Twilight's Falling, Act Two: Time of Your Life
DISCLAIMER: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk and Ian Brennan, and FOX studio, with blink-and-miss-them references to some of my other fandoms. Lyrics featured from ‘More than you know’ from ‘Funny Lady’. Storiy adapted from the episode 'Time and Teresa Golowitz' written by Alan Brennert and Parke Godwin. No profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended.
SPOILERS: For the Twilight Zone episode ‘Time and Teresa Golowitz'.
RATING/WARNING: PG-13. Swearing, sexual references, supernatural themes and character death, including mentions of suicide.
SUMMARY: On the verge of death, musician and songwriter Finn Hudson is given a chance to relive one moment of his life. But will he choose to change his past, or another’s future?
Second Act: Time of Your Life (Based on the 1987 episode ‘Time and Teresa Golowitz’)
“So, you’re working on a new musical right now?”
Finn Hudson nodded and smiled politely at the reporter.
Man, the things he did for his brother. Finn really didn’t like doing interviews, and normally someone official had to be kicking and screaming for him to say yes to one, but Kurt had been crushing on this guy for ages.
“I’m afraid I can’t talk about it yet.”
“That’s okay,” the blazer-clad man said. What was his name again? Blair? No, that was the chick from Gossip Girl. Blaine!
“So, Mr Hudson-“
“Please, Finn’s fine.”
“Finn, then. You’ve had an extraordinary life, it’s fair to say. Blues and jazz musician in drums and piano, at only thirty-three you’re also a Tony Award winning Broadway composer - with two of the shows you’ve contributed to still running! Grammy winner for Best Song three years ago, for Somewhere Along the Way - did you write it specifically for Adele?”
“No, I wrote it about a year before. Adele and I were on the bill together at the Crossroads Festival - we were on separate stages at opposite ends of the grounds. The odds were, like, one in ten of us actually meeting at all. But one of her backing singers noticed my Journey t-shirt, and it turned out she’d been trying to find one for ages. We started chatting, and I mentioned Somewhere. We ended up hanging out after her set, and I played it for her on the piano. Rest is history.”
“Speaking of the Crossroads - you almost didn’t make it to the festival at all, right?”
Finn’s face darkened. “I don’t talk about my condition. I prefer to keep my medical history private as possible, if you don’t mind.”
See, this was one of the reasons he didn’t like interviews. Almost everyone brought up that he was living on borrowed time. He’d made his peace with the fact he probably wasn’t going to make it to forty, but that didn’t mean he liked having it rubbed in his face.
“Oh, of course,” Blaine blushed. “Could I talk about the surrounding circumstances at all? The plane crash on the way back from your first major tour, playing in the band for Sunshine Corazon, and how you were one of only three survivors?”
Finn shrugged. “That’s a matter of public record. Go for it.”
“Something else I’ve wondered about - your romantic history. There have rumours of you being linked not only to Adele, but April Rhodes, Andrea Cohen... and that’s just the musicians!”
Finn smirked. “My mom taught me that a gentleman doesn’t ever kiss and tell.”
“But you’ve never publically announced any relationship at all - in fact, you’ve never been engaged or married even once, in an industry where it seems most men of your prominence have a new wife every three years or so!”
"I guess I just never found the right woman. We must have missed each other somewhere along the way."
Blaine looked at him quizzically.
Finn caught himself, snickered, and added, “Okay, so I just quoted my own song. But what’s the point of making a living with words if you can’t quote yourself occasionally?”
See, this was the other thing that nearly everyone brought up - his love life. He was fine talking about his work, but how the hell was it anyone else’s business who he was sleeping with? Or that he slept alone a lot more often.
He hadn’t just pulled Somewhere Along the Way out of the air.
He’d written part of the music and all the first draft of the lyrics one drunken Valentine’s Day, when somehow every single person he knew had a date except for him - and not just pity dates, either. Mike had been away for the weekend with Tina (now his wife of almost three years), Artie was on his very first date with Brittany (now Artie’s live-in lover, and the only reason they weren’t engaged was that Lord Tubbington didn’t feel it was the right time yet), and Kurt had been in the heyday of his relationship with Dave.
Finn had spent the whole day wondering why he’d never really been in love. He’d had some relationships, yes, with some great women, but he’d never found that person - the one you felt tethered to. The one who made you feel like you were home in a crowded airport, and made you smile just by existing. Who could make the world disappear with a single kiss.
Somewhere Along the Way had been called ‘heart-wrenching’ for good reason; it was nothing less than a cry from his heart to the universe, for the one thing he wanted so much and hadn’t been able to earn or find. In the end, he’d wound through the hopeful thread, that he still had time to find her and love her - the one who filled the hole in his heart.
He was still waiting.
But no way was he going to tell a reporter that, no matter how adorable Kurt thought he was.
After he saw the reporter out (and making sure to get his business card for Kurt) Finn wondered back into his study, sitting at the desk. For awhile, Finn stared at the surreal landscape painting on the wall that had been a gift from Adele after the Grammy, before his vision focused on the silver photo frame sitting in front of him on the dark brown wood.
A twin picture frame, hinged in the middle, the sterling silver frame had been a gift from Kurt - what had it been for? Hell, he couldn’t remember anymore. Maybe it hadn’t been for anything; Kurt had a habit of strolling into Finn’s apartment and performing surgical-strike redecorations whenever he was bored.
The left half of the frame held his family’s wedding picture - they all phrased it that way, always had. Mom and Burt in the middle, him and Kurt on either side, with huge smiles on their faces. Kurt had worked like a dog putting the whole thing together, and Finn had begged and pleaded with the whole basketball team to help out. Humiliating himself had been worth it, though - his Mom had looked so happy the whole day.
The other half was a red-carpet shot of him and his Mom, the night he’d won the Grammy. Both his Tony’s had been shared, with director and producers and in the first case another composer. The Grammy nod for Best Song had been his alone, so it only made sense to take the most important woman in his life. Kurt had insisted on designing her dress personally, and in one of the best examples of karma ever, Alexander McQueen had admired it and asked the name of the designer. He’d eventually helped Kurt get the start-up financing for the House of Hummel.
Finn sighed, and walked over to his baby grand piano. It was the very first thing he’d bought for this apartment, when he moved in after his second Tony - he’d spent his first night here in a sleeping bag on the floor, right next to the piano. As he sat down on the stool, he picked up the sheet music he’d been making notes on. Finding where he’d left off, he used a pencil to change the last notation to ‘forte’.
Beside the other pages of sheet music rested one of his ever-present pill bottles. Over the years, Finn had stopped seeing them as a symbol of his own fragile mortality, and begun regarding them as just part of the scenery.
Blaine hadn’t been exaggerating about the results of that plane crash. Sunshine had come out of it with irreparable damage to her voice, and she’d disappeared back to the Philippines soon after, finding a new life working with the Red Cross. The poor bastard who’d been sitting over the wing had been institutionalized almost immediately afterward, claiming the plane had been sabotaged by a gremlin or something. Finn didn’t know whether it was survivor’s guilt or PTSD, but he’d been released from the mental hospital a week later.
All the other 100-plus people on the plane had died, either on impact or within ten minutes of the crash. They never did figure out exactly what caused it.
He’d been told afterward that he coded three times on the operating table. Sure, it meant that he needed to resort to Yoga and Pilates to keep in shape, with a little swimming. But compared to everyone else, a weakened, irregular-beating heart still seemed like he’d gotten off fairly lightly. At least he’d had time to actually do something important with his life.
Finn absently rolled the pill bottle in his fist, repeatedly playing that last infuriating chord with his left hand.
Damn it! Why couldn’t he put together the last few bars? He just needed a bridge and to work out how to arrange the ending, and this song would be done. Artie needed it by the end of the week, because Finn’s songs were going to be a major part of pitching Catch a Falling Star to investors.
Finn really wanted Artie’s new musical to get to the stage and succeed. Kurt had agreed to take first stab at designing the costumes, with an option to develop them to final product if things went smoothly enough. He had a really good feeling about this show, right from the first time he’d read the script.
“Have you considered a progressive chord?”
Finn nearly hit the ceiling.
“Who the hell are you? How did you get in here? What do you want?” he rattled off rapid-fire.
Standing a few feet away, leaning on his desk, was a guy in his late teens, with a scrubby hairstyle of light brown curls. His hands were casually tucked into his pants pockets, and he wore head to toe black, from his leather jacket with T-shirt underneath to his pants and boots.
He looked kind of familiar, though...
“Seriously, how the hell did you get past my doorman?” Finn demanded. He frowned and muttered, “I could have sworn I armed the security when that reporter left...”
“Oh, you did,” his visitor agreed. “But I have a way of getting wherever I need to go.” He stepped forward, and offered Finn his hand.
Finn shook it dazedly.
“I’m a huge fan of your work, especially the ‘Bright Star’ album.”
Wait, what? Finn hadn’t ever released an album by that name. Shaking it off, he told his intruder, “Look pal, you nearly gave me a heart attack from shock! And for me, that’s not exactly a metaphor, get it?”
“Oh, I know that,” the Man in Black said. “That’s why I’ve come for you.”
Then he angled his head so that Finn could clearly see his face.
His eyes were completely black, swirling with all the lights of eternity.
“Ah, crap,” Finn sighed. “I knew I wouldn’t make it past forty, but I was hoping for at least a little more time.”
The Man in Black gave a rueful, sympathetic smile, and shrugged. “Sorry, that’s not the kind of choice I can make.”
Finn looked down at himself, but he still seemed to be in his body. “Am I dead yet? I’d like to write a quick letter to my family if I can.”
“You don’t have letters for them already?”
“Well, yeah. When you know what’s coming... I update the letters and my will every six months or so. But if there’s time?” Finn asked.
