AN: Part 2/2. I'll be slowly but surely uploading more stories. Hopefully this one was a good one to start with. Again, reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated. :)

He finds her on the first day back to school, after three days of no phone calls or texts. She's at her locker just after first period, and he catches her before she sees him, coming up beside her.

"Hey," he says, feeling stupid but unsure of anything else to say. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, and then turns her head to stare at him.

"Hi." She pulls her book out of her locker and then shuts it, stands there, waiting for him to say something because for once she can't think of how to start a conversation.

"Are you…" he trails off, raking a hand through his hair. "I mean, are we…"

She hugs her books to her chest, staring at his chin (because she doesn't think she can stand to look him in the eye). "I don't know," she whispers.

He stands there without a word, feeling like she's just punched him in the throat.

"What do you want to do?" he asks quietly after a few moments, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She takes a deep breath and lets her eyes fall closed. "I think…" she looks him in the eye now. "Maybe we should…you know, take it easy for a while."

The noise in the hallway suddenly sounds distant, like it's coming from the other end of a tunnel and bouncing off of tin walls.

"Do you want to…I mean…"

"I don't want to break up, if that's what you're asking." Her voice is weak. "I just think we need to be…not so close. So inseparable. You know?" He nods numbly, and she mirrors him. "I just need time to work out some—some things."

He watches her, still nodding his head, and then finally murmurs gently, "Okay."

She gives him a small, appreciative and tender smile. It's the only reassurance that he gets, but it only helps a little.

"I'll see you at lunch," he says as the warning bell rings.

"Um," she answers, glancing briefly down at her feet. "No, actually, you won't." He blinks. "I'm skipping lunch to help Quinn with some of the physics material she missed last week when she was sick."

"Oh." He nods yet again, starting to feel stupid at the motion. "Okay. Cool."

"Mm-hmm," she mumbles as she chews on her lower lip.

"Well, then…I'll just see you at glee."

"Okay."

She takes a step forward, pushes herself onto her toes, and places a faint, long kiss on his cheek. Without thinking, he places his hands on her waist, holding her there and kissing her hair.

"I really am sorry," he whispers into her ear. She drops her head onto his shoulder briefly, and then returns her feet fully to the floor, a small, sad smile gracing her features.

"I know," she murmurs. "I am, too."

He doesn't say anything else—he lets her leave for class, because he can't think of anything to do that could possibly fix this at all.

A month later, just before spring break, they're not much better off than they were after midwinter break. It's really starting to freak him out—one, because he's still in love with her and the fact that he knows he's broken her heart yet again makes him want to just lay down and die; and also, because it's starting to affect glee, and they've got Regionals coming up in a month and a half now and he can tell that everyone in the club knows something's wrong between them and if this doesn't get straightened out soon the fate of glee club is going to rest entirely on his shoulders and then it'll be just another opportunity for him to let her down.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

He's lying on his bed at ten-thirty on a Friday night, exhausted from his baseball game but too anxious to sleep, even after a nice hot shower and a huge meal courtesy of Mama Hudson (with Kurt's assistance in the kitchen and Burt's taste-testing approval). All at once his phone vibrates and rings on his desk, and he flips off of his bed with ninja-worthy speed and snatches the phone up. His heart jumps into his throat when he sees her name on the caller ID.

"Hello?" he says, trying to disguise the fact that he's a little out of breath because he's so scared.

"Hello, Finn." He thinks (hopes) he hears a small smile in her voice.

"Hey, Rach," he murmurs.

"I, um." She hesitates. "I was at your game tonight with Quinn, Artie and Tina. You played very well."

He feels the teeniest surge of faith when he hears the admiration in her voice.

"Thanks," he replies. "I'm glad you think so."

"I do."

They're silent for a good five to seven seconds, and then she says those four words that make his heart stop and then restart.

"Can you come over?" she asks tentatively.

"Sure," he says, and he's suddenly tearing apart his room to find his wallet and keys, and then he's flying down the stairs, continuing as he yanks his jacket off of the hall tree, "I'll be there in ten minutes."

Seven minutes later (he hasn't gone over the speed limit since that awful mailman accident, but right now he doesn't care), he's pulling into her driveway. Her porch light is on, and as he practically throws himself out of his car he sees her silhouette in the window of her door, and then she pushes the door open and steps out. Her hair is wet from her apparently recent shower, and she's clad in yoga pants and a pink sweater that's so completely her that it makes his chest swell.

"Hey," he says as he makes his way up the short sidewalk.

As he nears the steps she glides down them and meets him at the bottom one, and he's caught off guard when her tiny body slams into his front, her arms snaking around his neck.

He stumbles back from the (surprisingly strong) force of her flinging herself against him, and when he's steadied himself he wraps one arm around her waist and places his other hand against her hair, kissing the top of her head hesitantly.

