Fic: I'll Always Love Your Style (2/2)
Title: I'll Always Love Your Style
Fandom: Glee
Rating: T
Pairing/Characters: Rachel/Finn
Setting/Spoilers: general spoils, but nothing specific--it's a future!fic
Warnings: sexual situations, language
Summary: "Are you happy here, Finn?" she asks quietly, suddenly. He glances down at her. "In New York, I mean," she adds. "Are you happy?"
A/N: Title and lyrics come from "New Orleans" by Beautiful Creatures.
"And Steve just walked out. Just walked right out! Jenny declares, eyes bright. "He told John that Herman, Reid, and Associates had already offered him a position, and then he walked right out!"
"And I bet John was begging him to come back by the very next day," Rachel said, grinning.
"Oh, he definitely was!" Jenny exclaimed. "He left half a dozen messages on our answering machine. Steve finally called him back about a week later and said that John shouldn't bother, because he was a better lawyer than John and he had bigger ambitions than John." Jenny goes on, waving her hands around as she raves about her smart, handsome, successful boyfriend, and Rachel smiles and nods and offers her more wine, and Finn sits and wishes Jenny would go the fuck home. He knows he shouldn't think that. She and Rachel have been friends since their freshmen year at Juilliard. Rachel loves Jenny.
But Finn doesn't want to listen to her talk about how awesome her boyfriend is with his awesome ambition and his awesome job and his awesome success, especially not after she looks at him and asks how his job is. She even if he thinks he wants to try for an assistant manager position. Finn wants to throw his wine in her face.
He doesn't. He shrugs. "It's just a job for now," he says.
"Oh, that's okay," Jenny says. She pats his knee. "Don't you worry."
Okay, exactly how mad would Rachel be if Finn tossed his wine in Jenny's face? Like, would she cool off in a day or two? He glances at Rachel as she laughs at something Jenny says. Yeah, no, she'd need more than a day or two. And he needs a beer. Like, now. Wine isn't doing it for him.
It's past eleven when Jenny finally does leave, hugging Rachel and promising to call again the next time she's in New York. The moment after Rachel closes the door, she spins around to glare at Finn. "What was that?" she demands.
"What was what?" he asks, starting to clear the table.
"Don't play dumb with me," Rachel says, hands on her hips.
"Honest, baby, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Finn!" Rachel snaps. He pauses and looks over at her. "Why were you so rude to Jenny? This is the first time I've seen her in months and you were dour and unpleasant the entire evening. She probably thinks you hate her!"
"Maybe I do," he mutters, stacking a few plates to carry to the sink.
"Finn! She is one of my best friends from college! How would you like it if one of your football buddies came to spend a nice evening with us and I treated him that terrible all night?"
"If he was being a douche, I'd say more power to you," he replies.
Rachel gapes at him. "Jenny was not acting like a - a -!"
"Like a self-centered, heinous bitch? Yeah, she kinda was."
"Finn!"
"Look, I know she's your friend, or whatever, but that doesn't mean I have to like her, okay? Sorry. But I don't." He pulls open the dishwasher with a little more effort than is entirely necessary.
"Fine," Rachel says, crossing her arms over her chest. "Give me one example of how Jenny acted less than perfectly pleasant all evening."
He looks over at her, and then he makes a face and takes on a nasally voice. "And look at my dress, isn't it so nice? It was so expensive, but that's okay because I'm so successful, and so is my boyfriend, who's just so fucking awesome, wanna hear me brag about him for eight hours?"
"That is not what Jenny sounds like," Rachel says.
"Um, yeah it is." He uses the voice again. "And my boyfriend just makes soooo much money, and he's sooooo great. What about you, Finn? Dream big and you could be assistant manager someday! Ooh, I'm soooo fabulous."
He starts to load the dishwasher, and he waits for her to give this big speech about how he needs to treat people better or be polite or respect her friends or something like that. She doesn't say anything, though, not before she crosses the kitchen and touches the small of his back lightly. He straightens up and turns to face her.
"She made you feel bad, didn't she, bragging about her boyfriend like that?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. I guess. I just -" He sighs and finally meets her gaze. "I just don't want you to be that one of all your friends who has this loser boyfriend."
"Finn, you are not a loser. I would know. I brag about you all the time to my friends. I did all four years of school, and I still do. About what a good singer you are, and how you can play the drums so well, and how you're athletic, too. You're so talented, really, and you could do anything you wanted. And you're so good to me, and you're my best friend, and I can talk to you about anything and always count on you.
"I think over the years I probably made Jenny jealous, because she's been with Steve as long as I've been with you, and, Finn, Steve has nothing on you. He's not any of those wonderful things you are." She looks up at him earnestly.
"You really think that much of me?" he asks.
She takes his hands. "I always have," she says. "And honestly? I, personally, think Steve is something of a douche." Finn snorts, and Rachel smiles and squeezes his hands. He loves her. He really loves her, and he hopes she knows that. He leans down to kiss her, and then he wraps her up in a hug.
"I'm sorry I was a jerk to Jenny," he murmurs.
"That's okay," she replies, pulling back but taking a hold of his hand once more. She smiles again, and this time there's something else in her gaze, and he starts to grin. "You can make it up to me." She starts to tug him towards the bedroom.
"I am a good boyfriend like that."
###
She still can't find a job.
She auditions again and again and again, and nothing happens. And these New York theatre people tell her this awful stuff. They tell her they want to take the production in a different direction or that they need a girl with a different style or, God, there was this one jerk who said he needed somebody with less stomach and more boobs.
It starts to get to her.
Finn comes home one night to find Rachel in front of the bathroom mirror, crying and pinching her stomach and telling him she can't believe she ever thought someone like her would ever be attractive enough to go on stage. It makes him a little sick.
He gets the story out of her, and he tells her that she's the most attractive girl in the world and that the director guy is a jackass. He tells her that she will make it on stage, she will, but he doesn't think she really believes him, not about anything.
She calms down, though, and he makes her breakfast for dinner, because she taught him how to make pancakes out a few weeks ago and he's totally boss at it now. But she doesn't really eat anything, and he knows why. He puts on Hello, Dolly! to try to cheer her up, but it doesn't seem to help. She watches the movie and he watches her. He thinks about Santana, and how she admitted once to Rachel that she got surgery because she wanted to be noticed.
"Hey, baby?" he says.
"Mmm?"
He grabs her hand. She looks at him, a little startled. He toys a little with her fingers. "I really like your hands. They're so small and cute and stuff. And your nails aren't all razor sharp and freaky and . . . I love holding your hand, 'cause it fits in mine, like, perfectly." He lifts up her hand and kisses her palm.
"Finn," Rachel says quietly.
"I like your arms, too," Finn goes on. "Your skin's so soft. And my heart jumps every time your arm brushes mine, and it's never been like that with anybody else." He presses soft kisses along her forearm and then up to her shoulder.
"What - what else do you like?" Rachel asks hesitantly, her eyes wide.
"I like your collarbone, too," he says, his voice low as he places a kiss there as well. "Like, it doesn't stick out like a skeleton, but it's still so . . . you know, delicate or something like that. And your neck. I love your neck." He nuzzles her neck with his nose.
"You know what else I love?" Finn asks.
"What?" Rachel whispers.
Finn reaches down and lifts up the hem of her shirt just enough to expose her stomach. Rachel immediately starts to tug her blouse back down, but Finn doesn't let her. "Your tummy," he says. He swoops down and presses his lips to the skin again and again in little butterfly kisses, and he feels her stomach contract and then loosen.
"It's so soft and perfect and I like this little freckle here," Finn says, speaking as much into her stomach as to her face. One of her hands curls in his hair. "And it's so gross when girls are, like, so skinny you can see all their ribs and they poke out and stuff, and I'm so glad you're not like that. You're totally hot but you still have a tummy and it's awesome." He presses one last kiss to her belly button and then sits up.
