VB is rather disheartened with how Season 4 is shaping up regarding Finchel, thus motivation to finish this particular fiction has been low, but good conscience wouldn't let this go incomplete, so soldiering onward. My immense gratitude to those of you still reading. This really is for you!

Plot Summary up to Chapter 23: Finn is hospitalized and partially blind after being shot by an AWOL soldier named Jameson, to whom Finn possesses mysterious links. A shifty Army major from Fort Benning is insisting that Finn return with him to Georgia, as soon as possible. Rachel and others strongly opposing the move. Rachel and Finn quarrel over his insistence that he leave NYC for Georgia.

Chapter 24- I Know Something You Don't

Since almost before I was aware that I loved Finn Hudson, I also realized that with that love came the capacity for him to frustrate and anger me so much that I wanted to shake him until his eyes rattled in that thick skull of his. He had so many wonderful qualities, his determination to do the right thing normally what I would count among them, but this also leant itself to a stubbornness immovable even in the face of all my arguments for his safety. He still insisted on returning to Fort Benning with Major Burnside against the advice of his doctor here at NY Presbyterian and the urgings of his mom and all his friends and even me, his fiance. It hurt most that he was leaving to travel a thousand miles away from me, but the fact that he was doing it despite my almost pleading for him to stay was almost as painful.

The large crowd of visitors that had been in Finn's small hospital room had dispersed to various locations. I had walked Santana and Kurt to the exit of the hospital closest to the subway. They had agreed to leave me only with my promise that I take a cab home, as it was getting late, and they worried for me taking the train by myself. I just felt the need for a little alone time with Finn. I missed our time together just us two, but I also hoped to give one more try to my efforts to keep him safe here in New York City. After my conversation with Dr. Fielding where he expressed his doubts about Major Burnside's motives in returning Finn to Fort Benning post haste, I was more determined than ever to keep Finn from leaving.

Dim, hushed quiet met me when I entered Finn's room a few minutes later, though someone had been in to check his EKG because the volume was turned so there was the steady, slow beep of his heart rhythm, like the tempo he might tap out on a drum. His eyes were shut as though he were sleeping, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. A shadow fell over part of his face almost like shade, an area darker than the dimness surrounding him. I was struck by how altered he looked; how much older- the boyishness I remembered from our first days together almost gone. He had lost weight in the last few days, that combined with the areas of stark light and dark shadows over his face further augmented his sculpted jaw and high cheek bones. Though I'd always known it, I realized how truly handsome he was, like a sleeping prince in a fairy tale. I had to smile a little at my whimsical thought. He'd probably not like that idea at all. I felt the strong pull toward him I always felt. The urge to touch him undeniable, to assure myself he was there, that he was real and not an illusion. He had admonished me to wake him up if he fell asleep before I got back, not wanting to miss a moment of our last night together before he left for Georgia.

I lightly traced my fingertips over his finely arching sable brows, so expressive when he was awake. I could often tell a lot about Finn Hudson's world just by watching those brows, which would draw up like angry caterpillars when he was concentrating or upset or rise on his forehead when he laughed at something funny. My fingers moved down over his temples to glide past his cheekbones to the stubble at his jaw. I should give him a shave again, though he would probably resist this time, saying he could do it himself now. Surprised, he hadn't awakened or even stirred yet, except for the slight flutter of his eyelids, I continued to savor my solitary exploration of his face, trailing the fingertips of both hands to his mouth, where I could feel the soft puffs of air after he exhaled with each breath.

Slowly, his eyes opened. He didn't seem startled that I was standing next to him with the ends of my fingers resting on his lips. He pursed is lips in a kiss for them, as he looked at me sleepily. When he spoke, I could feel his lips moving against my fingers, while his voice sounded groggy as though he weren't fully awake yet,"I was dreaming. Strange dreams since I've been in the hospital. In fact I thought I was still dreaming just now when I woke up with you here, touching me. The dreams are the same. I'm in a small..." he paused to swallow and find a word, "...dark room. Scared, but can't scream. Almost like I don't have my voice. I want to call out- I think of calling your name over and over in my mind. Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. Sometimes, you are there, or at least I dream you are. I feel you with me, touching me, loving me, like... the first time and times after...that," Finn moved restlessly then in his bed, shifting his long frame, "It's stuffy and my skin is hot, and you touch me with your hands, just barely a brush. Where you touch, I feel coolness, relief. Then I wake up, if I ever was asleep, and I'm in the dark room again, alone. You're gone, or maybe you were never there at all. Alone. Always alone. In a box, trapped. No one will let me out. Trapped."

