Glee Fic: We're All Stories In The End (1/?)
Title: We're All Stories In The End (1/?)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Rating: Eventual R
Chapter Wordcount: 4,300
Spoilers: 3x22
Summary: New York seemed lonelier now. Like the image in her head has projected into something that isn’t quite right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was, but it felt wrong.
A/N: Okay, so I'm not entirely sure how many chapters this will be. Could be anywhere from 7-10 I would imagine, but once I figure that out I'll update the count. This is my attempt at making myself feel better. I hope you enjoy it.
The finger on her left hand is red raw.
It’s past three am but she can’t sleep. The hotel is dead quiet and she can hear her dad’s sleeping soundly in the bed across the room, but she can still hear the sounds of the city through the walls. She has been twisting her ring on her finger over and over, like a mantra, like she has to, for over an hour. She lost count of how many times about forty-five minutes ago, but she can’t give up now. It’s kind of her only lifeline right now.
She can’t take it off. She won’t take it off.
The past twenty hours have seemed like a blur of information and experiences and loss and she can’t get her head around it. She swallowed again, that damn lump, and began twisting, over and over. She felt like she was on the edge of a breakdown, about to topple over, not quite sure where she would land. She only thing she could think of, amidst the dorms and the people and the information, was that she missed him. It had been twenty hours and she missed him more than she could even say or think, the hole in her heart gaping and exposed.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was, but it felt wrong.
She picked a dorm room today. Well, her dad’s picked it for her. She could barely function and she’d seen about five [it felt like fifty] and finally she nodded and her dad’s organised everything else. She officially moves in three days. It’s small and she has a room to herself, though she shares the floor with five other people. It’s only a block away from NYADA and only ten minutes from Central Park and in any other circumstance it would have been perfect.
But it’s not a shoe-box apartment and it’s missing someone that she can’t bear to think about because her heart is still breaking inside her chest.
Her dad snored loudly and it knocked her out of her thoughts, her fingers stilling on her ring. It’s starting to sting now but she felt numb. Numb to it all. This was supposed to be the most exciting time of her life. She was in New York, she got into the school of her dreams and everything is finally in place. But yet it still felt like her world had crumbled around her and her throat swelled at the thought that this was it from now on.
She was going to be alone.
Her feet have touched the old carpet before she has even thought about it.
It’s freezing outside. It shouldn’t be, because it’s almost Summer, but the wind is cold and she’s only wearing shorts and a long sleeve shirt but she’s standing out front of the hotel, her finger stinging against the cold air. Her cell phone is firmly clasped in her other hand and she squeezed it tighter as she sat on the steps, bringing her knees up to her chest.
There, she took the first deep breath in about twenty hours.
Her eyes burn immediately. New York seemed lonelier now. Like the image in her head has projected into something that isn’t quite right. It seemed less colourful, less full of that energy that she had always imagined it to have. The streets are empty. They’re not, but they seem like they are. She felt empty. This was supposed to be everything she wanted, everything she dreamed of having since she could even remember and now it … she felt lost.
Her eyes flutter down to her cell phone in her hand. She hasn’t opened it all day. It’s buzzed a few times, and she’s pretty sure who is has been, but she can’t bring herself to open it. Because opening it is really and completely admitting that this is actually happening and that she is actually here and he is not. He’s in Ohio, over eight hours away, away from her and from them and she squeezed her eyes shut tight because she knew that if she kept them open she would cry. She doesn’t want to cry anymore.
She wanted to be mad at him for doing what he did, and forcing her into this without any warning. She wanted to be mad at him for proposing to her, only to break up with her in the car at the train station and applying for the army and just … stop. She wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t because every time she thought about it, every time she tried to picture in her head why she would be mad at him, it came back to the same thing. He gave up everything for her. For this. He believed in her that much, that she was going to make it, that he gave up his life with her for it.
Her phone lit up again in her hands and she swallowed, turning it over. Finn [2] flashed up on her screen and her heart stopped in her chest, her throat swelling as she flipped it open and pressed the button.
[Finn] 12:25pm: I am so proud of you. I love you so much. I’m sorry. Please ring me when you can.
[Finn] 4:55pm: I miss you so much already, but I know this is right. This is right, Rachel. I love you forever.
Tears spill over her lashes and she didn’t even feel them forming. They hit the phone and she snapped it shut in an instant, tucking it into her pocket and out of sight. This isn’t right. This doesn’t feel right. This just feels like a hole has been punched in her heart, leaving her empty and lonely in a city where she wasn’t supposed to feel like that.
It’s after four when she finally climbed back into her bed, bringing the sheets up to her shoulders. Her phone is still in her hand and she’s exhausted and alert all at once and before she even thought it through she punched in a text and hit send.
His reply came ten seconds later.
[Rachel] 4:18am: I don’t know if I can do this without you.
[Finn] 4:19am: Of course you can. You’re amazing.