"Rachel," he says, "that guy, all those stupid guys, they're wrong. Trust me. Believe me. Listen to me. And - and your boobs -" He cups one for a moment and looks at her earnestly. "- They're perfect, Rachel. I swear. They're one of my favourite things in the whole world."
She laughs a little, then, tears springing free, and she hugs him.
He likes to think she finally believes him.
But she still doesn't have a job.
###
"It's like mowing the lawn," Rachel says.
"It's not like mowing the lawn," he argues. "When you mow the lawn, you can see what part you've mowed and what part you haven't. It's easy."
"When you vacuum," Rachel replies, "you can see what part you've vacuumed and what part you haven't. That's easy."
"Except it's not!" he says. "I don't see a difference between that patch of carpet and that one there. Maybe you do, but I don't, okay?"
"That might be the case, but I don't think mowing the lawn is easy, and I don't think -"
"Okay, fine, I can be in charge of mowing the lawn, and you can be in charge of vacuuming -"
"We don't have a lawn! Are you suggesting that I should be the only one to do chores around this house and you can sit around and do nothing? I am an independent, intelligent, liberated woman, Finn Hudson, and -"
"I never said you weren't liberated! When did I say that? All I said was that I'm just really bad at vacuuming and -"
"Don't change the subject!"
###
She comes home, carelessly kicking off her shoes and tossing aside her purse.
"How was the audition?" he asks.
She doesn't reply. She walks over to him, leans up on her tiptoes, and wraps her arms around him. He isn't sure what happened, but he hugs her. He feels her arms tighten, her hands fisting around the material of his shirt. She draws back finally. "I really, really needed a hug," she whispers.
He picks her up off the ground, then, to give her a real hug, holding tight. After a moment, he kisses her cheek and sets her back on her feet. She looks up at him with soft eyes. "Feel better?" he asks, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
She smiles softly. "A lot."
###
"We need to cut costs," she says.
"I know," he says. "But -"
"That means in every aspect of our lives we need to be more frugal. We can't order pizza for dinner anymore. We can't go see any shows, at least until we're more secure in our finances. We can't host anymore March Madness parties, because chips add up, as does beer."
"Rachel, I know we have to cut costs, but -"
"I'll even buy generic yogurt brands. That's a sacrifice I'll make."
"But I need beer!" He can't believe she really wants to cut beer from the budget. Okay, he won't have his buddies from the restaurant over to watch games and give them all free chips and beer. Okay. But not to let him buy beer at all?
"I'm sorry, you need beer?" she says. "Finn, do you feel the only way you can be in this relationship is with alcoholic beverages?"
"No," he says. "That's not what I meant. I just think it's excessive to - I mean - I think we should still treat ourselves sometimes - money's tight but we're not living in a third world country or anything -"
"Oh, so if you don't have beer in the fridge than living with me is like living in a third world country, is that it?" She looks furious now.
"This isn't about you!" he exclaims. "I just like beer!"
"Fine!" she cries. "Have your beer! But don't think I'll forget that I'm willing to make sacrifices for you and you're not willing to make sacrifices for me, because I'm not enough for you!" She storms out of the living room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind her.
"That's not what I said!" he yells. She doesn't respond. He throws his hands up in the air. He looks at the decorative stuffed panda she keeps on the sofa. "Did you hear me say that?" he asks the panda. "No. 'Cause I didn't." He slumps in the chair.
It's almost as if she likes to pick fights with him.
###
He tosses the keys into the little dish Rachel set out, and he calls out for her. "I'm home!"
He starts to push off his shoes, but then he glances up and freezes. She stands in the doorway of their bedroom, wearing her cleaning clothes and rubber gloves, with her hands on her hips and fury on her face. "Um, everything okay, babe?" he asks slowly.
"Do you like cockroaches, Finn?" she asks.
He frowns. "We have cockroaches?" Ew. His apartment sophomore and junior year with some boys from the basketball team had cockroaches.
"Not yet," she says certainly, "but it's only a matter of time with your heinous habits."
And then she crooks her finger at him and turns back into the bedroom. Fuck. Whatever this is, it can't be good. He kicks off his shoes and then goes to the bedroom, and it looks like she did a major cleaning purge. The place, like, sparkles, and he's not even sure how, 'cause it doesn't even really have, like, sparkling surfaces. Rachel glares at him, then reaches into the trash can, and pulls out -
"What's that?" he asks, making a face.
"This," she says, "is a very moldy hot dog bun. It accompanies the sickening hot dog frank in the trashcan that I absolutely refuse to touch again, even with my gloves. I found them both under the bed. Tell me, Finn, how did you manage to lose an obscenely old hot dog under the bed?"
He starts to shake his head, 'cause he honestly has no idea, but then he thinks about it, and he remembers that time when Rachel spent the weekend with Kurt 'cause he was so messed up after his big break-up with Andy, and Finn ate hot dogs and tator tots in bed and one might have fallen and he told himself he'd pick it up later and -
"Sorry," he finally says.
She stomps her foot. "Sorry isn't good enough!" she cries, furiously tossing the old bun back into the trash.
His defences fly up, annoyance prickling to life inside him. He feels bad, sure, 'cause that is gross, but she doesn't have to be mean about it. "What do you want me to say?" he asks quietly.
"I don't want you to say anything!" she says. "I spend hours trying to keep this apartment clean, and it's like you don't even care! I want you to care, Finn, that's what I want! I slave away to make sure that I always dust the pictures, and do you ever offer to help? No. And I try to wash the sheets every weekend because I know you still eat in bed - case and point -" She looks pointedly at the trash can. "-and do you ever help me? No! I go to the Laundromat by myself -"
He's not gonna listen to this. He's heard this whole speech before, and he's sick of it. It's past midnight, and he's been on his feet for hours, and he's not gonna stand there and take this. He walks out of the room.
"Don't walk away when we're having a conversation!" she exclaims, following him.
"We're not having a conversation," he mutters, grabbing a beer from the fridge. "You're having a conversation."
"Well, maybe if you would participate in this conversation more than you participate in household chores, this could be a proper conversation! I swear, Finn, you never put effort into anything. How many times have I asked you to leave wipe your shoes on the mat before you come in? But you never do, and you track mud all over the apartment, and I have to get down on my hands and knees and scrub caked dirt from the floor, and I just clean and clean and clean -"
"You clean and clean and clean," Finn snaps, slamming his beer down on the counter, "'cause you have nothing better to do! I have a job. I'm trying to make some money so you can still have a place to sleep in, let alone waste all day, everyday cleaning, so stop nagging me!"
She stares at him, her eyes wide, and then her face starts to crumple, and guilt swoops through him. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. He squeezes his eyes shut for a minute, trying to calm himself down. "I didn't realise I was a nag. I'll leave you alone. Excuse me." She starts for the bathroom.
"Wait, Rachel, don't -"
The bathroom door slams shut. He hears the lock click.
Dammit.
###
She doesn't come out for a long time.
He hears her start a shower, and then he hears her sobbing, even over the sound of the running water, and he feels like a total douche. He knows she's upset with everything right now, with her life right now, 'cause nothing's going the way she wants. They've had this problem before. He hates that she takes that out on him, but he knows she doesn't mean to, and no matter what, it was totally a low blow to talk about how she doesn't have anything better to do than clean.
The shower goes on forever. He takes out the trash, though, and he looks around the apartment for something to clean as, like, an apology or something. But she's definitely got that place pretty sparkly and stuff. He even checks under all the furniture for old food, and there's nothing.
Finally, he gives up and goes to bed. (He has to pee so bad it burns, but he's so not gonna make everything worse and go in a cup or something, 'cause if a hot dog under the bed is bad. . . .) He manages to fall asleep, but he wakes easily when he feels her slip into bed next to him.
He races to the bathroom.
He crawls back into bed quietly, though, and he starts to reach for her, only to pause.
He lays back, a foot of empty space between them.
"I'm sorry I'm a nag," she finally whispers.
"You're not," he replies, his voice a whisper, too.
