A/N: Seriously sorry for the long wait for this chapter. When real life takes over, it does so in grand style. To anyone who is still reading, please let me know (even though I'm not getting notifications of anything anymore, apparently, so I'll check manually) and thank you for your patience and your attention and your kindness. I hope you all have an amazing year.

Song credit: Come Home by Ryan Adams

Chapter Eleven: Tomorrow You'll Be Fine

Rachel looked over at the stupid breathing thing and fought the urge to knock it off the table. She had never thought it would be difficult to use her own lung power, condensed through a tube, to push a ball to the top of something; or to make the ball levitate for a set amount of time. The small machine wasn't close to the only thing frustrating her because it refused to just bend to her sheer will, but it was the only thing she could even take it out on while she was trapped in the hospital.

Other than a really weird text from Finn (she could only assume it was song lyrics but the Google on her phone hadn't found anything and he hadn't answered her when she asked what song it was), she had only talked to him once, very briefly the next morning his time and all he said was he still wasn't sure but he was 'working on it'. Funny how that failed to actually console her in any way. She rolled her eyes again at the thought and checked her phone, even though after almost three days she had no hope she'd heard something else from him.

She pursed her lips together. When they had talked the day after her breakdown, he had told her the band was progressing in the competition and she heard a quiet resignation to his words, like he was trapped in Ohio by the revelation. Like maybe he wasn't coming. And then he had just not called again. It wasn't as though she was going anywhere anytime soon. He was the one running crazy and he hadn't called, so she kind of wondered what that meant. Was he totally just cutting and running?

They had assured her she'd be in the hospital for at least two more days even though the antibiotics were working this time. She was starting to feel a little better, a little less like she'd been punched in the chest with all the effort it took just to breathe, and now she just wished the other feelings would go away, too. It was starting to turn into panic and instead of feeling like broken lungs, was coming dangerously close to feeling like a broken heart. He didn't want to even make time to talk to her, let alone make time to come to her—and right after she'd swallowed a lot more pride than one ever ought to have to and admitted she needed him.

She cast a baleful glance at the phone in her lap and fought the urge to call her dad again. Hiram had been wonderful to his only daughter, dutifully listening to her rough and raspy rambling as she emptied out her frustration at everything—her husband's absence, her job's peril, the feeling that she was starting all the way over with everything. And it wasn't even like she could go sing about it. She felt like everything worth anything was gone. And no, she wasn't sure which was worse – feeling depressed or knowing it was going to get worse with no possible solution. Her respiratory therapist had actually recommended speaking to a psychologist because she seemed 'down' and he thought she might have some sort of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

She finally discarded the need to call her father based on two things. First was that it wasn't yet six a.m. in their world and, given Leroy had come out of surgery in the late afternoon (a little more than twelve hours previous, if she wasn't getting too bogged down in the time difference), she had to assume both her fathers were resting. Second, she supposed she had to get used to doing things on her own; this setback wasn't going to make her quit her job and she already knew at least that much. She picked up the breathing machine, not with the intent of throwing it, but the intent of practicing. Her first step would be getting the hell out of the hospital and strengthening her lungs was the fastest way to do that, so she'd go back to her former life philosophy – practice was the only way she could do something perfectly. And not doing it perfectly (as had been the case during a disastrous RT session this morning) only meant she needed to practice more. He'd encouraged her to do it as often as possible—hourly, even.

She didn't even notice the nurse that walked in because it wasn't like that was anything extraordinary; it happened almost constantly. They'd checked on her a little less now that she was sitting up and could function on her own as far as going to the restroom or whatever else, but it still wasn't odd for a nurse to come in during the middle of the day.

She did notice the person following the nurse, though, and it probably would've been comical to watch the ball in the spirometer drop when she stopped concentrating on it and then dropped the whole thing entirely.

"Hey, babe," Finn said, almost pushing the poor nurse out of the way so he could get to Rachel and get his hands on her. The relief in just those two words was palpable and it brought tears to her eyes.

"You're here," she said simply. They were still hugging but she moved so he had a little room on the bed and he dropped down without letting her go even a little.

"I'm here," he agreed. "Finally."

"How is this possible? You were at the hospital when Daddy had his surgery and…"

He backed away from her a little bit and brushed his fingers over her forehead. "Yeah, but it's just 'cause my plane left right after that. I had barely enough time to get to the airport and I think your dad was gonna push me out the window in the fourth floor waiting area if it had left any later."