She fell asleep with her phone still between her fingers.
FOUR MONTHS LATER.
Santana is kind of driving her nuts.
“So I said to him, ‘I swear to God, if you don’t get your hand off my ass I’m gonna go all-“
“You can’t talk to people like that, specifically your boss” Rachel said simply, ripping off a piece of her bagel and putting it in her mouth. She gave Santana a pointed look and rolled her eyes when the girl glared at her.
The coffee shop just off 42nd street was packed but they had managed to find a table just near the window. This had unintentionally became their coffee shop, mostly because it was right near NYADA and a block away from Santana’s dodgy little apartment. This had become almost a daily occurrence, Santana bitching about her job. She’d only been working there eight weeks and it was the first place she applied for. Well, applied is an interesting word, she had walked in three days after moving to New York and wore a low cut black t-shirt and the guy had given her the job on the spot. Rachel kind of suspected she liked the attention, even though she would never admit it.
“I can when there is bound to be a sexual discrimination lawsuit sometime in the near future all up in his face. Seriously, I work in a bar not a strip club,” Santana replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder and bringing her cup of coffee to her lips, downing the rest of her latte.
Rachel grinned. Even though she drove her completely nuts on most days, she was incredibly glad that Santana had moved to New York. They saw each other practically every day, not counting the days Rachel was at NYADA and Santana worked a double at the bar. Rachel suspected Santana thought it would totally turn out to be like a Coyote Ugly type situation, however all it turned out to be was a dodgy little bar in Hell’s Kitchen in which Santana was the star bartender. Mostly because of her boobs, not her voice. Or her bartending skills. Of which she had zero, and had a fake ID in order to even get the job to begin with. The place was so dodgy that Rachel was pretty sure that if her boss even found out that Santana was nineteen he wouldn’t care.
“What time have you got class?” Santana asked her, reaching into her bag and pulling out her cell.
Rachel looked at her watch. “45 minutes. I’m there til eight tonight though.”
“Jesus, what do they have you doing for ten hours straight?” Santana questioned, chucking her phone back in her bag. She pulled out a ten and put it on the table.
Rachel shrugged, pulling out her wallet and fishing out a ten. For a second her eyes fell on her left hand a second longer than she had let them for a few weeks and her heart skipped a beat. It was missing a ring, the only indication that it was ever there a small indentation around the base of her finger. She swallowed and put her hand under the table. Santana didn’t seem to notice.
“How’s Carmen Tibe-whatever her name is?” Santana asked, a small smile appearing on her face.
“To put it in the most polite way - she’s a pain in the ass,” Rachel replied, groaning and putting her head in her hands. Santana snorted.
“What, like you?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m serious; she seems to have made it her personal vendetta to make me feel like a complete idiot on a daily basis. I think she thinks that she did me a favour by giving me a second shot and that I’ve got to earn it or something,”
“Heard from Finn?” Santana asked quietly, leaning back in her chair and looking at Rachel.
Rachel stiffened immediately. That came out of nowhere. Well, maybe it didn’t. Rachel hadn’t spoken about it for a few weeks, hadn’t even voiced his name. Not to Santana anyway. The stinging in her heart made her bury it, putting a façade on her face that she had to live up to. It was a lie, she knew it.
“Not for a few weeks. I guess he’s … busy or …” Rachel drifted off, looking down at her hands. God, she hated talking about this. Santana knew it too, and she wanted to be a little annoyed at her for bringing it up but she knew that it wasn’t intentional. Or maybe it was. Even though they were friends, Santana still had that streak in her that made Rachel revert back to freshman year.
“It’s probably too hard to talk. I mean, that’s why I don’t talk to Britt. It sucks and why put yourself through it when there is nothing you can do?” Santana replied simply, sitting up straight.
Rachel nodded, swallowing again. She wanted to stop talking about it. She’d put on a good face most days, but she doesn’t tell Santana about the nights she cries herself to sleep because her finger feels bare and so does every part of her life. The last conversation she had with Finn lasted twelve minutes and ended with him being cut off and she cried for twenty three minutes after that because she wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He gets terrible reception in Georgia and their conversations were few and far between and not only did she have to adjust to life without seeing him every day but talking to him?
She closed her eyes briefly and reminded herself to stop and then Santana is standing up because she’s late for work. Maybe she thought she’d overstepped, Rachel thought, because she gave Rachel’s shoulder a little squeeze before she took off down the street, her bag over her shoulder.
Today would be better. She took a breath and started to walk to school, repeating that over and over in her head.
_
Finn definitely has no idea what he is doing here.
The office is completely white and sterile, like something out of a hospital. Not exactly what he was expecting out of a government office, but he isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting anyway. The first time. This is his third trip to this office in a matter of months. He’s been blown off three times in person, four times on the phone and more than he’d like to count via email. If he wasn’t so damn determined he’s pretty sure he would have crawled into a hole weeks ago.