“Well, you’re not quite dead yet, but I thought of something else. As I said, Finn, I’m a huge fan,” the Man said. “This isn’t something I offer many people, but considering how much enjoyment you’ve brought me over the years I think it’s really the least I can offer you.”
“You said you couldn’t give me more time,” Finn said suspiciously.
“No, I can’t. But I can give you one last hurrah. I can send you back in time to your younger body, for just a few hours, to let you relive a particularly good time in your life - or even let you change a bad one. Before you ask, I can’t send you back to the plane crash so you can decide not to board. That’s one of the pivotal points of your life, and I can’t alter that.”
Finn sighed. “So much for that idea.”
He thought for a few moments, thinking about all the most vivid times in his life, both good and bad. His family’s wedding; meeting Adele and playing her Somewhere; Mikeand Tina’s wedding had been an awesome party. He could tell Dave not to be an ass and give up his relationship with Kurt to go back in the closet so he could get signed by the Dallas Cowboys. He could prevent Burt’s first heart attack, maybe? Nah, Burt had been eating wrong for years before that - he’d never believe a ten year old kid. In the same vein, he didn’t really have any way to make things easier for his Mom when he was growing up. Besides, from what the Man in Black said, it had to be something in his life.
Then Finn thought of something. He still considered it the most important ‘pivotal point’ in his life, until the crash. He could shrug it off now, but that betrayal had damaged him permanently; he’d become a far better person for it, but the scars still ached a little.
“Sophomore year of high school,” Finn stated. “The party where Quinn stripped and tried to jump me, and I turned her down because she was drunk. I wanted to be a good guy. I went to get her some water, and I came back to find her going at it with Puck like there was no tomorrow.”
Black raised his eyebrows, and asked, “So you want your high school girlfriend back?”
Finn smirked nastily and snickered. “Nope. I just want to hit that first. Either way, it has to be better than losing my V-card in a literal fucking disaster with a Bitch-Queen closeted lesbian.”
“That’s when you want to go to?” Death asked.
“I will remember me, won’t I?” Finn asked anxiously. “I won’t end up staying with Quinn and letting her control-freak personality grind my self-esteem into dust, so she can talk me into being her ultimate fashion accessory for the rest of high school? I really don’t want to find out that I’ve changed my life so much I wound up married to her and taking over Burt’s tire shop. I’ll just die now, thanks.”
“Don’t worry,” Black chuckled. “It’ll be your present self in control. Time causality won’t let you change your own future too much.”
“Time whatsit?”
“The flow of time - cause and effect.”
“Oh,” blinked Finn. He still didn’t really get it, but did he really need to? “So, do I need to do anything?”
“Not a thing. Just close your eyes.”
Finn shrugged, and obeyed, humming those last few bars under his breath.
Then opened them in surprise and nearly jumped again, as he heard Rihanna blasting almost right in his ear.
Looking around, he recognised the Fabray’s living room, now crowded with his high school classmates.
Stumbling to his feet, he walked to the fireplace to get away from the speakers (the armchair he’d been sitting in had been right in front of the sound system), and looked at himself in the mirror above the mantelpiece.
He hadn’t really changed all that much physically since high school; after all, he wasn’t old enough to have wrinkles or grey hair. His hair was a little shorter in the mirror, and he wasn’t wearing his reading glasses anymore. But he was wearing one of the ever-present polo shirts that Kurt had taken years to ban from his wardrobe (and he still had a few for lazy days at home), and his McKinley High letter jacket. He’d never worn it again after this night, unless the basketball coach specifically asked him to.
If he went into the bathroom and took his jacket and shirt off, Finn knew the scars from his heart surgery would be gone. So would his tattoos; the phoenix reborn on his left bicep that he’d gotten on the sly early in his senior year of high school (after Finn had wiped the floor with a stoned-out-of-his-gourd Puck who’d made the mistake of picking a fight), the words ‘Every Moment Counts’ over his heart on the first anniversary of the plane crash, and a stave of musical notes on the underside of his right forearm, after he’d won his first Tony and knew that he’d really, truly, made something of his life, far away from Lima.
Something caught his eye as he looked into the mirror, and Finn frowned. Turning, Finn looked across the room and his eyes widened. No wonder the Man in Black had looked so familiar!
Casually making his way across the room without meeting anyone’s eyes (an essential skill at award show after-parties), he leaned against the wall, and turned his head just enough to mutter, “Jesse St. James? Seriously?”
“Whenever I use a host, I can shape my own form into their image afterward,” Black shrugged. “I figured things would go more smoothly if you knew I was here.”
Finn frowned. “Wait a minute, when you say host - holy shit, St. James is dead? I thought he just went to LA!”
Black smirked. “No, he’s not dead, and this is his current-time, teenage body, just as yours is. Think of it as a time share; I’m in control of his body, yes, but when we leave, he won’t remember this conversation, or anything else I’ve done. Looking back at this night, all he’ll remember is what he was thinking and what he wanted to do while I was borrowing him.” Black tilted his head. “Right now, he’s calculating his chances of sleeping with Santana Lopez by the end of the night.”
“Pretty good,” shrugged Finn. “At this point, she was still dropping her panties for anything with a Y chromosome. Still don’t know whether she was using sex to climb the high school ladder - which is really kind of pathetic, when you think about it - or just desperately trying to convince herself she wasn’t playing for the all-girls team. I think Kurt told me after he went to the ten-year class reunion that she didn’t really work out she was gay until college.”
Black looked back at him quizzically. “You really feel strongly about her, don’t you? Even after all this time.”
“She didn’t just screw me, she screwed me up. If it’s possible to have a sexual identity crisis without wondering if you’re gay, I had one. After she was finished with me, I was so paralysed by disappointment and doubt that I didn’t have sex again until college. And I had to get drunk first - good thing she was even more wasted.”
“Well, I have to admit, Finn, that I’m not just here for you. I have an appointment tonight, and since I’m here now I have to keep it again.”
Finn looked at him in confusion. “Sorry, I’m not following.”
Black discreetly pointed to the corner, where a dark-haired teenage girl wearing a black turtleneck and a green-checked miniskirt was holding a cup and trying not to look like she was expecting to get Slushied any minute. “Remember her?”
Finn frowned. “No, I don’t think so. It was one of the things I never liked about Quinn, how she’d always invite one or two girls who weren’t popular, and who Quinn didn’t think were hot, to make herself look prettier in comparison. Was she in one of my classes?”
“Maybe if I tell you that her name’s Rachel Berry?”
Finn’s eyes lit in recognition. “Wait, that’s her? It was the scandal of the year at McKinley! It even managed to be bigger news than one of the other cheerleaders - who was it, Spicy or something? - walking in on Quinn and Puck right after I did and posting the photos to everyone in school.
"Quinn didn't know whether to be glad or pissed over it. On one hand, she didn't get a rep as a two-faced ho, but on the other Rachel completely eclipsed her. I remember her funeral - they were offering the day off to anyone who wanted to go, and I thought I really should go if I took the day off. Her Dads talked about how much she loved Streisand. I think they said that she had all of Funny Girl word perfect by the time she was eight." Finn inhaled sharply, and asked, “It’s tonight it happens?”
He looked at Black, and asked, “Why did she do it?”
“She didn’t actually intend to,” Black told him. “But she had to take the bus home, because no one at the party was willing to talk to her, much less give her a ride. She spent the whole time reeking of beer, because your former friend Puck deliberately tossed his drink on her before he found Quinn smashed, naked, and horny. The looks from all the other passengers who thought she was some teenage drunk just reminded her of all the looks she received from everyone here at the party. She couldn’t help but keep thinking about how alone and ignored she was, and that she’d never be anything else. She wanted to be a star on Broadway so badly, you see; she knew she had the talent to make it, but she never received any acknowledgement of her gifts, except from her parents and the coaches they hired. Right before she came to the party, she found the particularly nasty messages Quinn and Santana both left on her MySpace page in response to her latest performance. Somewhere along the way, Rachel convinced herself that she was never going to get out of Lima, and she was going to spend her life ignored, and rejected. So when the bus pulled out, she stepped in front of it.”
Finn swayed a little on his feet. “Jesus, that’s awful. Even when I felt my worst about what happened here, I never thought about doing something like that.”
Looking back at Rachel, he found the corner was empty. His eyes darted around the room, and caught a movement through the picture windows. His face intent, Finn strode through the crowd to the kitchen, and grabbed a couple of cans of Coke from the ice-filled kitchen sink, before slipping out the kitchen entrance to the garden. Stopping under a tree, he looked around the moonlit garden, eventually spotting a slight figure curled up in the swing seat.
Casually strolling, he sauntered over. He’d spent years hanging out with some of the top-seeded players on the Manhattan dating circuit, and he knew how to vary his approach to a woman depending on her mood and romantic history.
Stopping at the end of the swing seat, Finn pretended that he’d just noticed her in the shadow of the canopy. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”
“It’s alright,” Rachel murmured. “I can leave.”
She shifted her weight to stand, and Finn held out his hands. “No, please. You were here first.” Biting his lip, he ventured, “Mind if I join you?”
Silence from underneath the canopy.
Finn reached into the pocket of his jacket, and brought out the second can. “I have an extra can - still cold!”
“I don’t drink alcohol,” Rachel told him, her voice growing stronger. “It’s bad for the vocal chords.”
“It’s just Coke,” Finn assured her, holding it in the moonlight so she could see the famous logo. “I’m driving, so it’s a dry night for me.”
“Um, okay.”
Finn carefully settled himself on the seat (he’d suddenly remembered almost knocking the thing over when he’d first started dating Quinn), and handed over the can, before pulling out his own from his other pocket.
With a pair of hiss-cracks, Finn and Rachel opened their cans simultaneously.
Finn sipped his drink, and wondered how to start. He’d only had the vaguest idea when he’d come out here, and he was starting to realize just how out of his depth he was.