"I am," she says.
"Okay," he says, "you kinda are." She hiccoughs, and his hand finds hers. "But you're the good kind, I promise. Like the kind that makes a really awesome mom. I'm just an ass."
"No," she protests, and she scoots a little closer to him, her feet tangling between his legs.
"Yeah, I am," he tells her.
It's quiet. "Yes," she says. He waits. She doesn't say anything else.
"You still love me, though, right?" he asks.
She kisses his shoulder, and her voice is even quieter than a whisper. "Yes."
###
The next day, she tells him she wants to find another job.
"You don't have to," he says. But she promises it's simply to help tide them over until she gets her big break. And she'll only work part-time, so that she can still devote herself to auditions. He nods and smiles and wishes her good luck as she leaves the apartment.
She ends up with a job at a record company, which seems kinda completely perfect. But her boss turns out to be a huge jerk, and she mainly does lame stuff like answer the phone and make the coffee, and he knows she hates every minute of it. It's like she's just too tired to be all peppy and optimistic and Rachel about everything. He hates that, to be honest.
And the job definitely doesn't really change anything between them. They still smile good morning, and they still kiss goodbye, and she still leans her head on his shoulder when they watch Top Chef. And she never stops him when he reaches for in the middle of the night.
But she never reaches for him anymore.
It's tense. That's the word. The whole apartment's drowning in it - the tension. And he knows that, sooner or later, something has to change.
###
And then everything threatens to change.
She shakes him away, panic in her voice. "Finn! Finn! FINN!"
"What? What's the matter?" He pushes himself up, rubbing his eyes. He glances at the clock. It's not even six in the morning yet, and he worked until two in the morning last night. He groans. "Can we talk about this later?" he asks, falling back against the pillows.
"No," she says, gripping his arm and letting her nails bite into his skin, "we don't have time for that! Finn! Wake up!"
"Seriously, baby, I'm exhausted -"
"Listen to me!" she cries. I woke up, and I felt so sick, and I made it to the bathroom just in time, but I couldn't stop throwing up -"
He forces his eyes open and focuses on her, hovering above him, and he realises she actually does look pretty panicked. And she's sick? She was throwing up?
"Finn, it's been in the back of my head for a little over a week now, but I've avoided the thought and now I'm panicking and, Finn, Finn, I'm late and now I'm throwing up and -" Her grip on his arm tightens even more, if possible.
"Wait, I don't understand," he says, pushing himself up again. "What's the matter?"
"I think I might be pregnant!"
He stares at her. "How is that . . . how can you - I mean, I know how, but -" He runs a hand through her hair. He catches her gaze again, though, and she looks like she might cry. "How sure are you?" he asks quietly.
"I don't know," she says. "Finn. . . ."
"We need to get one of those test stick things."
She nods, and she clambers off the bed. "I'll go to the CVS right now," she says. "I'll, um, I need to get dressed, but I'll -" She starts to open his dresser and then realises and turns away to stumble towards her own.
"Hey," he says, scrambling from the bed. "Hey, wait." He touches her arm. "I'll go, okay? I'll go."
###
He starts the trek to the three blocks to the 24-hour CVS at a walk, but he grows more and more anxious with each step, until suddenly he's nearly running, because he needs to know now. He paces through the store as he searches for home pregnancy tests, and then he freaks a little when he finds them and there are, like, twenty thousand different kinds.
He grabs one that has pink writing on the box, 'cause Rachel likes pink, and at the checkout counter he grabs a bag of sour patch kids for Rachel, too. The lady behind the counter glances at his left hand totally obviously, and he fumbles with his cash, spilling change everywhere and looking like a total idiot. But he finally makes it out of there, and he bursts into the apartment five minutes later.
"Got it!"
Rachel stands, and she looks as if she might have started to go even crazier while she waited. She takes the box from him and disappears into the bathroom before he can even hand her the sour patch kids. He stands outside the bathroom. He sits on the bed. He glances at the clock. He has some of the candy.
The door opens, and Rachel stands there with this fretful look on her face and the pregnancy test stick clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles have gone white. "What'd it say?" he asks, shooting to his feet.
She shakes her hand. "I can't pee."
"You - you can't pee?" he echoes, frowning.
"I'm too nervous!" she exclaims. "I just sat there and thought about everything and I just couldn't make myself - I usually perform so well under pressure, but not - I've never really been able to pee under pressure!"
He nods. "Um, okay . . . you should drink something. Like, so you really, really have to go. Beer makes you have to pee, right?"
"I can't drink beer! What if I give our possible baby fetal alcohol syndrome?"
"What about soda?"
"That might work," she agrees slowly. "But . . . but we don't have any soda!"
"I'll go buy some, then," he volunteers. "I can be back in twenty minutes." He thinks maybe he should take the car this time, but he would probably spend hours trying to find a place to park, and he can sort of run again. He can power walk, at least. The lady at the CVS doesn't even try not to look interested as he stalks into the store and then buys three twelve packs of dr. pepper.
He thinks maybe he should have only gotten one pack when he has to walk three blocks with all three twelve packs. It even starts to rain. But he wasn't sure how many he would need.
He sits across from Rachel at the kitchen table as she drinks one can.
"Do you have to go yet?" he asks.
She shakes her head. She starts a second can. "I don't know if I can handle this sudden elevated sugar intake," she tells him. "It's much too sweet." He tries to think of something else they can do, like maybe run the bath so the sound makes her think of peeing or something, but she goes on before he can say anything. "Nevermind, it's fine." She drinks more, slowly making her way through a second can.
He starts to let himself really think.
She might be pregnant.
They're both only twenty-four years old, and neither of them really has a great job, and they're not married, and they've been fighting so much lately - but a year from now they could have a baby. This is way too much even to think about. He doesn't know anything about babies, and he isn't sure Rachel knows much, either.
"Okay," Rachel says. "Let me try again."
She's in the bathroom for a long time. Finally, though, finally, he hears the toilet flush, and he cautiously pushes open the door. She stands in front of the sink, the stick in her hand. "Did you manage to go?" he says, because he has to say something.
She nods.
"What now?" he asks.
"Now," she says, putting the stick down on the edge of the sink, "we wait."
###
They have to wait seven minutes, and they both sit on the edge of the bed.
His leg bounces a little with nervous energy, and she runs a hand through her hair before suddenly lying back on the bed, covering her face with her hands. He stares at her, then, in her little black yoga pants and her pink tank top, with her feet dangling off the side of the bed, unable to reach the ground.
He lies back beside her.
"Hey, Rach?" he says.
She slowly pulls her hands from her face and looks over at him.
"If it's a boy, can we name him after my dad?"
She's surprised, he can tell. She turns to lie on her side and face him, though, and there's a soft smile on her face. "Christopher?" she says softly. "It's a good name."
He nods, turning on his side, too. "We can call him Chris for short."
"I think I'd prefer simply to call him Christopher," she replies.
He thinks about it. "Okay," he tells her, "you can call him Christopher, and I'll call him Chris, and we'll see which he likes better." He grins despite everything, and she giggles, shaking her head at him. But she bites her lip, and he almost sees the anxiety sweep back across her face.
"What are we going to do - if I am pregnant?"
"I don't know," he says quietly. "But I know I love you." He smiles a little. "And maybe it wasn't in the plan to have a baby now, instead of, like, in a few years - maybe this isn't how we wanted everything to go, but there are worse things, right? And we're in this together." He reaches out and cups her cheek, and she presses a kiss to his palm, cradling his hand to her face.
"I'm sorry, Finn," she whispers, tears gathering in her eyes. "I'm so sorry that I've been so terrible to you lately."
"You haven't been terrible to me," he protests.
But she shakes her head. "All this fighting - it's my fault. Everything's so frustrating right now, and I never get a single call back, and I - I hate working at that record company, because I know I have more talent than some of the singers we sign, and. . . .