This has become more than what he originally set it out to be. This was about his dad. About his record and about his integrity and dignity. And then somehow, along the way, this became about him. After everything he had been through, this had almost taken on a life of its own, a lifeline for Finn.
Because although he had been here four times, he was still in Ohio.
Finn hated liars. And now he had become one.
He twisted his fingers together as he stared down at his lap, the flickering light above making an annoying buzzing sound. This wasn’t exactly how he expected everything to go. But then again, nothing was ever as he expected lately. He was working pretty much full-time at Burt’s tire shop, and earning pretty decent money while he spent his days off researching til his eyes felt like they were bleeding. He’d gotten a fairly decent case behind him, he thought, but it would have been better if he could have gotten someone to actually agree to see him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he stuck his clammy hand inside, pulling it out. He flipped it open, his stomach clenching when [One Missed Call - Rachel] flashed up on his screen. He swallowed, closing his eyes as he flipped it shut again and stuck it in his pocket, ignoring the nauseas feeling that engulfed his stomach. He fucking hated not talking to her. He felt a lump grow in his throat every time he thought about it and the last time they had spoken - sixteen days ago. He’s counting, and he wished that he didn’t because in the back of his mind it was continuously lingering, that feeling of complete and utter desperation.
Sometimes he felt so desperate to talk to her he literally felt like he would burst. It took everything he ever had not to key in her number on speed-dial, or send her a text. It was breaking his heart, every second, but it would get better right?
On nights when he is lying in bed completely alone he lets himself wonder if he has made the biggest mistake of his life. He’s doing this for her and to bring her down with him, to stop her from living her life, would be completely and utterly selfish. He reminded himself that at least ten times a day.
He is knocked out of his thoughts when a woman, or a captain or whatever, came out of the office completely decked out in uniform. She shut the door behind her and walked to the desk. Finn stared at her for a moment before he stood up and cleared his throat.
“I’m waiting for Sargent O’Neill,” he said simply, ignoring the wave in his voice. Now was not the time to get nervous.
“He just left I’m afraid,” she said, but Finn could tell that that was a lie. He held in a groan.
“Look,” he started, walking straight up to the desk, “this is my third time here, and you know that as well as I do and I’m kind of sick and tired of being blown off. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to talk to me, all I’m asking for is five minutes,” he finished, his fingers pressing into the wood of the desk.
The woman stared at him for a moment before smirking. “I know what you’re trying to do Mr -“
“Finn,” he cut in. “Finn Hudson.”
“Finn Hudson,” she said. “I know what you’re trying to do and I think it’s very admirable however -“
“Don’t give me the ‘it’s impossible’ pep talk, because I’ve had it given to me by about every single person I’ve ever met. I have a case. It’s solid. All I’m asking for is five minutes,” he replied, attempting to keep the frustration out of his voice.
The woman watched him carefully. After a moment she sighed. “Look, I can’t guarantee anything but if you make an allotted appointment with Sargent O’Neill at a time that suits him, we’ll see what we can do.”
He has to stop himself from grinning.
“Thank you.”
-
It was after midnight by the time Rachel walked into her dorm room, books stacked in her arms. It was incredibly awkward, attempting to fish her keys out of her bag while trying to keep five hardcovers from slipping out of her arms and tumbling onto the floor. She grunted a little, kicking her door as it jammed and shouldered it open, stepping into her dark room and flipped the light switch on with her free hand.
The room was small, but she had grown to like it. She had decorated the walls with posters of Broadway shows and Barbra, a poster of Funny Girl hanging directly above her bed. Slowly but surely the room had started to become distinctly Rachel. There was a small desk next to her wardrobe, mostly filled with her school work but above it was the collage she had started to make but stopped. Pictures of the Glee Club, everyone from Artie to Sam filled the spaces on the sides of the mirror, all of them together and separately. Smiling. Laughing. She’d started, but then she stopped. About sixteen days ago.
Her books fell from her arms and onto her bed as she collapsed on the mattress, kicking off her shoes with her toes. She heard them tumble onto the ground and closed her eyes, bringing her forearms over her face. Her back ached, her arms ached, her legs ached and she was pretty sure her brain was hurting pretty badly too. Her dignity as well. She had received a rather stinging lecture from Carmen this afternoon about practice and her inability to connect with her monologue. It took everything Rachel had not to burst into hysterical tears. She’s not that girl anymore though. She hasn’t cried in sixteen days.
She’s a lot stronger now, a lot stronger than she ever thought she could be. Everything hurts, both mentally and physically and there are some days when she just wanted to curl into a ball in the corner of this dorm room and wish it all away, but she doesn’t. She fought. Every day she fought and if anything she realised that that was going to get her through.
Her cell phone vibrated in her bag and she leaned over, groaning as she fished it out. She fell back against the mattress as she read the text.