Well, the Man in Black said that Rachel had killed herself because she’d felt rejected and ignored. So... make her feel accepted and appreciated. He’d said that she’d wanted to be on Broadway - well, Finn knew how to deal with Broadway actors and singers. He was starting to get an idea, but he needed to build at least a slight rapport with her first.
“You’re Rachel Berry, right?” he asked.
A startled silence from his seatmate was followed with a quiet, “I didn’t think anyone at this party knew my name.”
“You sit a couple of seats down from me in... US History, right? I think Ms Pillsbury mentioned you when she was talking to me about getting a tutor, as well.”
“I am rather active in the Peer Tutoring Program,” Rachel admitted. “I usually get very high ratings from my students - although that could just be the sugar cookies I bring to use as rewards.”
Silence fell again, and Finn racked his brains. Something Kurt had said in one of their group support sessions for gays and their families came back to him, “Coming to terms with what I am was hard. It became easier for me when I understood that everyone has it hard in some way or another, gay or straight - to misquote REM, I didn’t feel so alone when I realized that everybody hurts.”
“Um, thanks for letting me sit with you, by the way. I really needed to get out of there for awhile.”
“Why?” Rachel asked. “You’re Finn Hudson, the quarterback, dating Head Cheerleader Quinn Fabray. Everyone in there loves you.”
“What’s the saying? All that glitters isn’t golden? It looks really cool from the outside, but it’s kind of a shark tank, you know? One false move and you’re out. Quinn’s the popularity strategist, not me. I can’t work out advantages and pitfalls unless I’ve got a ball of some sort in my hands.” Finn hurriedly added, “Um, a sports ball of some kind, I mean.”
A breathy suggestion of a giggle.
“The whole popular thing? It’s not nearly as fun as it looks. I mean, I know this is high school and all, but it’s not like being popular is actually important, you know? Not in the real world. In another three years, we’ll be out of here and no one’s going to care whether you were Prom Queen, or shook some pompoms.”
Yeah, Finn knew all about that. He just wished that he’d known it back in high school. He just hoped the undeniable truth of his words would get through to Rachel.
“All the important things when you’re popular are just... shallow, you know? Meaningless. It’s all about how you look and what car you drive and who you date. Hardly anything you can actually choose or control about yourself. Nothing to do with smarts or talent or ability. That’s what people look for in the real world - what you can do. What you can be.”
A thoughtful silence.
“Hey, you said something before about vocal chords - are you a singer?”
“Yes,” the answer came, her tone almost defiant. “I intend to win a Tony by the time I’m twenty-five.”
“At least you have a goal. Quinn’s sole ambition is to win Prom Queen, and go to an Ivy League college so she can get out of Lima. She’s really smart, but she hides it, and her only real talent is making people do what she wants... come to think of it, she’d do really well in politics.”
“That’s actually a little disturbing,” came the thoughtful reply.
Finn looked at her. “You want to know how easy it is to be a star at a party?”
“Yes, I do!” Rachel said, the drive back in her voice.
Finn stood up, making the whole swing seat shudder, and held out his hand. “Come with me.”
Rachel slowly reached out a hand, and placed it in his.
Finn helped her up, and spent a second looking at her. She didn’t have Quinn’s conventional, perfume-ad prettiness, or Santana’s sultry temptress looks, but Rachel was actually very attractive, in a slightly exotic way that most guys wouldn’t appreciate until they were a little older. Her nose was a little too strong, but it added character, and her large dark eyes were liquid as they looked back at him. From the skirt, he knew she had awesome legs, and while her breasts weren’t very big, she was slim and light.
Damn. This girl was going to have guys following her around in droves when she hit twenty. Too bad she’d never believe him if he told her that, after all the rejection she’d suffered so far.
Finn kept a gentle but firm hold on her hand, not wanting her to get away, and it felt small and smooth and warm in his own as he led her inside and through the living room. As they approached the far corner, he stopped by Matt Rutherford, and asked him to turn off the music.
As he slid onto the piano stool, he saw Quinn frown, and toss back the remainder of her drink. She held out her hand imperiously, and a random Cheerio gave her a fresh glass.
“I didn’t know that you played the piano,” Rachel said in surprise. “I thought I was acquainted with all my fellow performers at McKinley.”
“I started sophomore year,” Finn answered absently, automatically playing a quick scale to assess how in tune the piano was.
Finding out about Quinn and Puck - being publically betrayed by his best friend and his girlfriend, the two people who were always supposed to have his back - had thrown him into a tailspin that affected his entire life. Unable to bear the sight of either one of them, he’d switched as many classes as he could, quit the football team and stopped going anywhere the popular kids went.
“I already knew how to play the drums, but pounding on them all day would have driven my poor Mom nuts. So I just took refuge in the choir room every day after school, and the jazz band were all nice guys who never ratted me out. Eventually, Brad the pianist took pity on me and showed me the basics. A little after that, Kurt wandered in and started helping me.”
Finn had been so oblivious to just about everything but his refuge of ivory keys, that it had taken months for him to realize that Kurt had actually been courting him. But by the time he worked that out, he’d been terrified of raising the issue because Kurt had already become his best - and for the most part his only - friend. Luckily, the closer they became the more Kurt realized that Finn not only wouldn’t, but couldn’t ever like him that way - he just wasn’t wired for it. So they’d introduced their parents instead, and the rest was history.
“I was kinda obsessed. But when I played, all the bad stuff went away, you know? So I just kept practising, and the more I practised the better I got. The better I got the more I wanted to play, because it meant I could get at least one thing in my stupid life right.”
He’d thrown away almost everything he considered important, and found that he didn’t need it. It took him awhile, but he finally figured it out: being popular had been cool, but being Finn Hudson was actually pretty awesome. Somewhere down at the bottom of a whirlpool of confusion and hurt and despair, Finn had found himself, and discovered he was stronger and better than he’d ever dreamed.
“I still may not be able to play Beethoven, but Broadway and contemporary are my bitches!” he snickered. He looked up, and Rachel was staring at him like she’d never seen him before.
Oh, crap. None of that had happened yet! Hell, the first time he’d been at this party, he’d barely known Kurt’s name!
But Rachel wasn’t looking at him like a freak - instead, there was a kind of sad recognition in her eyes.
“That’s sort of how I feel about singing, actually.”
Finn smiled at her gently. “You’ve got a lot more natural talent to work with.”
Then he winked, and gave her the grin that had landed him in bed with Maxim’s July 2018 cover model that same summer. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Rachel blushed bright red, but her eyes were sparkling.
“You know Funny Girl by heart, right?” Finn asked.
Rachel looked at him, frowning. “Well, yes, but how did you know-?”
“I’ve always preferred Funny Lady myself. I really like the idea that Fanny reached much higher artistically once she was married to a man who supported her talents, and wasn’t just jealous of them because she was extraordinary, and he only wanted to be.” Finn played a few chords, and asked, “You know this one?”
Rachel nodded instantly. “It’s my favourite from that show.”
Finn smiled, and started to play, pouring fifteen years of skill and experience, of passion and pain, into the instrument - because this might just be his most important performance.
Rachel closed her eyes, ran her fingers along the smoothly gleaming lid of the piano, and began to sing, slowly and soulfully.
“More than you know
More than you know
Man of my heart, I love you so
Lately I've found you on my mind
More than you know.”
For the first time in years, Finn’s fingers nearly stumbled on the keys.
Holy shit.
He’d known Rachel had to have a nice voice... but this wasn’t a nice voice. This was an incredible voice. In this very moment, she was every bit as good as at least half the professional singers he’d worked with. She was better than at least a third. A little more training and experience, and she’d be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with the best and brightest. Rachel wasn’t kidding herself about her Broadway ambitions; she had everything it took to be a star. Damn, he’d love to see her playing Elphaba.
“Whether you're right
Whether you're wrong
Man of my heart, I'll string along
I need you so
More than you'll ever know”
Finn threw himself into the bridge, playing with all his might to do justice to this wonderful voice. He could actually feel it in his chest, surrounding and gently buffering his damaged heart.
“Loving you the way that I do
There's nothing I can do about it
Loving may be all you can give
But darling, I can't live without it”
Rachel had impeccable staging, turning up the intensity to match the raw yearning in the lyrics, before easing back down to the plaintive, longing end.
“Oh, how I'd cry
How I'd sigh
If you got tired and said goodbye
More than I show
More than you'll ever know”
Even as the last notes died away, Rachel was surrounded by people praising her performance.
Watching her glowing smile break out, Finn was dazzled.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Quinn. Her face was almost disfigured by her ugly scowl, and she’d drained her glass again.
Well, Rachel was taken care of, so now it was time to take care of what he’d originally come here for.
Finn slid out from the piano stool, and made his way through the crowd to where Quinn stood.
“Want another drink?”
“I can’t believe you did this to me,” Quinn snarled.
“So would you rather get out of here and go someplace private instead?” Finn asked blandly.
Quinn glared at him.
“Well, I’m sure Rachel would love me to give her a ride,” Finn paused for a fraction of a second, “home. She might even insist on giving me some of her sugar cookies.”
Granted, it wasn’t exactly the most subtle approach, but Quinn was already too wasted to notice.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. How come he’d never noticed her competitive, possessive streak the first time around? Man, if he’d really become friends with Rachel back then, God knows what she would have done. “Fine, let’s go to my room.”
Taking his hand, she strode off, towing him along in her wake. Finn obediently followed - actually, he didn’t have much choice, given the death-grip Quinn had on his hand.
Finn was a lot more experienced than any high school boy - even Puck the sex-shark - and Quinn was already off-balance from the sudden shift in the crowd’s attention, not to mention her mind clouded and her self-control eroded from the alcohol in her system.
So Finn had her naked to the waist in short order, her moans filling his ears as he kissed her throat and gently toyed with her breast. He knew from the last time he’d lived through this that Quinn was not only willing but eager to go all the way, but he still had to give her time to change her mind. After all, he couldn’t do this if she didn’t want to. Finn could admit he was acting kind of douchey, but that was justified by Quinn being a back-stabbing bitch. Having sex with her without her clear and full consent was far, far, beyond what he was willing to do. He’d rather die with blue balls.