As I watched Finn recount his strange, disturbing dream, almost like he was in a trance, his face contorted and his eyes narrowed as if he were recoiling with fear until, suddenly his features relaxed and went almost slack, like he were asleep again, his eyes merely slits. I could see the tawny irises moving in the tiny gap between his lids. I felt a shudder course through me as I recalled my conversation with Dr. Fielding. Were Finn's dreams just that, nightmares brought on by the stresses of his injuries and the shooting itself, or could they be something else more sinister (word?) entirely. That he had said the phrase '...in a box, trapped.' to describe part of the dream certainly was a chilling coincidence to the phrase not far from my thoughts. 'The Man in the box' had been said by Finn's shooter and Finn, and now Finn had said part of the phrase again. What could it mean?

I had long suspected that Finn's shooting had not just been a random act of violence on a city bus, but how did Jameson know Finn would be on that bus on that morning? Finn said himself that Jameson had looked at Finn specifically with almost recognition when he boarded the bus. Who had known Finn would be on the M60 bus? Me, Santana, Kurt, and anyone to whom we might have mentioned Finn's return trip to Benning. I immediately discounted my two friends as suspects to my already fantastical conspiracy plot, and as far as I knew neither of them were likely to mention it to anyone that might be connected to Finn's shooting or Fort Benning. I would ask them when I got the chance. What if Jameson somehow found out, somehow knew Finn would be on the M60 bus to LaGuardia that morning? The Army had known where Finn would be and when he would return to Fort Benning, my address and the date of Finn's return were on his leave papers. The leave papers that would have saved him if the MP's had ever shown up again claiming he was AWOL. Had that just been two days ago? No one had seen the army men since, almost like Burnside had replaced them. I wondered if he knew about the supposed AWOL charges. Burnside spoke as though Finn was still in good standing with the army, though he was insisting Finn return to Fort Benning before he had even begun to heal or even complete his treatments in NY. There were so many aspects of this that just didn't add up, but one thing I somehow felt to be true with everything in me, Burnside was somehow involved in it. I just knew it somehow.

Finn groaned softly, interrupting my thoughts, and I reached out my hand and took his. His eyes opened for the second time in a half an hour, though this time he seemed to see me, really see me, his gaze seemed more focused than it had been a few minutes before, in fact more focused than it had been in days, "Hey," his voice was raspy, "Still here. I thought you left. Is everyone else gone?" He looked around the room. I could tell his vision hadn't returned completely, but it had definitely improved as he appeared to be trying to focus on my face.

"Yes, they've all gone home for the night. I just wanted some time with you all to myself," I tried for a neutral tone, since the last time he had been fully awake we had gotten in a rather heated discussion about his proposed trip back to Fort Benning. "Do you remember being awake a little while ago and telling me about your strange dreams?"

"I think so. It's kind of hazy, like mixed in with dreaming. I've been having a lot of dreams lately, but I can't remember much about them really. I wake up feeling anxious and sweaty sometimes, but I can't remember why," he puzzled, "In fact, I must be really gross by now. I've only had the one sponge bath that you gave me the other day. Glad I don't have much hair to worry with though..." he rubbed his fingers over his head, "...I can tell it's growing out."

I let out a little laugh, "Yeah, not so much like a plucked chicken now, so Kurt says anyway, and is that a hint for another bath?"

"I wouldn't want to put you out. I'm sure you're tired, it's late," Finn squeezed my hand before I moved to the sink in his room.

Already on my way to retrieve the basin and fill it with warm water I replied, "Nonsense, it would be my pleasure. You could do with a shave, too."