[Santana] 12:11am: So I just gave douchebag a piece of my mind.
Rachel laughed to herself, shaking her head as she responded.
[Rachel] 12:12am: Yeah, how’d that go?
[Santana] 12:13am: I think I got a promotion. Head bartender bitch. He said he liked my spunk.
[Rachel] 12:14am: Dream job!
She smiled as she flipped her phone shut and let it fall out of her hands onto the mattress. She closed her eyes, bringing her legs up as she pushed her bag off of the bed. It was probable she would crash right in this position. That’s another thing that she’s noticed, she’s become a lot less pedantic living in New York. A lot of things have changed.
She’s just drifting off when her phone vibrated again, ringing, and she reached over and flipped it open, her eyes still closed.
“Head bartender bitch,” she muttered quietly, smiling.
“Uh, what?”
Her eyes snapped open. “Finn?”
“Uh yeah, you okay?” He sounded confused and nervous and she sat bolt upright, phone pressed against her ear.
Suddenly, she felt as though she had reverted back to weeks ago and she swallowed before she spoke, pressing down the lump that had formed in her throat. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, I thought you were Santana.”
Finn laughed into the phone quietly, though it sounded a little forced. She knew him well enough now to know when he was nervous, when his voice cracked a little and his laugh wavered. She pushed her fingers down into the mattress as she sat completely still, in shock more than anything.
“Right, sorry, I know it’s late-“
“No - No, I’m … I’m really glad you rang,” she said softly, her voice swaying a little and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She wasn’t going to lose it. Not now.
There was a silence that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. After everything they had been through, this was it? She shook her head, tucking her legs underneath her as she sat on her bed, picking at the thread on her sheets.
“How’s NYADA?” He asked her after a moment, and she noticed he sounded a little pained. God, his voice. She missed his voice. She missed his everything.
“Good,” she said softly. “I mean, it’s hard. Stressful. But I’m learning a lot.”
She could practically hear him smiling into the phone. “I’ll bet you’re doing amazingly.”
Rachel smiled, looking down. Her throat swelled and she couldn’t keep swallowing. There was that never-ending faith that he possessed when it came to her. Even if she was terrible, and she was the worst person at that school, he would still tell her she was incredible. It’s one of the most annoying and wonderful things about him.
“H-How’s training?”
She didn’t want to ask the question, because deep down she doesn’t want to know. She still doesn’t quite understand why he felt the need to enrol himself in the army in Georgia and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get it. But she’ll support him. Just like he’s supporting her.
Sometimes she just wished he’d support her here. [But she can’t think like that for long.]
“Uh yeah - yeah good. Hard work, but I’m pushing through,” he brushed over it like it didn’t mean anything and she nodded even though she knew he couldn’t see it. God, this was hard. Why was this so hard? Her eyes burned with tears but she didn’t try to push them away this time. They spilled down her cheeks and she didn’t even bother wiping them away, just closed her eyes tightly as she listened to him breathe on the other end of the phone.
“Finn…” she said softly, and she heard her own voice crack under the weight of her emotion, her voice thick. She heard him intake a sharp breath on the other end.
“I miss you so much,” she said softly, so quietly, her voice shaking. Her voice caught in her throat as her chest heaved a little and she brought her hand up to her cheek, wiping away her tears. Her heart felt heavy and full all at once, a dull familiar ache returning that she had spent the past eight weeks trying to repress.
“Rachel-“ his own voice cracked under the pressure and she shook her head, biting her lip hard to stop herself from saying all the things she wanted to say. I miss you. I need you. Come to New York. Don’t leave me.
“Rachel-, “ he breathed into the phone.
“Don’t,” she said, sniffing, wiping her cheeks. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
Rachel heard it clear this time, his breath sharply inhaling. Like a cut to the skin. She didn’t say anything, mostly because she knew that if she opened her mouth, she was likely to start crying uncontrollably. She listened to his breathing, steady and slow and her heart ached. After what felt like forever she opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by his voice, so quiet it was almost static.
“I miss you so much it hurts, Rachel. I feel like a piece of me is missing and I -”
He stopped and she swallowed, her eyes closing as she pressed the phone against her ear tighter. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. How can they both be so miserable without each other and still think this was the right decision? How can this be right when it feels so wrong?
“I think I should go,” he whispered after a moment and her heart jumped in her chest.
“It’s late,” he said, answering a question she didn’t ask and she nodded, slowly lying back down on her mattress.
“Okay,” she replied quietly, waiting for something, anything. She hated ending conversations because they always sounded so final.
“I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Stay safe,” he said and she laughed a little, whispering ‘okay’ as she heard him let out a breath. God, she missed that. Him. Everything.
“I love you,” she said after a moment, squeezing her eyes shut as if she was scared of what the answer would be. She knew the answer. It didn’t make a difference though, not really.
“I love you,” he replied. “Always.”
The phone beeped a few times before she let it fall from her fingers.