Pulling away from her, he smiled in satisfaction as Quinn whimpered in loss.
“Just gotta cool down a bit,” he murmured.
Laying Quinn down against the pillows, Finn slipped off the bed and wandered over to the window. Quinn’s bedroom was on the second floor, and he cracked open the window, enjoying the cool night air on his face - after all, it would probably be the last time he’d feel anything like this.
Looking down at the garden, he admired the view, the full moon turning the mundane assembly of trees and bushes and lawn into something bordering on magical.
It even had a fairy, tiny and slim and graceful as a shadow.
Finn smiled at his ridiculous thought, but then his smile dropped away.
It was Rachel in the garden, and as she looked up at the sky, Finn saw her face, made wretched by despair.
He knew that expression. He’d worn that expression when he saw Quinn riding Puck like a jockey in the Kentucky Derby. He’d seen it in the mirror right after the cardiologist told him he was a dead man walking.
It felt like having a bucket of ice dumped over his head.
He hadn’t done enough. He hadn’t changed anything. Rachel was still going to die, and now that thought fucking hurt, because he wanted to see more of that dazzling smile, and find out if her sugar cookies really were that good.
Most of all, Finn wanted to hear Rachel Berry sing again.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Quinn trying to smile seductively, though her glazed eyes and bright red face sort of ruined the effect. Jesus, he’d never felt less horny in his life.
To hell with the past - what was so important about it, anyway? He knew he was going to get out of Lima, and make a career out of doing what he loved. He was going to spend the rest of his life being successful and mostly happy. He’d already won this game!
What did his past matter, compared with Rachel’s future?
He whirled and headed to the door, tossing a hurried, “Sorry, Quinn, I gotta go,” over his shoulder.
“You’re walking away me from me?” Quinn shrieked indignantly. “Finn! Get back here or we’re done!”
Finn smiled as he walked out the door, finally realising that he really didn’t give a shit. He already felt five pounds lighter.
He’d taken barely three steps out of Quinn’s bedroom, when he collided with Puck.
“Where have you been, man?”
Finn looked at him and grinned. Apparently some things were meant to be after all. Too bad for Quinn; she really was going to be the scandal of the year this time around. He reached out and clapped Puck on the shoulder.
"She's all yours, dude."
Puck frowned in confusion, but Finn just smiled wider and headed for the stairs.
Pushing his way through the crowd, Matt Rutherford caught his eye, and nodded towards the garden. As he walked back onto the back porch, Finn mused that he might have underestimated his ever-silent teammate. Maybe he’d changed the past just enough to have another friend in his life? He hoped so.
Rachel had left the garden and was standing on the porch, mostly in shadow as she leaned against one of the columns that supported the roof.
“Rachel?”
She turned, her eyes wide. “Finn?!” She blinked almost dazedly, before looking at him narrowly. “I thought you’d have your hands under Quinn’s shirt by now.”
Finn bit his lip, as the obvious conclusion hit him; Rachel had seen him slip off with Quinn, and it had brought all her feelings of rejection back. But why hadn’t the praise of the crowd been enough? Heck, he’d seen Mike Chang talking to her enthusiastically and he was almost as silent as Matt!
Finn decided that really wasn’t important, and shrugged. “I was, but then I realized that it really wasn’t all that important to me. That stuff I told you about popularity being shallow and not important? I sort of reminded myself of that, too, and it kind of ruined the mood.”
“Um, sorry?” Rachel ventured. “I didn’t mean to ruin your... good time.”
“It wasn’t, really,” Finn said thoughtfully. “She didn’t really want me, just a popular football player to look good on her arm. I’m sure Puck’s doing an excellent job of making up for my desertion as we speak.”
“Noah Puckerman?” Rachel blinked in shock. “He attends the same temple as I do. Isn’t Quinn a devout Catholic?”
Finn shrugged, nagged by strange sense of sand falling through an hourglass. “Hell hath no fury like a Cheerio ditched, I guess.”
As if from very far away, he heard piano music again, and Rachel looked around absently as if she could hear it too. Finn looked past her through the window, but no one was at the piano.
Feeling an odd feeling of urgency, Finn asked, “Will you have lunch with me on Monday, at school? I don’t think I’ll be very welcome at my regular table for awhile, and well, I’d like to talk to you some more.”
Rachel blushed - and damn, that was adorable - and nodded. “I’d love to have lunch with you, Finn. If nothing else, we could discuss the merits of Funny Girl versus Funny Lady!”
“How about Journey versus Springsteen?” Finn answered. “I have to admit, classic rock is really my favorite to listen to.”
Rachel bit her lip. “I have to admit, I’m not very familiar with Journey’s work. I’ll get some of their music off iTunes tomorrow.”
"You will be there on Monday, won't you Rachel?" Finn looked at her meaningfully. "I'm really looking forward to what tomorrow holds."
Rachel smiled - just a little, but it was real. "For the first time in ages, I'm looking forward to what tomorrow holds, too."
Finn smiled back, and his ear caught a familiar piece of music - one that no one else had yet heard. “I hate to play and run, but that’s my cue.”
“You can’t miss a cue, Finn, it would be very unprofessional,” Rachel told him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Finn nodded and grinned at her, before he pivoted and jumped over the porch stairs, landing on the lawn. As he started walking, he closed his eyes, humming the last few bars that had eluded him before.
Then Finn opened his eyes, and he was back in his office.
He looked up at the Man in Black, and his eyes narrowed. “You planned this right from the start. Didn’t you?”
The Man shrugged dismissively. “Everything that happened back there was solely your own decision. I merely provided the transportation.”
Finn raised his eyebrows and did his best imitation of Kurt’s ‘oh, reeaally?’ look.
The Man in Black chuckled. “I’m an artist myself, Finn, and music is my favorite medium. Mozart died at thirty-five, Gershwin didn’t see forty. Elvis was only forty-two. Morrison and Cobain didn’t even make it to thirty. But they all left rich legacies. Losing Rachel Berry at only sixteen? Now that would have been a true tragedy. Even you.”
“Me?” Finn looked astounded.
“Yes. Your legacy to the world will be so much richer for knowing Rachel.”
Finn looked down at the board of his piano, and gently drew his fingers across the keys as he smiled at the thought. Taking a deep breath, he looked back up and asked, "So, do we go now?"
The Man in Black shook his head. “Not anymore. Your playing with time has caused quite a kerfluffle. You need to lay low for awhile, before you head up top.”
"Up top?" Finn asked hopefully.
The other laughed, though not unkindly, and nodded. "Yeah, then up top - they’re not that mad at you. But I’m afraid that the Upstairs administrators have never really understood the purpose of… creative history," the Man in Black admitted. "Especially since Rachel wasn't the only one that ended up with a new lease on life."
Finn blinked. "What? Is that possi-"
"Speaking of which," Black interrupted. He reached down and plucked the pill bottle from Finn's grasp. "You won't be needing these anymore. Turns out, you were so busy having really great sex with your wife that you missed Flight 815 altogether. Therefore no plane crash, and no weak heart."
Finn’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He sat frozen, until a splash of colour on the wall behind the Man - which hadn’t been there before - caught his eye. As he tilted his body to the side to look around the Man in Black, his heart pounded like a drum.
The splash of colour on the wall resolved itself into a framed poster - for Funny Girl. The central image of the poster was a mid-twenties version of Rachel, in a scarlet and gold striped bodice that made the most of her cleavage and a short, fluffy scarlet skirt, one leg bent at the knee with her foot lifted in the air to show off her glittery gold roller skate. Beneath the picture were the words “Starring Tony Award Winner Rachel Berry!”
Finn gaped, and his eyes landed on the back of the silver picture frame on his desk. Only instead of a sole double frame, now there was a single frame on the left, and another, triple-fold frame on the right. Bolting past his visitor, Finn ran around his desk, and steadied himself by gripping the back of his office chair as he looked at the photos. The single frame held the same family shot as before; him, Mom, Burt and Kurt at their wedding. But in the triple frame....
The left hand picture was of him and Rachel in red graduation gowns, standing on a set of bleachers, with Rachel standing two steps above him so their heads were on the same level as they kissed.
The middle picture was of him in a suit, his hands on Rachel’s hips as she stood in front of him, both of them angled diagonally and wearing glowing smiles. Rachel wore a floor-length white dress, gold stars scattered over the skirt and along the scooped neckline, and she held a waterfall bouquet of jasmine.
The right hand picture showed the two of them standing in front of a black glass window, city lights distantly glowing through it. He was in the same suit as his old Grammy photo, but Rachel was plastered against his side, one leg wrapped around his and wearing a sparkling silver mini-dress that clung to her lithe body so closely that Finn was fairly sure she wasn’t wearing anything at all underneath it. The bright lopsided smiles on their faces made Finn think they were both more than a little drunk, and they brandished matching Grammy statuettes.
In a daze, Finn stumbled to the shelf that held his awards, snatching up the Grammy. It still said ‘Best Song’, and the same year - only now it said ‘Finn Hudson - Pretending’. There was another Grammy next to it, and it was for the same year.
Best Pop Performance by a Duo or Group With Vocals
Finn Hudson and Rachel Berry Hudson
‘ Pretending’
Next to that... Finn’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped the Grammy. Placing it carefully back on the shelf, he picked up the Oscar with trembling hands.
Best Original Song
‘A Love for All Time’
(Somewhere I Will Find You)
Music and Lyrics:
Finn Hudson and Rachel Berry Hudson
He gently placed the Oscar back on the shelf, and staggered back to flop into his desk chair. It wasn’t until he was securely seated that he realized the Man in Black had gone - and Finn hadn’t even noticed.
