A/N: A big thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed "Footprints in the Snow," my very first Glee fic. Now that I've written one, I just can't stop. This will be a multi-chapter. However, be forewarned: Unlike many of the amazing writers on this site, my updates come approximately once a week. I'll try to get them up sooner, but that's really all I can promise. I hope you'll bear with me. ;-)

Disclaimer: I dreamt they were mine once, and then I woke up.

Disclaimer 2: The songs contained herein belong to Garth Brooks and Jordin Sparks. The poem was penned by an anonymous author.

~*~

Seven Years Ago . . .

"Finn, good!" Rachel cried, rushing across the auditorium as her features split into a wide grin. "I was wondering when you were going to get here. We have so much to do before graduation."

A half-smile wavered upon Finn's lips, quickly dying away as he scuffed the linoleum floor with the toe of his sneaker. "Sorry," he mumbled, unable to meet Rachel's excited brown gaze when she slipped her arms around his waist. And when he failed to return her kiss, quick yet passionate as she pushed her warm lips against his mouth, she blinked in surprise and studied him carefully.

"Is something wrong, Finn?" she queried, her forehead creasing in concern. "You said you'd be here an hour ago, and you're not usually so late. Well," she amended thoughtfully, her voice raising half an octave, "Unless you oversleep or get caught up in those video games you like to play. But you haven't done that in a long time. Not since –"

"Everything's fine," he assured her, unwinding her arms and taking a step back. "I just . . . had some things I had to take care of first, that's all." Even as he said the words, even as they hung uncertain and awkward in the air between them, he couldn't help the jolt of self-reproach which pierced his chest. He hated lying to Rachel. He hated keeping secrets from her. Ever since that day in the auditorium over a year before – that weird yet wonderful day when he'd finally realized just how much she meant to him – he had told her everything. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to tell her what was happening now.

Even so, she seemed to know. Rachel always seemed to know. It was sometimes eerie how much she understood, how much she knew him. Almost like she really was psychic, or like she could read his mind. "Is something wrong, Finn?" she asked in a small voice, and his self-reproach increased when he noticed the shadow of hurt flicker across her face.

He opened his mouth to respond, possibly even to come clean. He could feel the words forming at the back of his throat, the truth coalescing upon his tongue. But before he could say anything, before he could even consider what he wanted to say, he felt his mouth snapping shut. He felt his feet taking another step back. And he felt himself shutting down. "I told you," he replied, an angry flutter of remorse prickling through his veins, "I'm fine."

She stared at him for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. He willed her to let it go, just this once. To leave him be, to stop trying to get him to talk. She had never been one to back down, especially when it concerned him. And while he usually loved that about her – while he usually loved everything about her, from her perky smile to her amazing voice to her enormous heart – he couldn't deal with it now. Not today. Not when he'd just discovered that . . .

"I don't believe you," she admitted, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her eyes continued to bore holes into his face, her mouth setting itself into a firm line. "Something's wrong. Finn, why won't you talk to me?" Her tone was demanding yet concerned, stern yet gentle all at once. It caused his heart to skip even while his throat tightened and his stomach knotted from suppressed tension.

"Would you just let it be?" he exploded, punching the air in frustration.

"Fine," Rachel cried, staring at him in shocked disbelief.

"Good,"Finn replied, gritting his teeth against the wave of regret he felt when he registered the look on her face.

"Do you still want to practice our song?" she asked quietly.

Taking a deep breath, pushing away the emotions roiling through his gut, Finn almost shook his head no. He almost allowed himself to make up some excuse, to walk out of the auditorium, to disappear. But when he gazed at his girlfriend, when he saw her standing there in her plaid purple skirt and her kneehigh stockings and her lavender t-shirt, he realized that he couldn't do that. In that moment, she looked so much like a little girl that he wanted to wrap her in his arms. In that moment, she looked so much like the young woman he'd fallen in love with that he wanted to kiss away all the pain he'd caused.

"Okay," he grunted, shrugging noncommitally. "Let's practice."

"Okay," Rachel repeated, the uncertainty of her voice a stark contrast from her usual confident demeanor. But when she reached out to take his hand, when her arm brushed against his bare skin and her lips quirked into a tentative smile, he found himself following her to the stage. And when the melodious notes of the CD echoed through the auditorium a moment later, her confidence seemed to return.

It was only later, when they found themselves alone again, that everything came crashing to a horrible halt and the world stopped making sense. But then, he wondered if it had ever made much sense to begin with.

~*~

Present Day . . .

"Of course, Sir," Finn said quickly, holding his cell phone tightly against his ear as he sidestepped a neverending crowd of talkative pedestrians. "No, it's no problem."

Walking rapidly along the sidewalk, he barely noticed where he was going. He barely had the time to care. His boss was rattling off commands faster than Nolan Ryan could pitch. Taxi cabs whirled by, their cacaphony of horns mingling with the distinct chatter of passersby, yet Finn failed to pay them any attention. The sky gradually darkened to a steely gray, the humid air turning slightly cold, yet Finn didn't even register the change. Stepping out into the busy Time Square traffic, his thoughts were so focused that he didn't notice the tour bus careening in his direction. He didn't hear the blare of the horn, or register the screech of the brakes. It was only when he heard a stranger's scream that he shook himself from his stupor and jumped back onto the curb.