"What? Why didn't you call or text or …"

"I had to leave my phone off while we were at the hospital," he said. "And then I hurried to the airport and I forgot about it and who cares 'cause here I am. Plus my phone battery is like, beyond dead," he admitted. "So I couldn't call when I landed and…and yeah. Here I am." He kissed her forehead and hugged her to him again. She could almost smell him, but she tried so hard to breathe him in that she started coughing a little (a lot) and had to pull away.

He watched her with a frown, letting his hand fall to rest on her blanketed thigh as she coughed and it grew a little more violent before it tapered off, sounding like she almost got tired of it. His eyes landed on the thing she'd been using when he walked in and he picked it up curiously, looking at it without asking a question until she was done.

"What's this?"

"A spirometer," she said simply. "I have to practice breathing into it to rebuild my lung capacity."

He just nodded and reached out to set it on the same table it had been on before she started. "Oh," he finally added. He looked over at her with a look she could honestly only describe as a dirty look and his voice was lower when he answered, too. "I can think of a few ways to do that," he admitted. He leaned forward to kiss her gently. He pulled away eventually, like maybe he didn't really want to, and she settled back against her bed.

Breathing exercises and premature heartbreak were exhausting and it all sort of slid into her at once.

"So start from the last time I talked to you and tell me everything," she requested.

He grinned and took her hand once she was settled because that was the mostRachel-like thing she'd said in several days. "Okay, um. I had flowers but they wouldn't let me bring them up. The nurse said I was sweet but then she took them out of my hand."

She laughed and it faded into a cough and she closed her eyes a little. It was like now that he was here, she could rest. His hand was warm in hers and his voice was warm over her and she thought maybe she could relax and it wasn't so just hopeless.

"Anyway…um. Well, I guess you called your dad after I talked to you and told you about the band going on in the contest and you were really sad and he said…" she could hear him swallow a little even though her eyes were closed. "He told me I was failing you and that it was unacceptable."

She sighed and dragged her eyes open. "Oh, I…that's not what I said."

"Maybe not, but he wasn't wrong," he said. He gave her hand a squeeze. "So he shoved a plane ticket in my hands and then took my car keys because some guy is probably buying my car at the beginning of next week and said we'd call it a trade. And the flight left right after Leroy's surgery."

"What about the band contest?"

He squeezed her hand again. "Oh, yeah um my part of that's done. I recorded three songs in two days."

She let out a disbelieving squeak of a laugh. "You…so let me get this." He waited patiently while she breathed in slowly. He frowned when she was finally sniffly enough from the low-level crying that she pulled the cannula out of her nose. "You talked to me, recorded, spent time with my dads, sold your car, and then flew here? In three days?"

"And I packed up the rest of the stuff I don't have here and got it ready to ship," he said.

"When did you sleep?"

"Ummm….." he hesitated. "Looking at you, I'm gonna guess that'll happen in five minutes or so."

She nodded and tugged on his hand as she slipped the tube back into her nose. "Yes. Let's do that." Her eyes were already closed but she heard his bag hit the floor and felt the bed shift as he laid down next to her with his head on her stomach and his legs curled up as tight as he could get them. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wasn't relieved to know they could both fit into a hospital bed, but she wasn't going to dwell on it or think of anytime it might be necessary knowledge in the future.

Getting her discharged from the hospital wasn't the hard part. Getting her home from the hospital—not the hard part. Getting her to sit still and let him take care of her the way he was supposed to and the way he wanted to? That was so the fucking hard part.

She needed to clean the apartment. She wanted to keep the clothes she'd been wearing during the fire even though they smelled like a campfire so bad he was afraid it would, like, infect the entire closet. And that was coming from him, the guy who had lived out of a gym locker for most of high school and big chunks of college, and in a room she complained smelled like feet. She wanted to cook him dinner. It was sweet, he argued, but he had survived for close to a decade without her cooking him dinner; it could wait a couple of weeks until she felt better and was back on her feet. He knew she was grateful he was home, but really, all he needed was for her to jump him and it would be fine.

(Which she's done as soon as they were home and she (they) had showered in her (their) own shower.)

He finally got her to lay down once the cough syrup they gave her kicked in. Apparently, hydrocodone was one substance that counteracted Rachel's personality to the point she would succumb to anything and in his world, 'anything' included sleep at that point. He would never understand how she had to give in to get to sleep. She just fought to stay awake which he didn't necessarily get all the time. Whatever. He was busy making carrot chowder when his mom called and yeah, he wanted to take care of his wife but no, he hadn't really thought about how that would possibly include cooking for a vegan.