His head whirling, Finn looked back at the triple frame, and saw something he hadn’t noticed before. Each frame had a world inscribed beneath it. Together, they read ‘What Tomorrow Holds.’
*****
SPOILERS: For the Twilight Zone episode ‘Time and Teresa Golowitz'.
RATING/WARNING: PG-13. Swearing, sexual references, supernatural themes and character death, including mentions of suicide.
SUMMARY: On the verge of death, musician and songwriter Finn Hudson is given a chance to relive one moment of his life. But will he choose to change his past, or another’s future?
Second Act: Time of Your Life (Based on the 1987 episode ‘Time and Teresa Golowitz’)
“So, you’re working on a new musical right now?”
Finn Hudson nodded and smiled politely at the reporter.
Man, the things he did for his brother. Finn really didn’t like doing interviews, and normally someone official had to be kicking and screaming for him to say yes to one, but Kurt had been crushing on this guy for ages.
“I’m afraid I can’t talk about it yet.”
“That’s okay,” the blazer-clad man said. What was his name again? Blair? No, that was the chick from Gossip Girl. Blaine!
“So, Mr Hudson-“
“Please, Finn’s fine.”
“Finn, then. You’ve had an extraordinary life, it’s fair to say. Blues and jazz musician in drums and piano, at only thirty-three you’re also a Tony Award winning Broadway composer - with two of the shows you’ve contributed to still running! Grammy winner for Best Song three years ago, for Somewhere Along the Way - did you write it specifically for Adele?”
“No, I wrote it about a year before. Adele and I were on the bill together at the Crossroads Festival - we were on separate stages at opposite ends of the grounds. The odds were, like, one in ten of us actually meeting at all. But one of her backing singers noticed my Journey t-shirt, and it turned out she’d been trying to find one for ages. We started chatting, and I mentioned Somewhere. We ended up hanging out after her set, and I played it for her on the piano. Rest is history.”
“Speaking of the Crossroads - you almost didn’t make it to the festival at all, right?”
Finn’s face darkened. “I don’t talk about my condition. I prefer to keep my medical history private as possible, if you don’t mind.”
See, this was one of the reasons he didn’t like interviews. Almost everyone brought up that he was living on borrowed time. He’d made his peace with the fact he probably wasn’t going to make it to forty, but that didn’t mean he liked having it rubbed in his face.
“Oh, of course,” Blaine blushed. “Could I talk about the surrounding circumstances at all? The plane crash on the way back from your first major tour, playing in the band for Sunshine Corazon, and how you were one of only three survivors?”
Finn shrugged. “That’s a matter of public record. Go for it.”
“Something else I’ve wondered about - your romantic history. There have rumours of you being linked not only to Adele, but April Rhodes, Andrea Cohen... and that’s just the musicians!”
Finn smirked. “My mom taught me that a gentleman doesn’t ever kiss and tell.”
“But you’ve never publically announced any relationship at all - in fact, you’ve never been engaged or married even once, in an industry where it seems most men of your prominence have a new wife every three years or so!”
"I guess I just never found the right woman. We must have missed each other somewhere along the way."
Blaine looked at him quizzically.
Finn caught himself, snickered, and added, “Okay, so I just quoted my own song. But what’s the point of making a living with words if you can’t quote yourself occasionally?”
See, this was the other thing that nearly everyone brought up - his love life. He was fine talking about his work, but how the hell was it anyone else’s business who he was sleeping with? Or that he slept alone a lot more often.
He hadn’t just pulled Somewhere Along the Way out of the air.
He’d written part of the music and all the first draft of the lyrics one drunken Valentine’s Day, when somehow every single person he knew had a date except for him - and not just pity dates, either. Mike had been away for the weekend with Tina (now his wife of almost three years), Artie was on his very first date with Brittany (now Artie’s live-in lover, and the only reason they weren’t engaged was that Lord Tubbington didn’t feel it was the right time yet), and Kurt had been in the heyday of his relationship with Dave.
Finn had spent the whole day wondering why he’d never really been in love. He’d had some relationships, yes, with some great women, but he’d never found that person - the one you felt tethered to. The one who made you feel like you were home in a crowded airport, and made you smile just by existing. Who could make the world disappear with a single kiss.
Somewhere Along the Way had been called ‘heart-wrenching’ for good reason; it was nothing less than a cry from his heart to the universe, for the one thing he wanted so much and hadn’t been able to earn or find. In the end, he’d wound through the hopeful thread, that he still had time to find her and love her - the one who filled the hole in his heart.
He was still waiting.
But no way was he going to tell a reporter that, no matter how adorable Kurt thought he was.
After he saw the reporter out (and making sure to get his business card for Kurt) Finn wondered back into his study, sitting at the desk. For awhile, Finn stared at the surreal landscape painting on the wall that had been a gift from Adele after the Grammy, before his vision focused on the silver photo frame sitting in front of him on the dark brown wood.
A twin picture frame, hinged in the middle, the sterling silver frame had been a gift from Kurt - what had it been for? Hell, he couldn’t remember anymore. Maybe it hadn’t been for anything; Kurt had a habit of strolling into Finn’s apartment and performing surgical-strike redecorations whenever he was bored.
The left half of the frame held his family’s wedding picture - they all phrased it that way, always had. Mom and Burt in the middle, him and Kurt on either side, with huge smiles on their faces. Kurt had worked like a dog putting the whole thing together, and Finn had begged and pleaded with the whole basketball team to help out. Humiliating himself had been worth it, though - his Mom had looked so happy the whole day.
The other half was a red-carpet shot of him and his Mom, the night he’d won the Grammy. Both his Tony’s had been shared, with director and producers and in the first case another composer. The Grammy nod for Best Song had been his alone, so it only made sense to take the most important woman in his life. Kurt had insisted on designing her dress personally, and in one of the best examples of karma ever, Alexander McQueen had admired it and asked the name of the designer. He’d eventually helped Kurt get the start-up financing for the House of Hummel.
Finn sighed, and walked over to his baby grand piano. It was the very first thing he’d bought for this apartment, when he moved in after his second Tony - he’d spent his first night here in a sleeping bag on the floor, right next to the piano. As he sat down on the stool, he picked up the sheet music he’d been making notes on. Finding where he’d left off, he used a pencil to change the last notation to ‘forte’.
Beside the other pages of sheet music rested one of his ever-present pill bottles. Over the years, Finn had stopped seeing them as a symbol of his own fragile mortality, and begun regarding them as just part of the scenery.
Blaine hadn’t been exaggerating about the results of that plane crash. Sunshine had come out of it with irreparable damage to her voice, and she’d disappeared back to the Philippines soon after, finding a new life working with the Red Cross. The poor bastard who’d been sitting over the wing had been institutionalized almost immediately afterward, claiming the plane had been sabotaged by a gremlin or something. Finn didn’t know whether it was survivor’s guilt or PTSD, but he’d been released from the mental hospital a week later.
All the other 100-plus people on the plane had died, either on impact or within ten minutes of the crash. They never did figure out exactly what caused it.
He’d been told afterward that he coded three times on the operating table. Sure, it meant that he needed to resort to Yoga and Pilates to keep in shape, with a little swimming. But compared to everyone else, a weakened, irregular-beating heart still seemed like he’d gotten off fairly lightly. At least he’d had time to actually do something important with his life.
Finn absently rolled the pill bottle in his fist, repeatedly playing that last infuriating chord with his left hand.
Damn it! Why couldn’t he put together the last few bars? He just needed a bridge and to work out how to arrange the ending, and this song would be done. Artie needed it by the end of the week, because Finn’s songs were going to be a major part of pitching Catch a Falling Star to investors.
Finn really wanted Artie’s new musical to get to the stage and succeed. Kurt had agreed to take first stab at designing the costumes, with an option to develop them to final product if things went smoothly enough. He had a really good feeling about this show, right from the first time he’d read the script.
“Have you considered a progressive chord?”
Finn nearly hit the ceiling.
“Who the hell are you? How did you get in here? What do you want?” he rattled off rapid-fire.
Standing a few feet away, leaning on his desk, was a guy in his late teens, with a scrubby hairstyle of light brown curls. His hands were casually tucked into his pants pockets, and he wore head to toe black, from his leather jacket with T-shirt underneath to his pants and boots.
He looked kind of familiar, though...
“Seriously, how the hell did you get past my doorman?” Finn demanded. He frowned and muttered, “I could have sworn I armed the security when that reporter left...”
“Oh, you did,” his visitor agreed. “But I have a way of getting wherever I need to go.” He stepped forward, and offered Finn his hand.
Finn shook it dazedly.
“I’m a huge fan of your work, especially the ‘Bright Star’ album.”
Wait, what? Finn hadn’t ever released an album by that name. Shaking it off, he told his intruder, “Look pal, you nearly gave me a heart attack from shock! And for me, that’s not exactly a metaphor, get it?”
“Oh, I know that,” the Man in Black said. “That’s why I’ve come for you.”
Then he angled his head so that Finn could clearly see his face.
His eyes were completely black, swirling with all the lights of eternity.
“Ah, crap,” Finn sighed. “I knew I wouldn’t make it past forty, but I was hoping for at least a little more time.”
The Man in Black gave a rueful, sympathetic smile, and shrugged. “Sorry, that’s not the kind of choice I can make.”
Finn looked down at himself, but he still seemed to be in his body. “Am I dead yet? I’d like to write a quick letter to my family if I can.”
“You don’t have letters for them already?”
“Well, yeah. When you know what’s coming... I update the letters and my will every six months or so. But if there’s time?” Finn asked.
“Well, you’re not quite dead yet, but I thought of something else. As I said, Finn, I’m a huge fan,” the Man said. “This isn’t something I offer many people, but considering how much enjoyment you’ve brought me over the years I think it’s really the least I can offer you.”
“You said you couldn’t give me more time,” Finn said suspiciously.