"Finn?" Mr. Carson demanded, his tone brusque yet concerned. "You there, Son?"

"Sorry, Mr. Carson," Finn replied, willing his heartrate to return to a normal rhythm. "I'd forgotten how impatient New York drivers can be."

The low hum of chuckling sounded across the phone lines, and Finn slowly felt himself relax. Glancing in either direction, he stepped into the busy street and finally made his way to the other side of the intersection. "So what were you saying about Apple, Sir?" he prodded, redirecting the conversation back to the matter at hand.

However, it appeared that his boss had other ideas in mind. "Finn, when was the last time you took the night off?" he queried, and Finn could almost see him stroking his chin in thought.

"Uh, I don't know, Sir," he answered truthfully, furrowing his brow. "I guess a couple of weeks ago." The reality of his statement wasn't lost on either man. In actuality, Finn hadn't taken a vacation in over three years, he hadn't taken a day off in over two, and he rarely if ever enjoyed a quiet night to himself. If he'd seen himself now while he was still in high school, the younger version of Finn Hudson would have probably kicked his ass. But then, he mused thoughtfully as he paused outside an overhang, the younger version of Finn Hudson had never dealt with the things he'd had to deal with.

"Take the night off, Finn," his boss interrupted, jolting him from his reverie.

Finn's eyes flew wide at the statement, uttered by the man who had always encouraged him to be a go-getter. "But what about Apple, Sir?" he insisted. They had been trying to make this deal for weeks, and his boss was telling him to take the night off? "We have that meeting –"

"Tomorrow afternoon," Mr. Carson interrupted, before sighing into the receiver. "Listen, kid. You're the best damn employee I've got, but I'll be darned if I'm going to let you kill yourself because you're working too hard."

Shaking his head in denial, Finn leaned hard against the cool window of a small bakery. "Sir, I'm fine –"

"You're not fine, Finn," Mr. Carson interrupted again, causing Finn's shoulders to slump. And when silence met the man's accusation, his stomach clenched as he waited for his boss to continue. "Listen," the man finally said, his tone tinged with seriousness, "I know I've always encouraged you to fight for everything you want, and to work until you've reached the top. But you haven't taken a vacation for years, Finn. When I look at you, I see dark circles underneath your eyes and a young man who hasn't slept well for weeks. When I watch you work, I see someone who's lost all joy in life. If you don't start taking better care of yourself, Mr. Hudson, then it won't just be your work that will suffer. Believe me," he said after another lengthy pause. "I know."

The ominous sound of his words caused Finn's chest to twist, even as he found himself agreeing with what was said. It was true, after all. He hadn't slept well in weeks. He hadn't taken time off in years. He hadn't stopped working in as long as he could remember. But had he really lost all joy in life? Had he really become the sort of drone that Mr. Carson was describing?

Unbidden, an image popped into Finn's mind, as clear and distinct as the busy New York street sprawled before his eyes. A long stage with flashing lights and the sounds of a piano. An audience full of people, each with their eyes fixed upon the stage, each with their hands clasped expectantly in their laps. And a group of kids with shining faces and broad smiles, their voices harmonious as they sang as one.

And along with that image, along with the memory that sent his pulse racing and caused an unfamiliar gleam to enter his coffee brown eyes, was the silhouette of a gorgeous young diva. A tiny girl, a beautiful young woman who had stolen his heart. Who had opened his eyes and made him see things he had never thought possible. Who had taken his hand and made him feel things he had never thought he'd feel.

It was something he hadn't thought about for a long time.

And suddenly, he realized why he'd stopped when he had. He realized why he was staring across the street, fixed in place as a pattern of bright lights burned themselves into his retinas. A hesitant smile spread across his face as he took in the sign, reading the words which glittered across the way: "LES MISERABLES. TICKETS ON SALE NOW."

For some reason, the very idea of seeing a broadway musical had never occurred to him. As dedicated as he was to his high school Glee Club, as much as he'd always loved music, he'd never considered taking a break and seeing a musical. But as he stared at the sign, as he studied the words, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with his night off.

"You know what, Mr. Carson?" he finally said, unable to suppress the grin which lit up his face. "I think I might take you up on that offer after all."

~*~

Seven Years Ago . . .

Rachel Berry was concerned. As she stood at the front of the stage in her flowing red gown and mortarboard hat, holding the microphone that was rightfully hers while she waited for the harmonious chords of music to begin, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Finn Hudson had never kept something from her during their entire relationship, but he was keeping something from her now. Of that, she was certain. But even with her fluid delivery of speech and her mastery of persuasion, she hadn't been able to get him to talk. It was a problem she'd never had before, and she didn't like it.

