Finn reads the words. Once, twice, five times. The song is beautiful. The lyrics – well, the ones it looks like she intends to use – are so powerful and lay out everything she's been feeling these last few months. But those aren't the words that are sticking in his side like a dull knife. The ones that are shredding him right now are all the ones she crossed out. He looks at the page closer, feeling the rough texture, seeing the rounded warped surface in different spots. Teardrops. She was crying while she wrote this.
Two days ago she was singing about her family tree. She didn't want to sing about this. It's too much. She feels too much. She hurts too much…
I hurt too much… without her. I've punished her too much. Enough.
"Rachel?"
She doesn't answer him. She's still laying on her side facing away from him and he can see her shoulders softly shaking. He gets up from the bed and walks around to the other side of it to face her. He kneels down to meet her eyes that are now swimming in a continuous flow of fat tears.
"I'm sssso s-s-sorry Finn. You can leave now."
Like hell he can.
He scoops her up in his arms, then sits down on the bed with her in his lap. He just rocks her as she sobs into his chest, rubbing big soft circles on her back, and murmuring "shhh.. it's okay baby. I'm not going anywhere. Breathe Rach…"
After a few minutes she starts to calm down. He cranes his head down closer to her face, wiping her tears from her cheeks with his fingers. The he kisses her. Soft, sweet, lips pressing lips over and over again. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls away burying her face in the crook of his neck and deeply inhaling his sweet scent.
"Rachel look at me please."
She reluctantly pulls back but her eyes stay fixated on the stitching of the sleeve of her dress. "I'm sorry Finn I– "
"NO. No more apologies. We're… we're done with that part."
She looks at him through wide surprised eyes and slightly slack-jawed as he continues.
"I… Look, I don't know h-how much of this you're gonna remember tomorrow and.. It'd be good probably if we had a sober talk. But…" he takes a deep breath through his nose, then tugs her chin up to force her to look at him. "I can tell. That's us. That's YOU on those pages. Your heart. Your beautiful soul. Rach, it's an incredible, amazing song. If that was the only thing there it would have been enough, but.. But.. the other things you wrote, the crossed out stuff – especially that part about never really having me? Baby, you've had me from day one, whether I knew it or not. And you… you still have me."
The smile that spread across her face was delayed and hesitant, growing little by little as his words were seeping in through the spirited haze she's still in. "I do?" She questions quietly.
"Yeah. Yes Rach, you do. Look, I forgave you already, a while ago maybe. And I love you Rachel - I never stopped. And I miss you so, SO much.. I just don't know if we can go right back to where we left off exactly, but… you have to know that you had me, and you HAVE me… Always."
"So you like my song? And… you forgive me?"
"Yeah. Both… but we can't really talk tonight Rach, I need you to sober up. I really can't be with you, not like this. We can… we can talk more tomorrow okay?"
"Okay. Finn? I love you… and thank you… for forgiving me."
He sweeps her back into his strong embrace and kisses her again, then just holds on tight with her curled in his lap until she finally fell asleep.
He whispers into the top of her hair "You got it right, Rach. You did."