"And I guess I get so angry, but I can't yell at my auditions, and I can't yell at my boss, but - but I can yell at you. At the end of a terrible, terrible day, I can be mean to you, because I know that you'll still be there the next day. That's not how it should work, I know that, but . . . but I. . . ."
"It's okay," he murmurs. "You can yell at me at the end of any day. I will always be around the next day. You can count on that."
"But I shouldn't treat you like that. And I know you deserve so much better, and I start to think about how sooner or later you'll realise you deserve better, too, and that you don't want to stay here in New York unhappy and with a boring job while I chase after some stupid dream that obviously isn't going to come true, and -"
"Hey, hey," he interrupts. "Don't talk like that. I am happy here with you. And you are gonna get your dream."
She swallows thickly. "I - I just - nothing's going the way I thought it would. I mean, I always said it's a long, difficult road to Broadway and to fame, but I never - honestly, I never really thought I would have any trouble." She bites her lip. "Is that terrible?"
He shakes his head. "No," he says. "You shouldn't have trouble. It sucks that all these New York people can't see how awesome you are right away. But they will. I'm sure of it, baby."
"But what if they don't? If I'm not a star, then I don't know who I am."
"I know who you are," he says. "You're Rachel Berry."
"Does that even mean anything?" she asks.
"It means everything to me," he replies.
A few tears spring free and run down her cheek. He gently wipes them away with his thumb.
"Even after the last year?" she whispers.
"Especially after the last year," he says. "This has been the best year of my life - 'cause I got to spend it with you, all day, every day."
"Really?"
He nods. Doesn't she get it? "Rach," he starts softly, "I might have some lame job and I might be totally unsure what kind of job I do want, but you're here, and that makes it okay. Like, I know it'll all work out 'cause I have you. And after everything we've had to go through, we totally deserve to have that. To have each other. We're supposed to be together."
She smiles a little. "You will always have me," she whispers.
He nods. "And this last year, baby - nobody in high school or college ever really took us seriously. Nobody ever thought we'd make it." He runs his hand down her arm and takes her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "But this last year has been me and you against everything," he goes on, "and me and you? We're still here. We're still here. We won, so all those stupid people like Quinn? Those people who said me and you would never work? They can take this last year and stick that in their pipes and smoke it."
She giggles. "I can't wait for McKinley's five your reunion," she says.
"Yeah," he says. "We're gonna blow 'em away."
It's quiet for a moment, then.
"So you think we'll be okay?" Rachel finally asks.
"Do you?"
She nods. "I really do."
He smiles. "Me, too." he pauses. "I know things kinda suck with work for us right now, but they'll get better. I mean, we've still got plenty of time, right? And, okay, so I might end up working in, like, a cubical or something, or like, as some stupid salesman or something, like out of The Office, except not fun. And that'll suck. And maybe nobody'll realise how awesome you are, and you'll become a teacher or a, like, wedding planner or something. You'd be a great wedding planner.
"But I guess my point's that those won't be the best jobs, or whatever, but I'll still be me, and you'll still be you. We'll still be me and you."
"And me and you can take on the world, right?" she says, squeezing his hand.
"Right." He squeezes her hand. "But I do still think you'll be famous," he tells her. She smiles. "And, no matter what, I'll always think you're a star, Rachel, because you - you just, like, shine, when you smile and when you sing and you work for what you want, and you're a completely good, nice person, and you're you."
Her smile widens, then, and she looks down bashfully. "You're so sweet."
His watch beeps.
###
The test is negative.
"I must just be so stressed out," she murmurs. "And I probably have a bug or something."
He searches her face. "Are you disappointed?" he finally asks. He might be, but he's kinda relieved, too, to be honest.
"Maybe a little," she says. "But I didn't really have the time to grow attached to the idea. And, well, I guess this means we have a few more years to find our way together before we have Christopher. Or Alice."
"Alice?"
She nods, smiling. "It's pretty, right? Alice Hudson."
He smiles, too. She leans forward, a hand on his chest to steady herself as she kisses him. She tastes like peanut butter and bananas, and she smells like that cheaper perfume she's started to buy to save money, and she feels like Rachel. She draws back. "I love you," she says.
And he has to do it. He has to. This is it. This is the time. "Come on," he tells her, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the bedroom.
"Come on where?" she says.
"Put some shoes on," he tells her. "We're going out."
"What? Where? It's six in the morning, Finn! And it's started to rain so hard I can hear it pounding on the windows!"
"So put on your rain boots," he replies," the cute ones with the lady bugs." She tries to change, but he won't let her, and he ends up tugging her out of the apartment as she complains that this isn't her best rain jacket. The rain falls hard and fast, half blinding them, but he's suddenly determined.
"Are we going far?" she asks.
"Nope," he says. She brought an umbrella with her, but he's in too much of a hurry to try to stay under with her, and he's soaked through in a block. She tells him he'll catch pneumonia, and he tells her that he trusts her to nurse him back to health. Finally, they make it to the park, to their favourite tree. "Here," he tells her, stopping.
The rain continues to fall in sheets. "Okay," he says. "So I kinda thought I wouldn't do this for a while, but I want to do it now, 'cause I don't really know what I was waiting for, maybe, like, the right moment, I guess. And this is the right moment."
"Finn -"
"Let me finish." He stands there, his arms awkwardly at his sides, trying to make sure he says the right thing. He can't mess this up. He frowns, though. Shoot. "Damn it," he mutters. "I'm sorry," he tells her, "I forgot the virgin cosmos. I was actually gonna, like, put together this whole picnic, you know, but, um, you know, I don't really need that."
"Are you -"
He takes a deep breath. "Okay. Okay." And he goes down on one knee. He can hear her gasp even over the sound of the rain. He pulls the ring box out of his pocket - he'd grabbed it on the way out as she'd hopped around trying to put her boots on in a hurry.
"This is the ring my dad gave my mom," he says.
Her umbrella tumbles to the ground as she claps a hand to her mouth, and he isn't sure whether she's started to cry or not, but he hopes that if she has, they're the good kind of tears. He takes another deep breath and gazes up at her through the rain.
"You know, you can marry me if you want to."
Slowly, she reaches out to rest her hands on his shoulders.
"I want to."
And he starts to grin. "Yeah?"
She nods furiously. "Yes. Yes!" She tackles him, and she kisses him, and the rain doesn't let up, but they stay out a while longer.
###
It starts in the summer.
They drive down to Lima, because no matter how much they both love New York, Lima will always be home, will always be special, will always be where they first became Finn and Rachel.
Kurt comes, of course, and Mike does, too, and even Puck shows, and he brings Santana as his date. They use the backyard of the Berry house for the ceremony, and the Mr. Berrys book their country club for the reception. Finn has his old college buddy Leo be his best man, and Rachel makes Kurt her maid-of-honor. And, at four in the afternoon, they marry.
Rachel can't stop crying during her vows, and Finn loses the piece of paper he wrote his on and he has to go off the cuff, but he thinks they both manage okay. It all happens okay, actually. Nobody breaks a toe or gives an embarrassing speech or gets too drunk. Leo tells some kinda mortifying stories about how much Finn would pine over Rachel at school, but that might be the worst part.
Basically, it goes pretty well
And this is the beginning of everything.
By one in the morning, most people have left the reception. The food is all gone, and the bar is closed, and Kurt and his date from L.A. are the last two left on the dance floor. Rachel doesn't want to leave, though, because she doesn't want the night to end. Finn lets her fall asleep in his lap, and he thinks about how crazy this all is, he and Rachel marrying like this, right before she starts a production of Much Ado About Nothing and he starts as an intern at this ad agency.
It definitely is crazy. But it's gonna be kinda awesome, isn't it?
Fin.
Well, darlin', now don't forget,
I'll always love your style.
Well, darlin', now don't forget,
I'll always love your smile.
I said, hey missus, won't you stand by me now?
Give me a little time.
Hey missus, won't you stand by me now?
Show me how to turn it upside down.
a/n: what do you think? I'm not sure how much I like it as a whole, but I'm really pleased with the ending. Please review!
part 1.