“No, I can’t. But I can give you one last hurrah. I can send you back in time to your younger body, for just a few hours, to let you relive a particularly good time in your life - or even let you change a bad one. Before you ask, I can’t send you back to the plane crash so you can decide not to board. That’s one of the pivotal points of your life, and I can’t alter that.”
Finn sighed. “So much for that idea.”
He thought for a few moments, thinking about all the most vivid times in his life, both good and bad. His family’s wedding; meeting Adele and playing her Somewhere; Mikeand Tina’s wedding had been an awesome party. He could tell Dave not to be an ass and give up his relationship with Kurt to go back in the closet so he could get signed by the Dallas Cowboys. He could prevent Burt’s first heart attack, maybe? Nah, Burt had been eating wrong for years before that - he’d never believe a ten year old kid. In the same vein, he didn’t really have any way to make things easier for his Mom when he was growing up. Besides, from what the Man in Black said, it had to be something in his life.
Then Finn thought of something. He still considered it the most important ‘pivotal point’ in his life, until the crash. He could shrug it off now, but that betrayal had damaged him permanently; he’d become a far better person for it, but the scars still ached a little.
“Sophomore year of high school,” Finn stated. “The party where Quinn stripped and tried to jump me, and I turned her down because she was drunk. I wanted to be a good guy. I went to get her some water, and I came back to find her going at it with Puck like there was no tomorrow.”
Black raised his eyebrows, and asked, “So you want your high school girlfriend back?”
Finn smirked nastily and snickered. “Nope. I just want to hit that first. Either way, it has to be better than losing my V-card in a literal fucking disaster with a Bitch-Queen closeted lesbian.”
“That’s when you want to go to?” Death asked.
“I will remember me, won’t I?” Finn asked anxiously. “I won’t end up staying with Quinn and letting her control-freak personality grind my self-esteem into dust, so she can talk me into being her ultimate fashion accessory for the rest of high school? I really don’t want to find out that I’ve changed my life so much I wound up married to her and taking over Burt’s tire shop. I’ll just die now, thanks.”
“Don’t worry,” Black chuckled. “It’ll be your present self in control. Time causality won’t let you change your own future too much.”
“Time whatsit?”
“The flow of time - cause and effect.”
“Oh,” blinked Finn. He still didn’t really get it, but did he really need to? “So, do I need to do anything?”
“Not a thing. Just close your eyes.”
Finn shrugged, and obeyed, humming those last few bars under his breath.
Then opened them in surprise and nearly jumped again, as he heard Rihanna blasting almost right in his ear.
Looking around, he recognised the Fabray’s living room, now crowded with his high school classmates.
Stumbling to his feet, he walked to the fireplace to get away from the speakers (the armchair he’d been sitting in had been right in front of the sound system), and looked at himself in the mirror above the mantelpiece.
He hadn’t really changed all that much physically since high school; after all, he wasn’t old enough to have wrinkles or grey hair. His hair was a little shorter in the mirror, and he wasn’t wearing his reading glasses anymore. But he was wearing one of the ever-present polo shirts that Kurt had taken years to ban from his wardrobe (and he still had a few for lazy days at home), and his McKinley High letter jacket. He’d never worn it again after this night, unless the basketball coach specifically asked him to.
If he went into the bathroom and took his jacket and shirt off, Finn knew the scars from his heart surgery would be gone. So would his tattoos; the phoenix reborn on his left bicep that he’d gotten on the sly early in his senior year of high school (after Finn had wiped the floor with a stoned-out-of-his-gourd Puck who’d made the mistake of picking a fight), the words ‘Every Moment Counts’ over his heart on the first anniversary of the plane crash, and a stave of musical notes on the underside of his right forearm, after he’d won his first Tony and knew that he’d really, truly, made something of his life, far away from Lima.
Something caught his eye as he looked into the mirror, and Finn frowned. Turning, Finn looked across the room and his eyes widened. No wonder the Man in Black had looked so familiar!
Casually making his way across the room without meeting anyone’s eyes (an essential skill at award show after-parties), he leaned against the wall, and turned his head just enough to mutter, “Jesse St. James? Seriously?”
“Whenever I use a host, I can shape my own form into their image afterward,” Black shrugged. “I figured things would go more smoothly if you knew I was here.”
Finn frowned. “Wait a minute, when you say host - holy shit, St. James is dead? I thought he just went to LA!”
Black smirked. “No, he’s not dead, and this is his current-time, teenage body, just as yours is. Think of it as a time share; I’m in control of his body, yes, but when we leave, he won’t remember this conversation, or anything else I’ve done. Looking back at this night, all he’ll remember is what he was thinking and what he wanted to do while I was borrowing him.” Black tilted his head. “Right now, he’s calculating his chances of sleeping with Santana Lopez by the end of the night.”
“Pretty good,” shrugged Finn. “At this point, she was still dropping her panties for anything with a Y chromosome. Still don’t know whether she was using sex to climb the high school ladder - which is really kind of pathetic, when you think about it - or just desperately trying to convince herself she wasn’t playing for the all-girls team. I think Kurt told me after he went to the ten-year class reunion that she didn’t really work out she was gay until college.”
Black looked back at him quizzically. “You really feel strongly about her, don’t you? Even after all this time.”
“She didn’t just screw me, she screwed me up. If it’s possible to have a sexual identity crisis without wondering if you’re gay, I had one. After she was finished with me, I was so paralysed by disappointment and doubt that I didn’t have sex again until college. And I had to get drunk first - good thing she was even more wasted.”
“Well, I have to admit, Finn, that I’m not just here for you. I have an appointment tonight, and since I’m here now I have to keep it again.”
Finn looked at him in confusion. “Sorry, I’m not following.”
Black discreetly pointed to the corner, where a dark-haired teenage girl wearing a black turtleneck and a green-checked miniskirt was holding a cup and trying not to look like she was expecting to get Slushied any minute. “Remember her?”
Finn frowned. “No, I don’t think so. It was one of the things I never liked about Quinn, how she’d always invite one or two girls who weren’t popular, and who Quinn didn’t think were hot, to make herself look prettier in comparison. Was she in one of my classes?”
“Maybe if I tell you that her name’s Rachel Berry?”
Finn’s eyes lit in recognition. “Wait, that’s her? It was the scandal of the year at McKinley! It even managed to be bigger news than one of the other cheerleaders - who was it, Spicy or something? - walking in on Quinn and Puck right after I did and posting the photos to everyone in school.
"Quinn didn't know whether to be glad or pissed over it. On one hand, she didn't get a rep as a two-faced ho, but on the other Rachel completely eclipsed her. I remember her funeral - they were offering the day off to anyone who wanted to go, and I thought I really should go if I took the day off. Her Dads talked about how much she loved Streisand. I think they said that she had all of Funny Girl word perfect by the time she was eight." Finn inhaled sharply, and asked, “It’s tonight it happens?”
He looked at Black, and asked, “Why did she do it?”
“She didn’t actually intend to,” Black told him. “But she had to take the bus home, because no one at the party was willing to talk to her, much less give her a ride. She spent the whole time reeking of beer, because your former friend Puck deliberately tossed his drink on her before he found Quinn smashed, naked, and horny. The looks from all the other passengers who thought she was some teenage drunk just reminded her of all the looks she received from everyone here at the party. She couldn’t help but keep thinking about how alone and ignored she was, and that she’d never be anything else. She wanted to be a star on Broadway so badly, you see; she knew she had the talent to make it, but she never received any acknowledgement of her gifts, except from her parents and the coaches they hired. Right before she came to the party, she found the particularly nasty messages Quinn and Santana both left on her MySpace page in response to her latest performance. Somewhere along the way, Rachel convinced herself that she was never going to get out of Lima, and she was going to spend her life ignored, and rejected. So when the bus pulled out, she stepped in front of it.”
Finn swayed a little on his feet. “Jesus, that’s awful. Even when I felt my worst about what happened here, I never thought about doing something like that.”
Looking back at Rachel, he found the corner was empty. His eyes darted around the room, and caught a movement through the picture windows. His face intent, Finn strode through the crowd to the kitchen, and grabbed a couple of cans of Coke from the ice-filled kitchen sink, before slipping out the kitchen entrance to the garden. Stopping under a tree, he looked around the moonlit garden, eventually spotting a slight figure curled up in the swing seat.
Casually strolling, he sauntered over. He’d spent years hanging out with some of the top-seeded players on the Manhattan dating circuit, and he knew how to vary his approach to a woman depending on her mood and romantic history.
Stopping at the end of the swing seat, Finn pretended that he’d just noticed her in the shadow of the canopy. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”
“It’s alright,” Rachel murmured. “I can leave.”
She shifted her weight to stand, and Finn held out his hands. “No, please. You were here first.” Biting his lip, he ventured, “Mind if I join you?”
Silence from underneath the canopy.
Finn reached into the pocket of his jacket, and brought out the second can. “I have an extra can - still cold!”
“I don’t drink alcohol,” Rachel told him, her voice growing stronger. “It’s bad for the vocal chords.”
“It’s just Coke,” Finn assured her, holding it in the moonlight so she could see the famous logo. “I’m driving, so it’s a dry night for me.”
“Um, okay.”
Finn carefully settled himself on the seat (he’d suddenly remembered almost knocking the thing over when he’d first started dating Quinn), and handed over the can, before pulling out his own from his other pocket.
With a pair of hiss-cracks, Finn and Rachel opened their cans simultaneously.
Finn sipped his drink, and wondered how to start. He’d only had the vaguest idea when he’d come out here, and he was starting to realize just how out of his depth he was.
Well, the Man in Black said that Rachel had killed herself because she’d felt rejected and ignored. So... make her feel accepted and appreciated. He’d said that she’d wanted to be on Broadway - well, Finn knew how to deal with Broadway actors and singers. He was starting to get an idea, but he needed to build at least a slight rapport with her first.