"You don't like the rugged look?" Finn said with a pout, scratching his knuckles over his stubble, "Just a quick wash, since it's so late, and I'll help this time, okay?"

"You do have an unkempt Pierce Brosnan/James Bond thing going, which is kind of sexy," I responded with a grin.

"Well, get over here, Ms Berry," Finn joked, "Bond always gets his girl."

I knew we were deliberately ignoring all the weighty issues that seemed to be swirling around us in a maelstrom of madness, but it felt so good to just be with Finn, flirting, teasing, and groping. He was groping, that is.

"Why, Mr. Hudson, remember where you are" I drawled from my place standing close at his bedside, while his hand snaked out to slide around my hip, pulling me even closer to him as he gently trailed his hand to cup my behind, "Finn, seriously, anyone walking by could see. Do you want to scandalize Nurse McCormick?"

"She'd probably just say something like, 'good to see you're feeling better, Mr. Hudson'," he said with his best imitation of the matronly nurse's no-nonsense tones, "I have a feeling she's seen a lot. It would take more than my hand on your butt to shock, Nurse McCormick, I think."

I wrung out the wash cloth I had brought over in the basin of soapy water, "Okay, you bad boy, close your eyes. I don't want to get soap in them."

Finn obediently shut his eyes, and I lightly scrubbed at his face and neck with the cloth in my hand before brushing it over his short hair with more force to get to his scalp. Finn moaned a little, "Mmm... that feels so good, Rach. You could do that all night."

I gently pressed on his back to indicate he should lean forward over the small container of water, so I could use the small water pitcher I'd brought with the basin to rinse him. I think we both enjoyed his sponge baths. There was something so intimate about bathing another person. I unsnapped the snaps that ran along the shoulders of his hospital gown and pulled the loose fabric from his broad muscular back. I brushed the rewetted cloth over his shoulders, chest and arms, carefully avoiding the bandages covering the incision running down his chest.

"Does it hurt much anymore?" I asked in what I hoped was a neutral tone.

"Only if I twist or move in certain ways. The surgeon says I'm lucky," Finn's ironic tone belied him when he smiled absently and went on to explain, "Because I'm young and in good shape, I'll heal faster. Still can't help thinking I'd've been a hell of a lot luckier not to be shot and then partially blinded in the first place."

I pushed the bed covers to one-side and started washing his legs and feet, and I pondered what he said while I washed his large feet, and up his muscular calves. His sudden chuckle, caused me to stop my ministrations, "Ticklish?"

"No, it feels great. I love your hands on me," Finn waved his hand dismissively, meanwhile not seeming to notice my eyes get big at his casual admission, "It's silly really. It just occurred to me how totally embarrassing you doing this would have been for me a year ago. Now it just seems so natural that you do this- not to mention hot. The naughty nurse thing never gets old with you." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

My washcloth covered hand continued its journey up his bare thigh, and Finn hissed in a breath as I replied, "Really? Your surgeon is a very smart man, I think."

"H-how's that, Rach?" Finn said a little distractedly at the same time I noticed the steady beat from his heart monitor wasn't quite so steady and certainly more rapid. Well, this probably wasn't good for someone who just had surgery little more than 2 days ago, not to mention someone could walk in any second.

"Errr...Finn, he's right in that your young and healthy and healing, which is exactly why I think you should help with your bath this time," I moved to hand him the cloth and placed the bin of soapy water within his reach on the bed.

Finn blushed profusely, "Rach, you don't know how much I wish we were in you apartment right now. I hate not being able to touch you like I want to. Especially now, when I'm leaving soon."

The heavily charged atmosphere of the room dispersed almost immediately at Finn's reference to his upcoming departure. I shuddered involuntarily and wrapped my arms around myself as all my earlier fears came coursing back in a rush of icy anxiety and frustration.

"Uh-oh," Finn expelled a breath as he put the washcloth back in the bin of soapy water, having quickly and modestly completed his bath, "Even though I still can't see perfectly clearly, I know that was the wrong thing to say. I know without even looking, you're drawing away and preparing to fight me again."