Fandom: Glee
Rating: T
Pairing/Characters: Rachel/Finn
Setting/Spoilers: general spoils, but nothing specific--it's a future!fic
Warnings: sexual situations, language
Summary: "Are you happy here, Finn?" she asks quietly, suddenly. He glances down at her. "In New York, I mean," she adds. "Are you happy?"
A/N: Title and lyrics come from "New Orleans" by Beautiful Creatures.
"And Steve just walked out. Just walked right out! Jenny declares, eyes bright. "He told John that Herman, Reid, and Associates had already offered him a position, and then he walked right out!"
"And I bet John was begging him to come back by the very next day," Rachel said, grinning.
"Oh, he definitely was!" Jenny exclaimed. "He left half a dozen messages on our answering machine. Steve finally called him back about a week later and said that John shouldn't bother, because he was a better lawyer than John and he had bigger ambitions than John." Jenny goes on, waving her hands around as she raves about her smart, handsome, successful boyfriend, and Rachel smiles and nods and offers her more wine, and Finn sits and wishes Jenny would go the fuck home. He knows he shouldn't think that. She and Rachel have been friends since their freshmen year at Juilliard. Rachel loves Jenny.
But Finn doesn't want to listen to her talk about how awesome her boyfriend is with his awesome ambition and his awesome job and his awesome success, especially not after she looks at him and asks how his job is. She even if he thinks he wants to try for an assistant manager position. Finn wants to throw his wine in her face.
He doesn't. He shrugs. "It's just a job for now," he says.
"Oh, that's okay," Jenny says. She pats his knee. "Don't you worry."
Okay, exactly how mad would Rachel be if Finn tossed his wine in Jenny's face? Like, would she cool off in a day or two? He glances at Rachel as she laughs at something Jenny says. Yeah, no, she'd need more than a day or two. And he needs a beer. Like, now. Wine isn't doing it for him.
It's past eleven when Jenny finally does leave, hugging Rachel and promising to call again the next time she's in New York. The moment after Rachel closes the door, she spins around to glare at Finn. "What was that?" she demands.
"What was what?" he asks, starting to clear the table.
"Don't play dumb with me," Rachel says, hands on her hips.
"Honest, baby, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Finn!" Rachel snaps. He pauses and looks over at her. "Why were you so rude to Jenny? This is the first time I've seen her in months and you were dour and unpleasant the entire evening. She probably thinks you hate her!"
"Maybe I do," he mutters, stacking a few plates to carry to the sink.
"Finn! She is one of my best friends from college! How would you like it if one of your football buddies came to spend a nice evening with us and I treated him that terrible all night?"
"If he was being a douche, I'd say more power to you," he replies.
Rachel gapes at him. "Jenny was not acting like a - a -!"
"Like a self-centered, heinous bitch? Yeah, she kinda was."
"Finn!"
"Look, I know she's your friend, or whatever, but that doesn't mean I have to like her, okay? Sorry. But I don't." He pulls open the dishwasher with a little more effort than is entirely necessary.
"Fine," Rachel says, crossing her arms over her chest. "Give me one example of how Jenny acted less than perfectly pleasant all evening."
He looks over at her, and then he makes a face and takes on a nasally voice. "And look at my dress, isn't it so nice? It was so expensive, but that's okay because I'm so successful, and so is my boyfriend, who's just so fucking awesome, wanna hear me brag about him for eight hours?"
"That is not what Jenny sounds like," Rachel says.
"Um, yeah it is." He uses the voice again. "And my boyfriend just makes soooo much money, and he's sooooo great. What about you, Finn? Dream big and you could be assistant manager someday! Ooh, I'm soooo fabulous."
He starts to load the dishwasher, and he waits for her to give this big speech about how he needs to treat people better or be polite or respect her friends or something like that. She doesn't say anything, though, not before she crosses the kitchen and touches the small of his back lightly. He straightens up and turns to face her.
"She made you feel bad, didn't she, bragging about her boyfriend like that?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. I guess. I just -" He sighs and finally meets her gaze. "I just don't want you to be that one of all your friends who has this loser boyfriend."
"Finn, you are not a loser. I would know. I brag about you all the time to my friends. I did all four years of school, and I still do. About what a good singer you are, and how you can play the drums so well, and how you're athletic, too. You're so talented, really, and you could do anything you wanted. And you're so good to me, and you're my best friend, and I can talk to you about anything and always count on you.
"I think over the years I probably made Jenny jealous, because she's been with Steve as long as I've been with you, and, Finn, Steve has nothing on you. He's not any of those wonderful things you are." She looks up at him earnestly.
"You really think that much of me?" he asks.
She takes his hands. "I always have," she says. "And honestly? I, personally, think Steve is something of a douche." Finn snorts, and Rachel smiles and squeezes his hands. He loves her. He really loves her, and he hopes she knows that. He leans down to kiss her, and then he wraps her up in a hug.
"I'm sorry I was a jerk to Jenny," he murmurs.
"That's okay," she replies, pulling back but taking a hold of his hand once more. She smiles again, and this time there's something else in her gaze, and he starts to grin. "You can make it up to me." She starts to tug him towards the bedroom.
"I am a good boyfriend like that."
###
She still can't find a job.
She auditions again and again and again, and nothing happens. And these New York theatre people tell her this awful stuff. They tell her they want to take the production in a different direction or that they need a girl with a different style or, God, there was this one jerk who said he needed somebody with less stomach and more boobs.
It starts to get to her.
Finn comes home one night to find Rachel in front of the bathroom mirror, crying and pinching her stomach and telling him she can't believe she ever thought someone like her would ever be attractive enough to go on stage. It makes him a little sick.
He gets the story out of her, and he tells her that she's the most attractive girl in the world and that the director guy is a jackass. He tells her that she will make it on stage, she will, but he doesn't think she really believes him, not about anything.
She calms down, though, and he makes her breakfast for dinner, because she taught him how to make pancakes out a few weeks ago and he's totally boss at it now. But she doesn't really eat anything, and he knows why. He puts on Hello, Dolly! to try to cheer her up, but it doesn't seem to help. She watches the movie and he watches her. He thinks about Santana, and how she admitted once to Rachel that she got surgery because she wanted to be noticed.
"Hey, baby?" he says.
"Mmm?"
He grabs her hand. She looks at him, a little startled. He toys a little with her fingers. "I really like your hands. They're so small and cute and stuff. And your nails aren't all razor sharp and freaky and . . . I love holding your hand, 'cause it fits in mine, like, perfectly." He lifts up her hand and kisses her palm.
"Finn," Rachel says quietly.
"I like your arms, too," Finn goes on. "Your skin's so soft. And my heart jumps every time your arm brushes mine, and it's never been like that with anybody else." He presses soft kisses along her forearm and then up to her shoulder.
"What - what else do you like?" Rachel asks hesitantly, her eyes wide.
"I like your collarbone, too," he says, his voice low as he places a kiss there as well. "Like, it doesn't stick out like a skeleton, but it's still so . . . you know, delicate or something like that. And your neck. I love your neck." He nuzzles her neck with his nose.
"You know what else I love?" Finn asks.
"What?" Rachel whispers.
Finn reaches down and lifts up the hem of her shirt just enough to expose her stomach. Rachel immediately starts to tug her blouse back down, but Finn doesn't let her. "Your tummy," he says. He swoops down and presses his lips to the skin again and again in little butterfly kisses, and he feels her stomach contract and then loosen.
"It's so soft and perfect and I like this little freckle here," Finn says, speaking as much into her stomach as to her face. One of her hands curls in his hair. "And it's so gross when girls are, like, so skinny you can see all their ribs and they poke out and stuff, and I'm so glad you're not like that. You're totally hot but you still have a tummy and it's awesome." He presses one last kiss to her belly button and then sits up.