“You’re Rachel Berry, right?” he asked.
A startled silence from his seatmate was followed with a quiet, “I didn’t think anyone at this party knew my name.”
“You sit a couple of seats down from me in... US History, right? I think Ms Pillsbury mentioned you when she was talking to me about getting a tutor, as well.”
“I am rather active in the Peer Tutoring Program,” Rachel admitted. “I usually get very high ratings from my students - although that could just be the sugar cookies I bring to use as rewards.”
Silence fell again, and Finn racked his brains. Something Kurt had said in one of their group support sessions for gays and their families came back to him, “Coming to terms with what I am was hard. It became easier for me when I understood that everyone has it hard in some way or another, gay or straight - to misquote REM, I didn’t feel so alone when I realized that everybody hurts.”
“Um, thanks for letting me sit with you, by the way. I really needed to get out of there for awhile.”
“Why?” Rachel asked. “You’re Finn Hudson, the quarterback, dating Head Cheerleader Quinn Fabray. Everyone in there loves you.”
“What’s the saying? All that glitters isn’t golden? It looks really cool from the outside, but it’s kind of a shark tank, you know? One false move and you’re out. Quinn’s the popularity strategist, not me. I can’t work out advantages and pitfalls unless I’ve got a ball of some sort in my hands.” Finn hurriedly added, “Um, a sports ball of some kind, I mean.”
A breathy suggestion of a giggle.
“The whole popular thing? It’s not nearly as fun as it looks. I mean, I know this is high school and all, but it’s not like being popular is actually important, you know? Not in the real world. In another three years, we’ll be out of here and no one’s going to care whether you were Prom Queen, or shook some pompoms.”
Yeah, Finn knew all about that. He just wished that he’d known it back in high school. He just hoped the undeniable truth of his words would get through to Rachel.
“All the important things when you’re popular are just... shallow, you know? Meaningless. It’s all about how you look and what car you drive and who you date. Hardly anything you can actually choose or control about yourself. Nothing to do with smarts or talent or ability. That’s what people look for in the real world - what you can do. What you can be.”
A thoughtful silence.
“Hey, you said something before about vocal chords - are you a singer?”
“Yes,” the answer came, her tone almost defiant. “I intend to win a Tony by the time I’m twenty-five.”
“At least you have a goal. Quinn’s sole ambition is to win Prom Queen, and go to an Ivy League college so she can get out of Lima. She’s really smart, but she hides it, and her only real talent is making people do what she wants... come to think of it, she’d do really well in politics.”
“That’s actually a little disturbing,” came the thoughtful reply.
Finn looked at her. “You want to know how easy it is to be a star at a party?”
“Yes, I do!” Rachel said, the drive back in her voice.
Finn stood up, making the whole swing seat shudder, and held out his hand. “Come with me.”
Rachel slowly reached out a hand, and placed it in his.
Finn helped her up, and spent a second looking at her. She didn’t have Quinn’s conventional, perfume-ad prettiness, or Santana’s sultry temptress looks, but Rachel was actually very attractive, in a slightly exotic way that most guys wouldn’t appreciate until they were a little older. Her nose was a little too strong, but it added character, and her large dark eyes were liquid as they looked back at him. From the skirt, he knew she had awesome legs, and while her breasts weren’t very big, she was slim and light.
Damn. This girl was going to have guys following her around in droves when she hit twenty. Too bad she’d never believe him if he told her that, after all the rejection she’d suffered so far.
Finn kept a gentle but firm hold on her hand, not wanting her to get away, and it felt small and smooth and warm in his own as he led her inside and through the living room. As they approached the far corner, he stopped by Matt Rutherford, and asked him to turn off the music.
As he slid onto the piano stool, he saw Quinn frown, and toss back the remainder of her drink. She held out her hand imperiously, and a random Cheerio gave her a fresh glass.
“I didn’t know that you played the piano,” Rachel said in surprise. “I thought I was acquainted with all my fellow performers at McKinley.”
“I started sophomore year,” Finn answered absently, automatically playing a quick scale to assess how in tune the piano was.
Finding out about Quinn and Puck - being publically betrayed by his best friend and his girlfriend, the two people who were always supposed to have his back - had thrown him into a tailspin that affected his entire life. Unable to bear the sight of either one of them, he’d switched as many classes as he could, quit the football team and stopped going anywhere the popular kids went.
“I already knew how to play the drums, but pounding on them all day would have driven my poor Mom nuts. So I just took refuge in the choir room every day after school, and the jazz band were all nice guys who never ratted me out. Eventually, Brad the pianist took pity on me and showed me the basics. A little after that, Kurt wandered in and started helping me.”
Finn had been so oblivious to just about everything but his refuge of ivory keys, that it had taken months for him to realize that Kurt had actually been courting him. But by the time he worked that out, he’d been terrified of raising the issue because Kurt had already become his best - and for the most part his only - friend. Luckily, the closer they became the more Kurt realized that Finn not only wouldn’t, but couldn’t ever like him that way - he just wasn’t wired for it. So they’d introduced their parents instead, and the rest was history.
“I was kinda obsessed. But when I played, all the bad stuff went away, you know? So I just kept practising, and the more I practised the better I got. The better I got the more I wanted to play, because it meant I could get at least one thing in my stupid life right.”
He’d thrown away almost everything he considered important, and found that he didn’t need it. It took him awhile, but he finally figured it out: being popular had been cool, but being Finn Hudson was actually pretty awesome. Somewhere down at the bottom of a whirlpool of confusion and hurt and despair, Finn had found himself, and discovered he was stronger and better than he’d ever dreamed.
“I still may not be able to play Beethoven, but Broadway and contemporary are my bitches!” he snickered. He looked up, and Rachel was staring at him like she’d never seen him before.
Oh, crap. None of that had happened yet! Hell, the first time he’d been at this party, he’d barely known Kurt’s name!
But Rachel wasn’t looking at him like a freak - instead, there was a kind of sad recognition in her eyes.
“That’s sort of how I feel about singing, actually.”
Finn smiled at her gently. “You’ve got a lot more natural talent to work with.”
Then he winked, and gave her the grin that had landed him in bed with Maxim’s July 2018 cover model that same summer. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Rachel blushed bright red, but her eyes were sparkling.
“You know Funny Girl by heart, right?” Finn asked.
Rachel looked at him, frowning. “Well, yes, but how did you know-?”
“I’ve always preferred Funny Lady myself. I really like the idea that Fanny reached much higher artistically once she was married to a man who supported her talents, and wasn’t just jealous of them because she was extraordinary, and he only wanted to be.” Finn played a few chords, and asked, “You know this one?”
Rachel nodded instantly. “It’s my favourite from that show.”
Finn smiled, and started to play, pouring fifteen years of skill and experience, of passion and pain, into the instrument - because this might just be his most important performance.
Rachel closed her eyes, ran her fingers along the smoothly gleaming lid of the piano, and began to sing, slowly and soulfully.
“More than you know
More than you know
Man of my heart, I love you so
Lately I've found you on my mind
More than you know.”
For the first time in years, Finn’s fingers nearly stumbled on the keys.
Holy shit.
He’d known Rachel had to have a nice voice... but this wasn’t a nice voice. This was an incredible voice. In this very moment, she was every bit as good as at least half the professional singers he’d worked with. She was better than at least a third. A little more training and experience, and she’d be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with the best and brightest. Rachel wasn’t kidding herself about her Broadway ambitions; she had everything it took to be a star. Damn, he’d love to see her playing Elphaba.
“Whether you're right
Whether you're wrong
Man of my heart, I'll string along
I need you so
More than you'll ever know”
Finn threw himself into the bridge, playing with all his might to do justice to this wonderful voice. He could actually feel it in his chest, surrounding and gently buffering his damaged heart.
“Loving you the way that I do
There's nothing I can do about it
Loving may be all you can give
But darling, I can't live without it”
Rachel had impeccable staging, turning up the intensity to match the raw yearning in the lyrics, before easing back down to the plaintive, longing end.
“Oh, how I'd cry
How I'd sigh
If you got tired and said goodbye
More than I show
More than you'll ever know”
Even as the last notes died away, Rachel was surrounded by people praising her performance.
Watching her glowing smile break out, Finn was dazzled.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Quinn. Her face was almost disfigured by her ugly scowl, and she’d drained her glass again.
Well, Rachel was taken care of, so now it was time to take care of what he’d originally come here for.
Finn slid out from the piano stool, and made his way through the crowd to where Quinn stood.
“Want another drink?”
“I can’t believe you did this to me,” Quinn snarled.
“So would you rather get out of here and go someplace private instead?” Finn asked blandly.
Quinn glared at him.
“Well, I’m sure Rachel would love me to give her a ride,” Finn paused for a fraction of a second, “home. She might even insist on giving me some of her sugar cookies.”
Granted, it wasn’t exactly the most subtle approach, but Quinn was already too wasted to notice.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. How come he’d never noticed her competitive, possessive streak the first time around? Man, if he’d really become friends with Rachel back then, God knows what she would have done. “Fine, let’s go to my room.”
Taking his hand, she strode off, towing him along in her wake. Finn obediently followed - actually, he didn’t have much choice, given the death-grip Quinn had on his hand.
Finn was a lot more experienced than any high school boy - even Puck the sex-shark - and Quinn was already off-balance from the sudden shift in the crowd’s attention, not to mention her mind clouded and her self-control eroded from the alcohol in her system.
So Finn had her naked to the waist in short order, her moans filling his ears as he kissed her throat and gently toyed with her breast. He knew from the last time he’d lived through this that Quinn was not only willing but eager to go all the way, but he still had to give her time to change her mind. After all, he couldn’t do this if she didn’t want to. Finn could admit he was acting kind of douchey, but that was justified by Quinn being a back-stabbing bitch. Having sex with her without her clear and full consent was far, far, beyond what he was willing to do. He’d rather die with blue balls.