She fell asleep in her clothes.
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Rating: Eventual R
Chapter Wordcount: 4,300
Spoilers: 3x22
Summary: New York seemed lonelier now. Like the image in her head has projected into something that isn’t quite right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was, but it felt wrong.
A/N: Okay, so I'm not entirely sure how many chapters this will be. Could be anywhere from 7-10 I would imagine, but once I figure that out I'll update the count. This is my attempt at making myself feel better. I hope you enjoy it.
The finger on her left hand is red raw.
It’s past three am but she can’t sleep. The hotel is dead quiet and she can hear her dad’s sleeping soundly in the bed across the room, but she can still hear the sounds of the city through the walls. She has been twisting her ring on her finger over and over, like a mantra, like she has to, for over an hour. She lost count of how many times about forty-five minutes ago, but she can’t give up now. It’s kind of her only lifeline right now.
She can’t take it off. She won’t take it off.
The past twenty hours have seemed like a blur of information and experiences and loss and she can’t get her head around it. She swallowed again, that damn lump, and began twisting, over and over. She felt like she was on the edge of a breakdown, about to topple over, not quite sure where she would land. She only thing she could think of, amidst the dorms and the people and the information, was that she missed him. It had been twenty hours and she missed him more than she could even say or think, the hole in her heart gaping and exposed.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was, but it felt wrong.
She picked a dorm room today. Well, her dad’s picked it for her. She could barely function and she’d seen about five [it felt like fifty] and finally she nodded and her dad’s organised everything else. She officially moves in three days. It’s small and she has a room to herself, though she shares the floor with five other people. It’s only a block away from NYADA and only ten minutes from Central Park and in any other circumstance it would have been perfect.
But it’s not a shoe-box apartment and it’s missing someone that she can’t bear to think about because her heart is still breaking inside her chest.
Her dad snored loudly and it knocked her out of her thoughts, her fingers stilling on her ring. It’s starting to sting now but she felt numb. Numb to it all. This was supposed to be the most exciting time of her life. She was in New York, she got into the school of her dreams and everything is finally in place. But yet it still felt like her world had crumbled around her and her throat swelled at the thought that this was it from now on.
She was going to be alone.
Her feet have touched the old carpet before she has even thought about it.
It’s freezing outside. It shouldn’t be, because it’s almost Summer, but the wind is cold and she’s only wearing shorts and a long sleeve shirt but she’s standing out front of the hotel, her finger stinging against the cold air. Her cell phone is firmly clasped in her other hand and she squeezed it tighter as she sat on the steps, bringing her knees up to her chest.
There, she took the first deep breath in about twenty hours.
Her eyes burn immediately. New York seemed lonelier now. Like the image in her head has projected into something that isn’t quite right. It seemed less colourful, less full of that energy that she had always imagined it to have. The streets are empty. They’re not, but they seem like they are. She felt empty. This was supposed to be everything she wanted, everything she dreamed of having since she could even remember and now it … she felt lost.
Her eyes flutter down to her cell phone in her hand. She hasn’t opened it all day. It’s buzzed a few times, and she’s pretty sure who is has been, but she can’t bring herself to open it. Because opening it is really and completely admitting that this is actually happening and that she is actually here and he is not. He’s in Ohio, over eight hours away, away from her and from them and she squeezed her eyes shut tight because she knew that if she kept them open she would cry. She doesn’t want to cry anymore.
She wanted to be mad at him for doing what he did, and forcing her into this without any warning. She wanted to be mad at him for proposing to her, only to break up with her in the car at the train station and applying for the army and just … stop. She wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t because every time she thought about it, every time she tried to picture in her head why she would be mad at him, it came back to the same thing. He gave up everything for her. For this. He believed in her that much, that she was going to make it, that he gave up his life with her for it.
Her phone lit up again in her hands and she swallowed, turning it over. Finn [2] flashed up on her screen and her heart stopped in her chest, her throat swelling as she flipped it open and pressed the button.
[Finn] 12:25pm: I am so proud of you. I love you so much. I’m sorry. Please ring me when you can.
[Finn] 4:55pm: I miss you so much already, but I know this is right. This is right, Rachel. I love you forever.
Tears spill over her lashes and she didn’t even feel them forming. They hit the phone and she snapped it shut in an instant, tucking it into her pocket and out of sight. This isn’t right. This doesn’t feel right. This just feels like a hole has been punched in her heart, leaving her empty and lonely in a city where she wasn’t supposed to feel like that.
It’s after four when she finally climbed back into her bed, bringing the sheets up to her shoulders. Her phone is still in her hand and she’s exhausted and alert all at once and before she even thought it through she punched in a text and hit send.
His reply came ten seconds later.
[Rachel] 4:18am: I don’t know if I can do this without you.
[Finn] 4:19am: Of course you can. You’re amazing.
She fell asleep with her phone still between her fingers.