"Rachel," he says, "that guy, all those stupid guys, they're wrong. Trust me. Believe me. Listen to me. And - and your boobs -" He cups one for a moment and looks at her earnestly. "- They're perfect, Rachel. I swear. They're one of my favourite things in the whole world."
She laughs a little, then, tears springing free, and she hugs him.
He likes to think she finally believes him.
But she still doesn't have a job.
###
"It's like mowing the lawn," Rachel says.
"It's not like mowing the lawn," he argues. "When you mow the lawn, you can see what part you've mowed and what part you haven't. It's easy."
"When you vacuum," Rachel replies, "you can see what part you've vacuumed and what part you haven't. That's easy."
"Except it's not!" he says. "I don't see a difference between that patch of carpet and that one there. Maybe you do, but I don't, okay?"
"That might be the case, but I don't think mowing the lawn is easy, and I don't think -"
"Okay, fine, I can be in charge of mowing the lawn, and you can be in charge of vacuuming -"
"We don't have a lawn! Are you suggesting that I should be the only one to do chores around this house and you can sit around and do nothing? I am an independent, intelligent, liberated woman, Finn Hudson, and -"
"I never said you weren't liberated! When did I say that? All I said was that I'm just really bad at vacuuming and -"
"Don't change the subject!"
###
She comes home, carelessly kicking off her shoes and tossing aside her purse.
"How was the audition?" he asks.
She doesn't reply. She walks over to him, leans up on her tiptoes, and wraps her arms around him. He isn't sure what happened, but he hugs her. He feels her arms tighten, her hands fisting around the material of his shirt. She draws back finally. "I really, really needed a hug," she whispers.
He picks her up off the ground, then, to give her a real hug, holding tight. After a moment, he kisses her cheek and sets her back on her feet. She looks up at him with soft eyes. "Feel better?" he asks, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
She smiles softly. "A lot."
###
"We need to cut costs," she says.
"I know," he says. "But -"
"That means in every aspect of our lives we need to be more frugal. We can't order pizza for dinner anymore. We can't go see any shows, at least until we're more secure in our finances. We can't host anymore March Madness parties, because chips add up, as does beer."
"Rachel, I know we have to cut costs, but -"
"I'll even buy generic yogurt brands. That's a sacrifice I'll make."
"But I need beer!" He can't believe she really wants to cut beer from the budget. Okay, he won't have his buddies from the restaurant over to watch games and give them all free chips and beer. Okay. But not to let him buy beer at all?
"I'm sorry, you need beer?" she says. "Finn, do you feel the only way you can be in this relationship is with alcoholic beverages?"
"No," he says. "That's not what I meant. I just think it's excessive to - I mean - I think we should still treat ourselves sometimes - money's tight but we're not living in a third world country or anything -"
"Oh, so if you don't have beer in the fridge than living with me is like living in a third world country, is that it?" She looks furious now.
"This isn't about you!" he exclaims. "I just like beer!"
"Fine!" she cries. "Have your beer! But don't think I'll forget that I'm willing to make sacrifices for you and you're not willing to make sacrifices for me, because I'm not enough for you!" She storms out of the living room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind her.
"That's not what I said!" he yells. She doesn't respond. He throws his hands up in the air. He looks at the decorative stuffed panda she keeps on the sofa. "Did you hear me say that?" he asks the panda. "No. 'Cause I didn't." He slumps in the chair.
It's almost as if she likes to pick fights with him.
###
He tosses the keys into the little dish Rachel set out, and he calls out for her. "I'm home!"
He starts to push off his shoes, but then he glances up and freezes. She stands in the doorway of their bedroom, wearing her cleaning clothes and rubber gloves, with her hands on her hips and fury on her face. "Um, everything okay, babe?" he asks slowly.
"Do you like cockroaches, Finn?" she asks.
He frowns. "We have cockroaches?" Ew. His apartment sophomore and junior year with some boys from the basketball team had cockroaches.
"Not yet," she says certainly, "but it's only a matter of time with your heinous habits."
And then she crooks her finger at him and turns back into the bedroom. Fuck. Whatever this is, it can't be good. He kicks off his shoes and then goes to the bedroom, and it looks like she did a major cleaning purge. The place, like, sparkles, and he's not even sure how, 'cause it doesn't even really have, like, sparkling surfaces. Rachel glares at him, then reaches into the trash can, and pulls out -
"What's that?" he asks, making a face.
"This," she says, "is a very moldy hot dog bun. It accompanies the sickening hot dog frank in the trashcan that I absolutely refuse to touch again, even with my gloves. I found them both under the bed. Tell me, Finn, how did you manage to lose an obscenely old hot dog under the bed?"
He starts to shake his head, 'cause he honestly has no idea, but then he thinks about it, and he remembers that time when Rachel spent the weekend with Kurt 'cause he was so messed up after his big break-up with Andy, and Finn ate hot dogs and tator tots in bed and one might have fallen and he told himself he'd pick it up later and -
"Sorry," he finally says.
She stomps her foot. "Sorry isn't good enough!" she cries, furiously tossing the old bun back into the trash.
His defences fly up, annoyance prickling to life inside him. He feels bad, sure, 'cause that is gross, but she doesn't have to be mean about it. "What do you want me to say?" he asks quietly.
"I don't want you to say anything!" she says. "I spend hours trying to keep this apartment clean, and it's like you don't even care! I want you to care, Finn, that's what I want! I slave away to make sure that I always dust the pictures, and do you ever offer to help? No. And I try to wash the sheets every weekend because I know you still eat in bed - case and point -" She looks pointedly at the trash can. "-and do you ever help me? No! I go to the Laundromat by myself -"
He's not gonna listen to this. He's heard this whole speech before, and he's sick of it. It's past midnight, and he's been on his feet for hours, and he's not gonna stand there and take this. He walks out of the room.
"Don't walk away when we're having a conversation!" she exclaims, following him.
"We're not having a conversation," he mutters, grabbing a beer from the fridge. "You're having a conversation."
"Well, maybe if you would participate in this conversation more than you participate in household chores, this could be a proper conversation! I swear, Finn, you never put effort into anything. How many times have I asked you to leave wipe your shoes on the mat before you come in? But you never do, and you track mud all over the apartment, and I have to get down on my hands and knees and scrub caked dirt from the floor, and I just clean and clean and clean -"
"You clean and clean and clean," Finn snaps, slamming his beer down on the counter, "'cause you have nothing better to do! I have a job. I'm trying to make some money so you can still have a place to sleep in, let alone waste all day, everyday cleaning, so stop nagging me!"
She stares at him, her eyes wide, and then her face starts to crumple, and guilt swoops through him. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. He squeezes his eyes shut for a minute, trying to calm himself down. "I didn't realise I was a nag. I'll leave you alone. Excuse me." She starts for the bathroom.
"Wait, Rachel, don't -"
The bathroom door slams shut. He hears the lock click.
Dammit.
###
She doesn't come out for a long time.
He hears her start a shower, and then he hears her sobbing, even over the sound of the running water, and he feels like a total douche. He knows she's upset with everything right now, with her life right now, 'cause nothing's going the way she wants. They've had this problem before. He hates that she takes that out on him, but he knows she doesn't mean to, and no matter what, it was totally a low blow to talk about how she doesn't have anything better to do than clean.
The shower goes on forever. He takes out the trash, though, and he looks around the apartment for something to clean as, like, an apology or something. But she's definitely got that place pretty sparkly and stuff. He even checks under all the furniture for old food, and there's nothing.
Finally, he gives up and goes to bed. (He has to pee so bad it burns, but he's so not gonna make everything worse and go in a cup or something, 'cause if a hot dog under the bed is bad. . . .) He manages to fall asleep, but he wakes easily when he feels her slip into bed next to him.
He races to the bathroom.
He crawls back into bed quietly, though, and he starts to reach for her, only to pause.
He lays back, a foot of empty space between them.
"I'm sorry I'm a nag," she finally whispers.
"You're not," he replies, his voice a whisper, too.
"I am," she says.