Pulling away from her, he smiled in satisfaction as Quinn whimpered in loss.
“Just gotta cool down a bit,” he murmured.
Laying Quinn down against the pillows, Finn slipped off the bed and wandered over to the window. Quinn’s bedroom was on the second floor, and he cracked open the window, enjoying the cool night air on his face - after all, it would probably be the last time he’d feel anything like this.
Looking down at the garden, he admired the view, the full moon turning the mundane assembly of trees and bushes and lawn into something bordering on magical.
It even had a fairy, tiny and slim and graceful as a shadow.
Finn smiled at his ridiculous thought, but then his smile dropped away.
It was Rachel in the garden, and as she looked up at the sky, Finn saw her face, made wretched by despair.
He knew that expression. He’d worn that expression when he saw Quinn riding Puck like a jockey in the Kentucky Derby. He’d seen it in the mirror right after the cardiologist told him he was a dead man walking.
It felt like having a bucket of ice dumped over his head.
He hadn’t done enough. He hadn’t changed anything. Rachel was still going to die, and now that thought fucking hurt, because he wanted to see more of that dazzling smile, and find out if her sugar cookies really were that good.
Most of all, Finn wanted to hear Rachel Berry sing again.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Quinn trying to smile seductively, though her glazed eyes and bright red face sort of ruined the effect. Jesus, he’d never felt less horny in his life.
To hell with the past - what was so important about it, anyway? He knew he was going to get out of Lima, and make a career out of doing what he loved. He was going to spend the rest of his life being successful and mostly happy. He’d already won this game!
What did his past matter, compared with Rachel’s future?
He whirled and headed to the door, tossing a hurried, “Sorry, Quinn, I gotta go,” over his shoulder.
“You’re walking away me from me?” Quinn shrieked indignantly. “Finn! Get back here or we’re done!”
Finn smiled as he walked out the door, finally realising that he really didn’t give a shit. He already felt five pounds lighter.
He’d taken barely three steps out of Quinn’s bedroom, when he collided with Puck.
“Where have you been, man?”
Finn looked at him and grinned. Apparently some things were meant to be after all. Too bad for Quinn; she really was going to be the scandal of the year this time around. He reached out and clapped Puck on the shoulder.
"She's all yours, dude."
Puck frowned in confusion, but Finn just smiled wider and headed for the stairs.
Pushing his way through the crowd, Matt Rutherford caught his eye, and nodded towards the garden. As he walked back onto the back porch, Finn mused that he might have underestimated his ever-silent teammate. Maybe he’d changed the past just enough to have another friend in his life? He hoped so.
Rachel had left the garden and was standing on the porch, mostly in shadow as she leaned against one of the columns that supported the roof.
“Rachel?”
She turned, her eyes wide. “Finn?!” She blinked almost dazedly, before looking at him narrowly. “I thought you’d have your hands under Quinn’s shirt by now.”
Finn bit his lip, as the obvious conclusion hit him; Rachel had seen him slip off with Quinn, and it had brought all her feelings of rejection back. But why hadn’t the praise of the crowd been enough? Heck, he’d seen Mike Chang talking to her enthusiastically and he was almost as silent as Matt!
Finn decided that really wasn’t important, and shrugged. “I was, but then I realized that it really wasn’t all that important to me. That stuff I told you about popularity being shallow and not important? I sort of reminded myself of that, too, and it kind of ruined the mood.”
“Um, sorry?” Rachel ventured. “I didn’t mean to ruin your... good time.”
“It wasn’t, really,” Finn said thoughtfully. “She didn’t really want me, just a popular football player to look good on her arm. I’m sure Puck’s doing an excellent job of making up for my desertion as we speak.”
“Noah Puckerman?” Rachel blinked in shock. “He attends the same temple as I do. Isn’t Quinn a devout Catholic?”
Finn shrugged, nagged by strange sense of sand falling through an hourglass. “Hell hath no fury like a Cheerio ditched, I guess.”
As if from very far away, he heard piano music again, and Rachel looked around absently as if she could hear it too. Finn looked past her through the window, but no one was at the piano.
Feeling an odd feeling of urgency, Finn asked, “Will you have lunch with me on Monday, at school? I don’t think I’ll be very welcome at my regular table for awhile, and well, I’d like to talk to you some more.”
Rachel blushed - and damn, that was adorable - and nodded. “I’d love to have lunch with you, Finn. If nothing else, we could discuss the merits of Funny Girl versus Funny Lady!”
“How about Journey versus Springsteen?” Finn answered. “I have to admit, classic rock is really my favorite to listen to.”
Rachel bit her lip. “I have to admit, I’m not very familiar with Journey’s work. I’ll get some of their music off iTunes tomorrow.”
"You will be there on Monday, won't you Rachel?" Finn looked at her meaningfully. "I'm really looking forward to what tomorrow holds."
Rachel smiled - just a little, but it was real. "For the first time in ages, I'm looking forward to what tomorrow holds, too."
Finn smiled back, and his ear caught a familiar piece of music - one that no one else had yet heard. “I hate to play and run, but that’s my cue.”
“You can’t miss a cue, Finn, it would be very unprofessional,” Rachel told him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Finn nodded and grinned at her, before he pivoted and jumped over the porch stairs, landing on the lawn. As he started walking, he closed his eyes, humming the last few bars that had eluded him before.
Then Finn opened his eyes, and he was back in his office.
He looked up at the Man in Black, and his eyes narrowed. “You planned this right from the start. Didn’t you?”
The Man shrugged dismissively. “Everything that happened back there was solely your own decision. I merely provided the transportation.”
Finn raised his eyebrows and did his best imitation of Kurt’s ‘oh, reeaally?’ look.
The Man in Black chuckled. “I’m an artist myself, Finn, and music is my favorite medium. Mozart died at thirty-five, Gershwin didn’t see forty. Elvis was only forty-two. Morrison and Cobain didn’t even make it to thirty. But they all left rich legacies. Losing Rachel Berry at only sixteen? Now that would have been a true tragedy. Even you.”
“Me?” Finn looked astounded.
“Yes. Your legacy to the world will be so much richer for knowing Rachel.”
Finn looked down at the board of his piano, and gently drew his fingers across the keys as he smiled at the thought. Taking a deep breath, he looked back up and asked, "So, do we go now?"
The Man in Black shook his head. “Not anymore. Your playing with time has caused quite a kerfluffle. You need to lay low for awhile, before you head up top.”
"Up top?" Finn asked hopefully.
The other laughed, though not unkindly, and nodded. "Yeah, then up top - they’re not that mad at you. But I’m afraid that the Upstairs administrators have never really understood the purpose of… creative history," the Man in Black admitted. "Especially since Rachel wasn't the only one that ended up with a new lease on life."
Finn blinked. "What? Is that possi-"
"Speaking of which," Black interrupted. He reached down and plucked the pill bottle from Finn's grasp. "You won't be needing these anymore. Turns out, you were so busy having really great sex with your wife that you missed Flight 815 altogether. Therefore no plane crash, and no weak heart."
Finn’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He sat frozen, until a splash of colour on the wall behind the Man - which hadn’t been there before - caught his eye. As he tilted his body to the side to look around the Man in Black, his heart pounded like a drum.
The splash of colour on the wall resolved itself into a framed poster - for Funny Girl. The central image of the poster was a mid-twenties version of Rachel, in a scarlet and gold striped bodice that made the most of her cleavage and a short, fluffy scarlet skirt, one leg bent at the knee with her foot lifted in the air to show off her glittery gold roller skate. Beneath the picture were the words “Starring Tony Award Winner Rachel Berry!”
Finn gaped, and his eyes landed on the back of the silver picture frame on his desk. Only instead of a sole double frame, now there was a single frame on the left, and another, triple-fold frame on the right. Bolting past his visitor, Finn ran around his desk, and steadied himself by gripping the back of his office chair as he looked at the photos. The single frame held the same family shot as before; him, Mom, Burt and Kurt at their wedding. But in the triple frame....
The left hand picture was of him and Rachel in red graduation gowns, standing on a set of bleachers, with Rachel standing two steps above him so their heads were on the same level as they kissed.
The middle picture was of him in a suit, his hands on Rachel’s hips as she stood in front of him, both of them angled diagonally and wearing glowing smiles. Rachel wore a floor-length white dress, gold stars scattered over the skirt and along the scooped neckline, and she held a waterfall bouquet of jasmine.
The right hand picture showed the two of them standing in front of a black glass window, city lights distantly glowing through it. He was in the same suit as his old Grammy photo, but Rachel was plastered against his side, one leg wrapped around his and wearing a sparkling silver mini-dress that clung to her lithe body so closely that Finn was fairly sure she wasn’t wearing anything at all underneath it. The bright lopsided smiles on their faces made Finn think they were both more than a little drunk, and they brandished matching Grammy statuettes.
In a daze, Finn stumbled to the shelf that held his awards, snatching up the Grammy. It still said ‘Best Song’, and the same year - only now it said ‘Finn Hudson - Pretending’. There was another Grammy next to it, and it was for the same year.
Best Pop Performance by a Duo or Group With Vocals
Finn Hudson and Rachel Berry Hudson
‘ Pretending’
Next to that... Finn’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped the Grammy. Placing it carefully back on the shelf, he picked up the Oscar with trembling hands.
Best Original Song
‘A Love for All Time’
(Somewhere I Will Find You)
Music and Lyrics:
Finn Hudson and Rachel Berry Hudson
He gently placed the Oscar back on the shelf, and staggered back to flop into his desk chair. It wasn’t until he was securely seated that he realized the Man in Black had gone - and Finn hadn’t even noticed.
His head whirling, Finn looked back at the triple frame, and saw something he hadn’t noticed before. Each frame had a world inscribed beneath it. Together, they read ‘What Tomorrow Holds.’
*****