FOUR MONTHS LATER.
Santana is kind of driving her nuts.
“So I said to him, ‘I swear to God, if you don’t get your hand off my ass I’m gonna go all-“
“You can’t talk to people like that, specifically your boss” Rachel said simply, ripping off a piece of her bagel and putting it in her mouth. She gave Santana a pointed look and rolled her eyes when the girl glared at her.
The coffee shop just off 42nd street was packed but they had managed to find a table just near the window. This had unintentionally became their coffee shop, mostly because it was right near NYADA and a block away from Santana’s dodgy little apartment. This had become almost a daily occurrence, Santana bitching about her job. She’d only been working there eight weeks and it was the first place she applied for. Well, applied is an interesting word, she had walked in three days after moving to New York and wore a low cut black t-shirt and the guy had given her the job on the spot. Rachel kind of suspected she liked the attention, even though she would never admit it.
“I can when there is bound to be a sexual discrimination lawsuit sometime in the near future all up in his face. Seriously, I work in a bar not a strip club,” Santana replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder and bringing her cup of coffee to her lips, downing the rest of her latte.
Rachel grinned. Even though she drove her completely nuts on most days, she was incredibly glad that Santana had moved to New York. They saw each other practically every day, not counting the days Rachel was at NYADA and Santana worked a double at the bar. Rachel suspected Santana thought it would totally turn out to be like a Coyote Ugly type situation, however all it turned out to be was a dodgy little bar in Hell’s Kitchen in which Santana was the star bartender. Mostly because of her boobs, not her voice. Or her bartending skills. Of which she had zero, and had a fake ID in order to even get the job to begin with. The place was so dodgy that Rachel was pretty sure that if her boss even found out that Santana was nineteen he wouldn’t care.
“What time have you got class?” Santana asked her, reaching into her bag and pulling out her cell.
Rachel looked at her watch. “45 minutes. I’m there til eight tonight though.”
“Jesus, what do they have you doing for ten hours straight?” Santana questioned, chucking her phone back in her bag. She pulled out a ten and put it on the table.
Rachel shrugged, pulling out her wallet and fishing out a ten. For a second her eyes fell on her left hand a second longer than she had let them for a few weeks and her heart skipped a beat. It was missing a ring, the only indication that it was ever there a small indentation around the base of her finger. She swallowed and put her hand under the table. Santana didn’t seem to notice.
“How’s Carmen Tibe-whatever her name is?” Santana asked, a small smile appearing on her face.
“To put it in the most polite way - she’s a pain in the ass,” Rachel replied, groaning and putting her head in her hands. Santana snorted.
“What, like you?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m serious; she seems to have made it her personal vendetta to make me feel like a complete idiot on a daily basis. I think she thinks that she did me a favour by giving me a second shot and that I’ve got to earn it or something,”
“Heard from Finn?” Santana asked quietly, leaning back in her chair and looking at Rachel.
Rachel stiffened immediately. That came out of nowhere. Well, maybe it didn’t. Rachel hadn’t spoken about it for a few weeks, hadn’t even voiced his name. Not to Santana anyway. The stinging in her heart made her bury it, putting a façade on her face that she had to live up to. It was a lie, she knew it.
“Not for a few weeks. I guess he’s … busy or …” Rachel drifted off, looking down at her hands. God, she hated talking about this. Santana knew it too, and she wanted to be a little annoyed at her for bringing it up but she knew that it wasn’t intentional. Or maybe it was. Even though they were friends, Santana still had that streak in her that made Rachel revert back to freshman year.
“It’s probably too hard to talk. I mean, that’s why I don’t talk to Britt. It sucks and why put yourself through it when there is nothing you can do?” Santana replied simply, sitting up straight.
Rachel nodded, swallowing again. She wanted to stop talking about it. She’d put on a good face most days, but she doesn’t tell Santana about the nights she cries herself to sleep because her finger feels bare and so does every part of her life. The last conversation she had with Finn lasted twelve minutes and ended with him being cut off and she cried for twenty three minutes after that because she wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He gets terrible reception in Georgia and their conversations were few and far between and not only did she have to adjust to life without seeing him every day but talking to him?
She closed her eyes briefly and reminded herself to stop and then Santana is standing up because she’s late for work. Maybe she thought she’d overstepped, Rachel thought, because she gave Rachel’s shoulder a little squeeze before she took off down the street, her bag over her shoulder.
Today would be better. She took a breath and started to walk to school, repeating that over and over in her head.
_
Finn definitely has no idea what he is doing here.
The office is completely white and sterile, like something out of a hospital. Not exactly what he was expecting out of a government office, but he isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting anyway. The first time. This is his third trip to this office in a matter of months. He’s been blown off three times in person, four times on the phone and more than he’d like to count via email. If he wasn’t so damn determined he’s pretty sure he would have crawled into a hole weeks ago.