"Okay," he says, "you kinda are." She hiccoughs, and his hand finds hers. "But you're the good kind, I promise. Like the kind that makes a really awesome mom. I'm just an ass."
"No," she protests, and she scoots a little closer to him, her feet tangling between his legs.
"Yeah, I am," he tells her.
It's quiet. "Yes," she says. He waits. She doesn't say anything else.
"You still love me, though, right?" he asks.
She kisses his shoulder, and her voice is even quieter than a whisper. "Yes."
###
The next day, she tells him she wants to find another job.
"You don't have to," he says. But she promises it's simply to help tide them over until she gets her big break. And she'll only work part-time, so that she can still devote herself to auditions. He nods and smiles and wishes her good luck as she leaves the apartment.
She ends up with a job at a record company, which seems kinda completely perfect. But her boss turns out to be a huge jerk, and she mainly does lame stuff like answer the phone and make the coffee, and he knows she hates every minute of it. It's like she's just too tired to be all peppy and optimistic and Rachel about everything. He hates that, to be honest.
And the job definitely doesn't really change anything between them. They still smile good morning, and they still kiss goodbye, and she still leans her head on his shoulder when they watch Top Chef. And she never stops him when he reaches for in the middle of the night.
But she never reaches for him anymore.
It's tense. That's the word. The whole apartment's drowning in it - the tension. And he knows that, sooner or later, something has to change.
###
And then everything threatens to change.
She shakes him away, panic in her voice. "Finn! Finn! FINN!"
"What? What's the matter?" He pushes himself up, rubbing his eyes. He glances at the clock. It's not even six in the morning yet, and he worked until two in the morning last night. He groans. "Can we talk about this later?" he asks, falling back against the pillows.
"No," she says, gripping his arm and letting her nails bite into his skin, "we don't have time for that! Finn! Wake up!"
"Seriously, baby, I'm exhausted -"
"Listen to me!" she cries. I woke up, and I felt so sick, and I made it to the bathroom just in time, but I couldn't stop throwing up -"
He forces his eyes open and focuses on her, hovering above him, and he realises she actually does look pretty panicked. And she's sick? She was throwing up?
"Finn, it's been in the back of my head for a little over a week now, but I've avoided the thought and now I'm panicking and, Finn, Finn, I'm late and now I'm throwing up and -" Her grip on his arm tightens even more, if possible.
"Wait, I don't understand," he says, pushing himself up again. "What's the matter?"
"I think I might be pregnant!"
He stares at her. "How is that . . . how can you - I mean, I know how, but -" He runs a hand through her hair. He catches her gaze again, though, and she looks like she might cry. "How sure are you?" he asks quietly.
"I don't know," she says. "Finn. . . ."
"We need to get one of those test stick things."
She nods, and she clambers off the bed. "I'll go to the CVS right now," she says. "I'll, um, I need to get dressed, but I'll -" She starts to open his dresser and then realises and turns away to stumble towards her own.
"Hey," he says, scrambling from the bed. "Hey, wait." He touches her arm. "I'll go, okay? I'll go."
###
He starts the trek to the three blocks to the 24-hour CVS at a walk, but he grows more and more anxious with each step, until suddenly he's nearly running, because he needs to know now. He paces through the store as he searches for home pregnancy tests, and then he freaks a little when he finds them and there are, like, twenty thousand different kinds.
He grabs one that has pink writing on the box, 'cause Rachel likes pink, and at the checkout counter he grabs a bag of sour patch kids for Rachel, too. The lady behind the counter glances at his left hand totally obviously, and he fumbles with his cash, spilling change everywhere and looking like a total idiot. But he finally makes it out of there, and he bursts into the apartment five minutes later.
"Got it!"
Rachel stands, and she looks as if she might have started to go even crazier while she waited. She takes the box from him and disappears into the bathroom before he can even hand her the sour patch kids. He stands outside the bathroom. He sits on the bed. He glances at the clock. He has some of the candy.
The door opens, and Rachel stands there with this fretful look on her face and the pregnancy test stick clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles have gone white. "What'd it say?" he asks, shooting to his feet.
She shakes her hand. "I can't pee."
"You - you can't pee?" he echoes, frowning.
"I'm too nervous!" she exclaims. "I just sat there and thought about everything and I just couldn't make myself - I usually perform so well under pressure, but not - I've never really been able to pee under pressure!"
He nods. "Um, okay . . . you should drink something. Like, so you really, really have to go. Beer makes you have to pee, right?"
"I can't drink beer! What if I give our possible baby fetal alcohol syndrome?"
"What about soda?"
"That might work," she agrees slowly. "But . . . but we don't have any soda!"
"I'll go buy some, then," he volunteers. "I can be back in twenty minutes." He thinks maybe he should take the car this time, but he would probably spend hours trying to find a place to park, and he can sort of run again. He can power walk, at least. The lady at the CVS doesn't even try not to look interested as he stalks into the store and then buys three twelve packs of dr. pepper.
He thinks maybe he should have only gotten one pack when he has to walk three blocks with all three twelve packs. It even starts to rain. But he wasn't sure how many he would need.
He sits across from Rachel at the kitchen table as she drinks one can.
"Do you have to go yet?" he asks.
She shakes her head. She starts a second can. "I don't know if I can handle this sudden elevated sugar intake," she tells him. "It's much too sweet." He tries to think of something else they can do, like maybe run the bath so the sound makes her think of peeing or something, but she goes on before he can say anything. "Nevermind, it's fine." She drinks more, slowly making her way through a second can.
He starts to let himself really think.
She might be pregnant.
They're both only twenty-four years old, and neither of them really has a great job, and they're not married, and they've been fighting so much lately - but a year from now they could have a baby. This is way too much even to think about. He doesn't know anything about babies, and he isn't sure Rachel knows much, either.
"Okay," Rachel says. "Let me try again."
She's in the bathroom for a long time. Finally, though, finally, he hears the toilet flush, and he cautiously pushes open the door. She stands in front of the sink, the stick in her hand. "Did you manage to go?" he says, because he has to say something.
She nods.
"What now?" he asks.
"Now," she says, putting the stick down on the edge of the sink, "we wait."
###
They have to wait seven minutes, and they both sit on the edge of the bed.
His leg bounces a little with nervous energy, and she runs a hand through her hair before suddenly lying back on the bed, covering her face with her hands. He stares at her, then, in her little black yoga pants and her pink tank top, with her feet dangling off the side of the bed, unable to reach the ground.
He lies back beside her.
"Hey, Rach?" he says.
She slowly pulls her hands from her face and looks over at him.
"If it's a boy, can we name him after my dad?"
She's surprised, he can tell. She turns to lie on her side and face him, though, and there's a soft smile on her face. "Christopher?" she says softly. "It's a good name."
He nods, turning on his side, too. "We can call him Chris for short."
"I think I'd prefer simply to call him Christopher," she replies.
He thinks about it. "Okay," he tells her, "you can call him Christopher, and I'll call him Chris, and we'll see which he likes better." He grins despite everything, and she giggles, shaking her head at him. But she bites her lip, and he almost sees the anxiety sweep back across her face.
"What are we going to do - if I am pregnant?"
"I don't know," he says quietly. "But I know I love you." He smiles a little. "And maybe it wasn't in the plan to have a baby now, instead of, like, in a few years - maybe this isn't how we wanted everything to go, but there are worse things, right? And we're in this together." He reaches out and cups her cheek, and she presses a kiss to his palm, cradling his hand to her face.
"I'm sorry, Finn," she whispers, tears gathering in her eyes. "I'm so sorry that I've been so terrible to you lately."
"You haven't been terrible to me," he protests.
But she shakes her head. "All this fighting - it's my fault. Everything's so frustrating right now, and I never get a single call back, and I - I hate working at that record company, because I know I have more talent than some of the singers we sign, and. . . .
"And I guess I get so angry, but I can't yell at my auditions, and I can't yell at my boss, but - but I can yell at you. At the end of a terrible, terrible day, I can be mean to you, because I know that you'll still be there the next day. That's not how it should work, I know that, but . . . but I. . . ."