"Hi," she murmurs, and then releases him from her bear hug, gazing up at him, her eyes wide and warm and twinkling. He sees a small smile pass over her face.

"Hi."

"I wanted to talk," she tells him simply, tracing her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, and then threading her fingers through his.

"Okay."

She leads him up the stairs and over to the porch swing, further away from the porch light, dim but not dark. She sits him down and then perches herself just next to him, their shoulders and hips and knees touching lightly. She wraps her hand around his.

"I've done a lot of thinking in the past month," she murmurs. "And I've decided that it would be incredibly foolish and selfish of me if I were to stay upset with you for reacting to something that you thought had happened because I lied to you in the first place."

He nods, unsure of where she's going.

Her voice breaks every so often. "I love you. I always have, and I probably always will, no matter where we end up. I loved you even when I thought you'd slept with Quinn because she was pregnant with what we all thought was your child. And you loved me even when you thought I'd slept with Jesse." She pauses. "Granted, it wasn't necessary for you to go and sleep with Santana in response."

"I know," he says quickly, "I'm so sorry, Rach—I was just—"

"But you were angry. And hurting. Just like I was when I first started dating Jesse." She places one hand on his face. "I realized that I understand how you felt then because, whether or not I wanted to admit it, I was doing the same thing that you did—through different means, of course." She traces her thumb over his cheek. "I've told you before, I'm not perfect. But you don't care about those flaws, and you've been trying so hard to be good to me regardless—and overall, despite your past blunders, I've been happy with you. So happy," she says earnestly. "And I don't want to lose that just because I was hurt by what you did. Love requires forgiveness, Finn."

"But…I never had to forgive you for anything. You're just being you—that's nothing that needs to be forgiven."

"No," she admits. "But someday you'll have to forgive me. It's bound to happen. We're only human, Finn." She leans over and kisses his cheek. "I forgive you," she whispers. "I forgive you and I love you."

And that's all it takes for big fat tears to spill over his face again. He wraps his arms around her waist and crushes her against his chest, his tears getting her now-slightly-damp hair wet all over again as she holds him close, kisses his face over and over, soothes him with gentle words every now and then but mostly crying into his shoulder, too.

"I love you," he says over and over. "I love you so much, Rachel."

When she kisses him, knotting her fingers through his hair and getting rid of as much space between them as possible, neither one of them stops crying for very long.

They place second at Regionals. Every single one of the guys picks up Rachel and spins her around in a hug, even Kurt, and Artie pops wheelies with her on his lap, and Rachel, Tina, Mercedes, Quinn, and Brittany all hug each other and scream with joy. Santana is even excited, hugging Quinn with genuine kindness for the first time in…well, ever.

They made it. They'll be all right.

The after-party is at Quinn's house with her mom bustling around, cheery and smiling and sweeter than ever. Towards the end of the party, just before people begin to leave, Mr. Schuester calls everyone's attention—after giving his speech about how proud he is of all of them and how much he cares about them, he adds that "Mrs. Fabray has an extra surprise in congratulations."

Everyone goes nuts when Mrs. Fabray steps up and announces that she's paid for all of them to go to New York for four days and to be in the audience at Nationals.

Three weeks later, Rachel is excitedly squeezing Finn's hand to death as they enter the terminal in the airport in Columbus, walking in the middle of the group while their teammates all clamber onto the plane, carryon bags in hand.

Once they're in New York, accompanied by Mr. Schuester and chaperones Mrs. Fabray, Mrs. Cohen-Chang, and Mr. Abrams, they pile into two shuttle buses and are dropped off at their hotel; everyone gets a room and roommate assigned, but room keys are instantly traded around. Kurt and Mercedes share a room; Santana and Brittany; Tina and Quinn; Artie and Mike; Matt and Puck; and, after a little bit of cajoling and back-and-forth banter, Puck hands his room key over to Rachel.

At the Hard Rock Café for dinner that night, Rachel sits next to Finn; they laugh and converse quietly while everyone else is cracking up and talking across the giant group table.

"Who are you rooming with?" he asks her after she's taken her lips from his, perching her chin on his shoulder and gazing at him. She grins and reaches into her purse, taking her room key out of her wallet and showing it to him. He glances at the room number and then double-takes.

"I figured it was about time we…you know," she whispers when he doesn't say anything for twelve seconds. He stares at her, his eyes as wide as saucers, while she returns the key to her wallet and the wallet to her purse, smiling pleasantly.

"Rach, are you…are you sure?"

She smiles warmly at him, leaning in and pecking his lips once more just as the food arrives. "Yeah," she murmurs. "I'm really sure."