This has become more than what he originally set it out to be. This was about his dad. About his record and about his integrity and dignity. And then somehow, along the way, this became about him. After everything he had been through, this had almost taken on a life of its own, a lifeline for Finn.
Because although he had been here four times, he was still in Ohio.
Finn hated liars. And now he had become one.
He twisted his fingers together as he stared down at his lap, the flickering light above making an annoying buzzing sound. This wasn’t exactly how he expected everything to go. But then again, nothing was ever as he expected lately. He was working pretty much full-time at Burt’s tire shop, and earning pretty decent money while he spent his days off researching til his eyes felt like they were bleeding. He’d gotten a fairly decent case behind him, he thought, but it would have been better if he could have gotten someone to actually agree to see him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he stuck his clammy hand inside, pulling it out. He flipped it open, his stomach clenching when [One Missed Call - Rachel] flashed up on his screen. He swallowed, closing his eyes as he flipped it shut again and stuck it in his pocket, ignoring the nauseas feeling that engulfed his stomach. He fucking hated not talking to her. He felt a lump grow in his throat every time he thought about it and the last time they had spoken - sixteen days ago. He’s counting, and he wished that he didn’t because in the back of his mind it was continuously lingering, that feeling of complete and utter desperation.
Sometimes he felt so desperate to talk to her he literally felt like he would burst. It took everything he ever had not to key in her number on speed-dial, or send her a text. It was breaking his heart, every second, but it would get better right?
On nights when he is lying in bed completely alone he lets himself wonder if he has made the biggest mistake of his life. He’s doing this for her and to bring her down with him, to stop her from living her life, would be completely and utterly selfish. He reminded himself that at least ten times a day.
He is knocked out of his thoughts when a woman, or a captain or whatever, came out of the office completely decked out in uniform. She shut the door behind her and walked to the desk. Finn stared at her for a moment before he stood up and cleared his throat.
“I’m waiting for Sargent O’Neill,” he said simply, ignoring the wave in his voice. Now was not the time to get nervous.
“He just left I’m afraid,” she said, but Finn could tell that that was a lie. He held in a groan.
“Look,” he started, walking straight up to the desk, “this is my third time here, and you know that as well as I do and I’m kind of sick and tired of being blown off. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to talk to me, all I’m asking for is five minutes,” he finished, his fingers pressing into the wood of the desk.
The woman stared at him for a moment before smirking. “I know what you’re trying to do Mr -“
“Finn,” he cut in. “Finn Hudson.”
“Finn Hudson,” she said. “I know what you’re trying to do and I think it’s very admirable however -“
“Don’t give me the ‘it’s impossible’ pep talk, because I’ve had it given to me by about every single person I’ve ever met. I have a case. It’s solid. All I’m asking for is five minutes,” he replied, attempting to keep the frustration out of his voice.
The woman watched him carefully. After a moment she sighed. “Look, I can’t guarantee anything but if you make an allotted appointment with Sargent O’Neill at a time that suits him, we’ll see what we can do.”
He has to stop himself from grinning.
“Thank you.”
-
It was after midnight by the time Rachel walked into her dorm room, books stacked in her arms. It was incredibly awkward, attempting to fish her keys out of her bag while trying to keep five hardcovers from slipping out of her arms and tumbling onto the floor. She grunted a little, kicking her door as it jammed and shouldered it open, stepping into her dark room and flipped the light switch on with her free hand.
The room was small, but she had grown to like it. She had decorated the walls with posters of Broadway shows and Barbra, a poster of Funny Girl hanging directly above her bed. Slowly but surely the room had started to become distinctly Rachel. There was a small desk next to her wardrobe, mostly filled with her school work but above it was the collage she had started to make but stopped. Pictures of the Glee Club, everyone from Artie to Sam filled the spaces on the sides of the mirror, all of them together and separately. Smiling. Laughing. She’d started, but then she stopped. About sixteen days ago.
Her books fell from her arms and onto her bed as she collapsed on the mattress, kicking off her shoes with her toes. She heard them tumble onto the ground and closed her eyes, bringing her forearms over her face. Her back ached, her arms ached, her legs ached and she was pretty sure her brain was hurting pretty badly too. Her dignity as well. She had received a rather stinging lecture from Carmen this afternoon about practice and her inability to connect with her monologue. It took everything Rachel had not to burst into hysterical tears. She’s not that girl anymore though. She hasn’t cried in sixteen days.
She’s a lot stronger now, a lot stronger than she ever thought she could be. Everything hurts, both mentally and physically and there are some days when she just wanted to curl into a ball in the corner of this dorm room and wish it all away, but she doesn’t. She fought. Every day she fought and if anything she realised that that was going to get her through.
Her cell phone vibrated in her bag and she leaned over, groaning as she fished it out. She fell back against the mattress as she read the text.
[Santana] 12:11am: So I just gave douchebag a piece of my mind.