"It's okay," he murmurs. "You can yell at me at the end of any day. I will always be around the next day. You can count on that."
"But I shouldn't treat you like that. And I know you deserve so much better, and I start to think about how sooner or later you'll realise you deserve better, too, and that you don't want to stay here in New York unhappy and with a boring job while I chase after some stupid dream that obviously isn't going to come true, and -"
"Hey, hey," he interrupts. "Don't talk like that. I am happy here with you. And you are gonna get your dream."
She swallows thickly. "I - I just - nothing's going the way I thought it would. I mean, I always said it's a long, difficult road to Broadway and to fame, but I never - honestly, I never really thought I would have any trouble." She bites her lip. "Is that terrible?"
He shakes his head. "No," he says. "You shouldn't have trouble. It sucks that all these New York people can't see how awesome you are right away. But they will. I'm sure of it, baby."
"But what if they don't? If I'm not a star, then I don't know who I am."
"I know who you are," he says. "You're Rachel Berry."
"Does that even mean anything?" she asks.
"It means everything to me," he replies.
A few tears spring free and run down her cheek. He gently wipes them away with his thumb.
"Even after the last year?" she whispers.
"Especially after the last year," he says. "This has been the best year of my life - 'cause I got to spend it with you, all day, every day."
"Really?"
He nods. Doesn't she get it? "Rach," he starts softly, "I might have some lame job and I might be totally unsure what kind of job I do want, but you're here, and that makes it okay. Like, I know it'll all work out 'cause I have you. And after everything we've had to go through, we totally deserve to have that. To have each other. We're supposed to be together."
She smiles a little. "You will always have me," she whispers.
He nods. "And this last year, baby - nobody in high school or college ever really took us seriously. Nobody ever thought we'd make it." He runs his hand down her arm and takes her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "But this last year has been me and you against everything," he goes on, "and me and you? We're still here. We're still here. We won, so all those stupid people like Quinn? Those people who said me and you would never work? They can take this last year and stick that in their pipes and smoke it."
She giggles. "I can't wait for McKinley's five your reunion," she says.
"Yeah," he says. "We're gonna blow 'em away."
It's quiet for a moment, then.
"So you think we'll be okay?" Rachel finally asks.
"Do you?"
She nods. "I really do."
He smiles. "Me, too." he pauses. "I know things kinda suck with work for us right now, but they'll get better. I mean, we've still got plenty of time, right? And, okay, so I might end up working in, like, a cubical or something, or like, as some stupid salesman or something, like out of The Office, except not fun. And that'll suck. And maybe nobody'll realise how awesome you are, and you'll become a teacher or a, like, wedding planner or something. You'd be a great wedding planner.
"But I guess my point's that those won't be the best jobs, or whatever, but I'll still be me, and you'll still be you. We'll still be me and you."
"And me and you can take on the world, right?" she says, squeezing his hand.
"Right." He squeezes her hand. "But I do still think you'll be famous," he tells her. She smiles. "And, no matter what, I'll always think you're a star, Rachel, because you - you just, like, shine, when you smile and when you sing and you work for what you want, and you're a completely good, nice person, and you're you."
Her smile widens, then, and she looks down bashfully. "You're so sweet."
His watch beeps.
###
The test is negative.
"I must just be so stressed out," she murmurs. "And I probably have a bug or something."
He searches her face. "Are you disappointed?" he finally asks. He might be, but he's kinda relieved, too, to be honest.
"Maybe a little," she says. "But I didn't really have the time to grow attached to the idea. And, well, I guess this means we have a few more years to find our way together before we have Christopher. Or Alice."
"Alice?"
She nods, smiling. "It's pretty, right? Alice Hudson."
He smiles, too. She leans forward, a hand on his chest to steady herself as she kisses him. She tastes like peanut butter and bananas, and she smells like that cheaper perfume she's started to buy to save money, and she feels like Rachel. She draws back. "I love you," she says.
And he has to do it. He has to. This is it. This is the time. "Come on," he tells her, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the bedroom.
"Come on where?" she says.
"Put some shoes on," he tells her. "We're going out."
"What? Where? It's six in the morning, Finn! And it's started to rain so hard I can hear it pounding on the windows!"
"So put on your rain boots," he replies," the cute ones with the lady bugs." She tries to change, but he won't let her, and he ends up tugging her out of the apartment as she complains that this isn't her best rain jacket. The rain falls hard and fast, half blinding them, but he's suddenly determined.
"Are we going far?" she asks.
"Nope," he says. She brought an umbrella with her, but he's in too much of a hurry to try to stay under with her, and he's soaked through in a block. She tells him he'll catch pneumonia, and he tells her that he trusts her to nurse him back to health. Finally, they make it to the park, to their favourite tree. "Here," he tells her, stopping.
The rain continues to fall in sheets. "Okay," he says. "So I kinda thought I wouldn't do this for a while, but I want to do it now, 'cause I don't really know what I was waiting for, maybe, like, the right moment, I guess. And this is the right moment."
"Finn -"
"Let me finish." He stands there, his arms awkwardly at his sides, trying to make sure he says the right thing. He can't mess this up. He frowns, though. Shoot. "Damn it," he mutters. "I'm sorry," he tells her, "I forgot the virgin cosmos. I was actually gonna, like, put together this whole picnic, you know, but, um, you know, I don't really need that."
"Are you -"
He takes a deep breath. "Okay. Okay." And he goes down on one knee. He can hear her gasp even over the sound of the rain. He pulls the ring box out of his pocket - he'd grabbed it on the way out as she'd hopped around trying to put her boots on in a hurry.
"This is the ring my dad gave my mom," he says.
Her umbrella tumbles to the ground as she claps a hand to her mouth, and he isn't sure whether she's started to cry or not, but he hopes that if she has, they're the good kind of tears. He takes another deep breath and gazes up at her through the rain.
"You know, you can marry me if you want to."
Slowly, she reaches out to rest her hands on his shoulders.
"I want to."
And he starts to grin. "Yeah?"
She nods furiously. "Yes. Yes!" She tackles him, and she kisses him, and the rain doesn't let up, but they stay out a while longer.
###
It starts in the summer.
They drive down to Lima, because no matter how much they both love New York, Lima will always be home, will always be special, will always be where they first became Finn and Rachel.
Kurt comes, of course, and Mike does, too, and even Puck shows, and he brings Santana as his date. They use the backyard of the Berry house for the ceremony, and the Mr. Berrys book their country club for the reception. Finn has his old college buddy Leo be his best man, and Rachel makes Kurt her maid-of-honor. And, at four in the afternoon, they marry.
Rachel can't stop crying during her vows, and Finn loses the piece of paper he wrote his on and he has to go off the cuff, but he thinks they both manage okay. It all happens okay, actually. Nobody breaks a toe or gives an embarrassing speech or gets too drunk. Leo tells some kinda mortifying stories about how much Finn would pine over Rachel at school, but that might be the worst part.
Basically, it goes pretty well
And this is the beginning of everything.
By one in the morning, most people have left the reception. The food is all gone, and the bar is closed, and Kurt and his date from L.A. are the last two left on the dance floor. Rachel doesn't want to leave, though, because she doesn't want the night to end. Finn lets her fall asleep in his lap, and he thinks about how crazy this all is, he and Rachel marrying like this, right before she starts a production of Much Ado About Nothing and he starts as an intern at this ad agency.
It definitely is crazy. But it's gonna be kinda awesome, isn't it?
Fin.
Well, darlin', now don't forget,
I'll always love your style.
Well, darlin', now don't forget,
I'll always love your smile.
I said, hey missus, won't you stand by me now?
Give me a little time.
Hey missus, won't you stand by me now?
Show me how to turn it upside down.
a/n: what do you think? I'm not sure how much I like it as a whole, but I'm really pleased with the ending. Please review!
part 1.