"You can feel it, I imagine," I moved the container of water and gently sat next to Finn on his bed, "Finn, please, I think... I know Burnside can't be trusted, and you're so vulnerable right now. Stay at least a few more days and heal. You need to have as much of your strength back as you possibly can before you go anywhere with that man. Dr. Fielding all but told me that the drug they found in Jameson's blood, the drug they're checking your blood for, is similar to a dangerous drug that the military experimented with years ago. It could kill you, Finn, and somehow I just know Burnside is involved, and what if he's using this drug on you?"

Finn didn't appear nearly as upset or surprised at this information, as I would have anticipated. In fact, he looked more determined than ever, "Rachel, even if that is the case, you have to trust me. I know what I'm doing. I have to go back with Burnside. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't. You must trust me on this."

Expelling a frustrated sigh, I realized I was making little progress in my arguments, "Finn, can you at least promise me one thing? Please."

Finn reached out his hand and felt for mine, "If it's possible, I will."

"Promise me you'll do anything you can to delay your return for as long as you can tomorrow. I need time. I'm going to try to talk to the NYPD detective on your case and see if they've made any headway on the possible links between Benning and your shooter and yourself," I explained.

"I don't know what I can do to delay, but I promise to try," Finn paused, in deep thought, as though he were choosing his next words carefully, "Rachel, about Detective Liskey..."

When Finn paused, I could tell he was debating with himself about what to say, I prodded him by saying, "What about Det. Liskey, Finn? Is there something I don't know about him? I've had the suspicion that he knows more than he's telling us about you and Jameson and your shooting."

As if naming the man could conjure him from thin air, he suddenly appeared in the doorway of Finn's room, and I started. Almost midnight, and the very man Finn and I were discussing talking about showed up!

"You were right, Mr. Hudson," the NYPD detective's keen eyes assessed me from under his sandy brows, "She's a sharp one. Forgive me Ms Berry, for eavesdropping," he said the last word with irony, making it apparent that Dr. Fielding had told him that I overheard their earlier conversation, concerning testing Finn's blood for the compound that had been found in Jameson's.

"I told you, sir, I wouldn't be able to keep this from her," Finn responded, glancing at the detective before turning his gaze to me, "Rachel, this is Special Agent Alex Simons with the FBI, who has been posing as a police detective as part of his cover. He's part of an investigation into a secret drug operation involving testing on recruits at Fort Benning. He came and spoke with me this morning before you and Santana and Kurt got here."

The FBI man spoke softly, "There have been developments since we last spoke, Mr. Hudson. A couple of hours ago an attempt was made on Jameson's life, which was already tenuous at best. We suspect Burnside is getting desperate. This moves up our timetable significantly. You may have to be ready to move tonight."

"So you are not with the NYPD then?" I interrupted, looking at Special Agent Simons, formerly Detective Liskey, as he shook his head, "Somehow I'm not surprised. Finn, you said he came to see you this morning before we confronted you about the drugs. So all the indignation about you using and that Burnside was involved was an act? You're a better actor than even I thought you were. And what is this about you moving tonight?" I felt so many emotions, it was difficult to settle on one. Certainly I felt betrayed that Finn had denied any knowledge in the matter earlier with Santana, Kurt, and me. It also went a long way in explaining Finn's seemingly irrational insistence on returning to Fort Benning with Burnside, which now appeared to be part of some plan to trap Burnside, but there was still so much that I didn't understand. Overwhelmingly, I felt sick panic at the thought of Finn willingly putting himself in Burnside's clutches in hopes of catching the villain.

Finn's countenance changed to a hard mask, and he unwittingly squeezed my hand with such force it hurt a little as he said, "I'm so sorry, Rach. Agent Simons swore me to secrecy, and there was too much at stake to risk tipping Burnside off. I didn't want to keep this from you- but it has taken Special Agent Simons years to get this close to catching Burnside and the other men involved in this scheme. They think there's even someone at the Pentagon involved. You'll understand once you hear it all. You should know this is related to my dad. That son-of-a-bitch, Burnside, good as killed my father, and now he's trying for me."

So hope it was worth the wait! Part of the mystery has been revealed. More to come. Reviews are therapy for my Season 4 Finchel despondency!