Rachel laughed to herself, shaking her head as she responded.
[Rachel] 12:12am: Yeah, how’d that go?
[Santana] 12:13am: I think I got a promotion. Head bartender bitch. He said he liked my spunk.
[Rachel] 12:14am: Dream job!
She smiled as she flipped her phone shut and let it fall out of her hands onto the mattress. She closed her eyes, bringing her legs up as she pushed her bag off of the bed. It was probable she would crash right in this position. That’s another thing that she’s noticed, she’s become a lot less pedantic living in New York. A lot of things have changed.
She’s just drifting off when her phone vibrated again, ringing, and she reached over and flipped it open, her eyes still closed.
“Head bartender bitch,” she muttered quietly, smiling.
“Uh, what?”
Her eyes snapped open. “Finn?”
“Uh yeah, you okay?” He sounded confused and nervous and she sat bolt upright, phone pressed against her ear.
Suddenly, she felt as though she had reverted back to weeks ago and she swallowed before she spoke, pressing down the lump that had formed in her throat. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, I thought you were Santana.”
Finn laughed into the phone quietly, though it sounded a little forced. She knew him well enough now to know when he was nervous, when his voice cracked a little and his laugh wavered. She pushed her fingers down into the mattress as she sat completely still, in shock more than anything.
“Right, sorry, I know it’s late-“
“No - No, I’m … I’m really glad you rang,” she said softly, her voice swaying a little and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She wasn’t going to lose it. Not now.
There was a silence that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. After everything they had been through, this was it? She shook her head, tucking her legs underneath her as she sat on her bed, picking at the thread on her sheets.
“How’s NYADA?” He asked her after a moment, and she noticed he sounded a little pained. God, his voice. She missed his voice. She missed his everything.
“Good,” she said softly. “I mean, it’s hard. Stressful. But I’m learning a lot.”
She could practically hear him smiling into the phone. “I’ll bet you’re doing amazingly.”
Rachel smiled, looking down. Her throat swelled and she couldn’t keep swallowing. There was that never-ending faith that he possessed when it came to her. Even if she was terrible, and she was the worst person at that school, he would still tell her she was incredible. It’s one of the most annoying and wonderful things about him.
“H-How’s training?”
She didn’t want to ask the question, because deep down she doesn’t want to know. She still doesn’t quite understand why he felt the need to enrol himself in the army in Georgia and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get it. But she’ll support him. Just like he’s supporting her.
Sometimes she just wished he’d support her here. [But she can’t think like that for long.]
“Uh yeah - yeah good. Hard work, but I’m pushing through,” he brushed over it like it didn’t mean anything and she nodded even though she knew he couldn’t see it. God, this was hard. Why was this so hard? Her eyes burned with tears but she didn’t try to push them away this time. They spilled down her cheeks and she didn’t even bother wiping them away, just closed her eyes tightly as she listened to him breathe on the other end of the phone.
“Finn…” she said softly, and she heard her own voice crack under the weight of her emotion, her voice thick. She heard him intake a sharp breath on the other end.
“I miss you so much,” she said softly, so quietly, her voice shaking. Her voice caught in her throat as her chest heaved a little and she brought her hand up to her cheek, wiping away her tears. Her heart felt heavy and full all at once, a dull familiar ache returning that she had spent the past eight weeks trying to repress.
“Rachel-“ his own voice cracked under the pressure and she shook her head, biting her lip hard to stop herself from saying all the things she wanted to say. I miss you. I need you. Come to New York. Don’t leave me.
“Rachel-, “ he breathed into the phone.
“Don’t,” she said, sniffing, wiping her cheeks. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
Rachel heard it clear this time, his breath sharply inhaling. Like a cut to the skin. She didn’t say anything, mostly because she knew that if she opened her mouth, she was likely to start crying uncontrollably. She listened to his breathing, steady and slow and her heart ached. After what felt like forever she opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by his voice, so quiet it was almost static.
“I miss you so much it hurts, Rachel. I feel like a piece of me is missing and I -”
He stopped and she swallowed, her eyes closing as she pressed the phone against her ear tighter. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. How can they both be so miserable without each other and still think this was the right decision? How can this be right when it feels so wrong?
“I think I should go,” he whispered after a moment and her heart jumped in her chest.
“It’s late,” he said, answering a question she didn’t ask and she nodded, slowly lying back down on her mattress.
“Okay,” she replied quietly, waiting for something, anything. She hated ending conversations because they always sounded so final.
“I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Stay safe,” he said and she laughed a little, whispering ‘okay’ as she heard him let out a breath. God, she missed that. Him. Everything.
“I love you,” she said after a moment, squeezing her eyes shut as if she was scared of what the answer would be. She knew the answer. It didn’t make a difference though, not really.
“I love you,” he replied. “Always.”
The phone beeped a few times before she let it fall from her fingers.
She fell asleep in her clothes.