That night, everyone is running back and forth across the hallways, hurrying to transfer their luggage into the rooms they've traded for while Mr. Schuester and the chaperones are settling into their own rooms. Rachel props the door to Finn's room open and struggles to pull her giant suitcase inside. He chuckles and helps her, hoisting it up and then carefully setting it on the floor beside the vanity.

"Just don't do anything that would make me worry," Puck says over his shoulder after he takes his luggage away, and Rachel rolls her eyes and smiles to herself.

She turns and faces Finn, and they stand there, bashful and unsure of what to do now, like they're fresh new sophomores meeting for the first time all over again.

"So," he says after a moment.

"So."

After a moment, she boldly reaches out, twining her fingers between his and leading him toward the bed. She climbs on top of the mattress and kneels there, pulling him with her. They stay there, on their knees, kissing softly and letting their hands roam safely within bounds, before he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers.

"You ready?" he breathes, and when he kisses her again he gets a faint moan of approval.

"Yes," she murmurs after a moment, and that's all the invitation he needs to scoop her into his arms, and then lay them gently down together, his fingers flirting with the hem of her simple and sweet sundress.

His shirt and jeans quickly disappear, soon followed by the dress. She sits up and unhooks her bra for him, letting it fall away and then laying on her back again. He has to take a moment to just look at her—she's so gorgeous, and she's his…him, the gangly, gigantic, not-genius, God-awful-dancer Finn Hudson. And he's somehow got the quirky, sweet, beautiful, perfect Rachel Berry.

He hovers above her again, trailing soft kisses down her neck, over her chest, and down onto her tummy, stopping just above the line of her panties. She's already writhing under him, sighing every few moments and making these insane noises in the back of her throat. He returns his face to hers, kissing her deeply, sliding his tongue along her lips before she parts them and lets him in. He groans into her mouth when her hands skate over his thighs and then start to pull his boxers down.

"Fuck!" he hisses, and she freezes.

"What is it?" she breathes anxiously.

"I don't have—I mean, I didn't know—" He breathes deeply, trying to think straight. "I didn't bring any protection; I didn't know we were going to do this here."

She just smiles and kisses him again, murmuring against his lips, "I went on the pill, you know."

He pulls back and stares at her incredulously.

"Rach—what?"

No condoms? At all? Holy shit.

She snakes her arms around his waist, closing the space between them. "I've been thinking about it for longer than you'd think," she tells him quietly as she attaches her lips to his again. "I've wanted this for a long time."

Lord, how he knows she has.

"You're positive, right?" he mumbles against her neck, hands suddenly all over her.

"Finn," she groans, and he can tell she's tired of questions. Frankly, he is, too.

She hooks her legs over his when he slides her panties down and off of her, and then she helps him finish taking off his boxers until he can kick them off himself. He gazes down at her, and she bites on her lower lip, beaming at him. Slowly, carefully, like she's made of porcelain, he slips inside her.

Oh shit.

He's so not going to be able to last.

He stops and waits to calm down a bit, and also to help her adjust, because even though she's trying not to show it he can tell she's in pain from the way every one of her muscles goes rigid and her face threatens to scrunch up.

He kisses her over and over on her lips, face, and neck, teases her skin until she starts to writhe again, and then he moves in and out by mere inches, gradually lengthening their strokes.

By the time they're this close to the edge, a shivering, shining, hot wave of something amazing just barely starting to wash over them, she's buried her face in his shoulder and digging her nails into his back, her breath coming out in high-pitched, ragged spurts each time he plunges back into her. Her noises—her little moans and sighs—are so beautiful, and he feels like he always does when she's singing: whole, free, and thrilled.

This is what it's supposed to be like—he's sure of it.

He comes and slams into her, his brow creasing as he screws his eyes shut and buries his face in her hair. He feels her come and then hears it milliseconds later, her breathing intense and frantic like her hips as they meet his thrusts. Their climax lasts way longer than he'd thought possible, and when he finally feels himself falling back under the clouds, back to the ground (though the descent is slow, and he wouldn't have it any other way), he slips out of her and feels her shudder at the motion. He gazes down at her: her makeup—what little she's wearing of it, at least—is slightly smudged, her hair tousled against the pillow; sweat is shining on her skin, pooling in every one of her dips and curves that he's sure he'll learn by heart soon.

And she's smiling at him, her face glowing brighter than he's ever seen it, which is really saying something.

Laying on his back and gathering her to his chest, he thinks about how perfectly she fits against him—they're almost like puzzle pieces.

He loves her so much, and he knows she loves him too, and right now they don't even have to say it to tell each other that—the way her arms hug him and the way his enclose her are enough.

Still, it doesn't hurt when she murmurs, already half asleep, "I love you, Finn Hudson."

And it doesn't hurt either when he tells her that he loves her, too.

Falling asleep, he knows they're not perfect; but right now, they sure are close.

THE END