Even so, she forced a gleaming grin into place and stood up straight as the opening chords of music echoed across the auditorium. Finn was in the appropriate place by her side, and she reached out to take his hand before belting out the opening notes. The difficulty was, she felt him stiffen as his fingers closed over her own. He had never stiffened at her touch before. He had never pulled away when she kissed him before, either. What on earth was happening?

You know a dream is like a river
Ever changin' as it flows
And a dreamer's just a vessel
That must follow where it goes
Trying to learn from what's behind you
And never knowing what's in store
Makes each day a constant battle
Just to stay between the shores . . .

Her clear, dulcet tones melded together with the other members of New Directions', their combined voices causing the audience to smile appreciatively. But even as Rachel hit each note, even as she lost herself in the music, she couldn't stop her concern from growing into fullblown worry. Finn was not behaving like his usual carefree self. In fact, he was as far from carefree as possible. He had missed two notes, and she realized that he was feverishly scanning the auditorium. But for what?

Too many times we stand aside
And let the waters slip away
'Til what we put off 'til tomorrow
Has now become today
So don't you sit upon the shoreline
And say you're satisfied
Choose to chance the rapids
And dare to dance the tide . . .

He had been distant since yesterday morning, when he showed up late for rehearsal. Had she done something wrong? Was it something that she'd said? She wracked her mind, trying to remember the last conversation they'd had. It had focused on their impending trip to New York; on their plans to move to the City for college soon after graduation. As far as she could remember, everything had gone smoothly. Actually, it had gone more than smoothly, she remembered with a small flutter of her stomach and a twitch of her lips.

That was it. She was just going to have to talk to him. She was going to sit him down and explain that he was acting oddly, and then demand that he tell her what was going on. Sometimes Rachel Berry had to take the lead, and this appeared to be one of those times. She would not back down.

There's bound to be rough waters
And I know I'll take some falls
But with the good Lord as my captain
I can make it through them all . . .

Her mind made up, Rachel finished the song with gusto, holding her chin out with pride when the audience gave them the standing ovation they deserved. She could hardly wait until graduation was over so she could talk to Finn. She could hardly wait to get everything out into the open so that they could start their new life together as high school graduates.

The problem was, when the festivities came to an end and the diplomas had been handed out, Finn Hudson was nowhere in sight. He had deserted her at their very own graduation, without so much as a good-bye.

~*~

Present Day . . .

Rachel Berry stared at herself in her lit-up circular mirror, a determined glint in her eyes and a bright smile on her face as she brushed a healthy amount of blusher onto her cheekbones. After years of collegiate study and auditions, and months of rehearsals and sound checks, she was finally getting ready for her first big night with the Company. It seemed almost like a dream, being backstage as her fellow actors bustled about, preparing for that night's show. Even though she'd always known she would make it – she was Rachel Berry, after all – she couldn't believe that it was finally happening. She couldn't believe that she was finally here, that she was finally getting ready to shine.

Sure, she'd be shining in the chorus with many other hopeful young divas. And there was a chance that she'd be hidden behind scenery for much of the night. But that didn't change the fact that she was finally getting her big break. That didn't change the fact that she was the understudy to the understudy for Eponine.

So why is it, she wondered, her lips puckering in confusion, That I don't feel like a star?

It was the weirdest feeling. She had always dreamed of this night. She had always dreamed of the moment when she'd emerge upon a broadway stage, thousands of people watching her every move. And she had always known exactly how she would feel when it happened. She would feel as though she was the happiest person alive, as if all of her dreams were coming true. She would feel as though she was lighter than air.

For some reason, the realization caused goose bumps to break out onto her skin. Lighter than air. And suddenly, a strain of song wafted through her mind, an echo of music sounding from the distant past.

If I should die before I wake
It's 'cause you took my breath away
Losing you is like living in a world with no air . . .

Shivering slightly as the memory weighed heavily upon her thoughts, she wrapped her arms around her slender frame and attempted to push the recollection aside. Unfortunately, it only seemed to return all the stronger. And along with the memory, along with the silent song was an image. An image of a tall, muscular boy with russet hair and the sweetest smile she had ever known. An image of the boy who had stolen her heart. An image of the young man she had tried to forget, even when forgetting proved to be impossible.

Biting her lower lip, Rachel leaned forward and stared at herself in the mirror. Get a grip, Rachel, she ordered herself. You can't do this. Not here. Not now. Finn is gone, and you have to move on. What is that poem about letting go? If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it is yours. If it doesn't, it was never meant to be. Nodding resolutely, she forced herself to focus entirely on that poem, to focus entirely on the night ahead. This was too important; her dreams were too important. She wasn't going to let anything – or anyone – ruin them for her.

"Hey, Berry!" The stage manager called, interrupting her reverie.

Blinking away her thoughts, Rachel turned to face the wiry man. "Hmm?" she questioned blankly.

"Is everything okay?" The man grunted, arching a brow.

"Yes, of course," Rachel nodded, taking a deep breath and sitting up straighter in her chair. "Why?"

"Good," the stage manager replied gruffly. "Because you're on in five."

Rachel's stomach knotted as the curtain rose and the opening notes of Les Miserables began to sound to a packed house. This was it.