"Hey, mom," he said, balancing his phone carefully as he added the chopped celery into the big pot.

"Hey, Finn," she echoed. "Thanks for calling me to let me know you landed."

"Ugh, sorry." He put the lid on the pot and turned away to wipe his hands on a towel. "I got here fine and my phone was dead and I went straight to the hospital and then…" he leaned back against the stove a little. "…I haven't done anything really but I feel like I got my ass handed to me."

"So where are you now?" She asked. He couldn't hear anything in the background and he wondered if today was a day off work for her. He'd ask in a minute. He felt kind of like a bad son for not even knowing. Let alone not calling his mom when he landed on a different continent. He'd have to get her something really kickass for Mother's Day next month….if he had a job by then.

"Home," he sighed. "They discharged her yesterday."

"Well that's good," Carole said. "So why are you exhausted? Or do I even want to know?"

He rolled his eyes a little. "No, she's not…" he lowered his voice just in case. Their apartment was tiny and with his luck, she wasn't actually asleep. "She's not the easiest person to just, like, take care of. She kind of fights me every step of the way."

There was some rustling against the phone and a really long pause. "I would think she'd love a doting husband. She's always kind of loved having your full attention."

"Are you laughing at me?" He asked. There was something in her voice.

"No…no," she said firmly and she totally was laughing at him. "You are just a guy who needs to be needed, and you managed to fall in love with some really independent women. You have to admit that it's amusing."

"It's frustrating," he summed up. "But she's home and she's getting better and that's all that matters to me at this point. I'm just glad she's gonna be okay." He knew the relief in his voice was palpable but he was talking to his mom. He was allowed to be annoyed, frustrated, relieved, tired, or whatever else he wanted.

"We all really are, sweetheart," she agreed. "I sent something over to her fathers as well to let them know we're thinking of them; any idea how Leroy Berry is doing?"

Finn nodded a little. "Yeah. Um, Rachel's new computer came the first day I was back so we got it all set up and she talked to him on Skype. Honestly, she looks worse than he does." He shrugged and then moved quick as he felt the heat from the stove seeping through his jeans pocket where he was leaning a little too close to the burner. "I think she's gonna try to call him when she wakes up. I know she wants to."

"I'm not sure how to take that, her looking worse than her father who just had open heart surgery," Carole said lowly. "I mean, she really is my daughter for all intents and purposes. You would tell me if she weren't okay, right?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, of course I would. She just can't breathe right and she's kinda weak and she can't really talk much without coughing. The doctor offered me like Xanax or something if it would help me relax 'cause I told him she just… she's just not quite normal, you know? But he promised she would be, it would just take time."

"Maybe I should come help you for a little while," she suggested. He immediately wanted to protest, but it was like he couldn't bring himself to do it because that actually sounded really, really good. "I mean, you got that caretaking thing from somewhere and our passports just came this morning."

"That…um. That would actually be amazing, mom," he agreed. He leaned back against the stove again for a second before he actually pressed his back against the warm pot and jerked forward again; his t-shirt was not thick enough and now he remembered why he hadn't been standing like that to begin with. The last thing they really needed was for Rachel to escape an office fire without burns and then for him to burn himself cooking her dinner.

"Okay, sweetheart. I'll look into tickets and let you know when I can get there."

The doorbell chirped and he swore like it was a gut reaction. His mom laughed. "Okay, mom. Shit, I hope that didn't wake her up," he breathed, moving fast toward the door. He'd made sure the bedroom door at the end of the apartment was tightly closed but he wasn't sure a doorbell couldn't penetrate or whatever. The door wasn't soundproof.

Carole just laughed. "Go answer the door and cook your wife dinner and I'll call you soon, Finn. I love you."

He was just pulling the door open as she spoke. "Yeah, okay. I love you, too. Bye." He hung up and realized he was face-to-face with Rachel's boss. "Hello, Mr. Jones."

"Please, after all this, I think you could quite rightly call me Matt. May I have just a moment of your time, and perhaps Rachel's as well?" Finn just nodded and stepped aside so he could get through and somehow, in their tiny apartment, Matt Jones didn't seem quite so intimidating or even snotty.

It wasn't until Matt turned that Finn noticed he had a small, open box in his hands. "They've already demolished the building, but allowed us to go through the building on a bit of a salvage mission beforehand. The other members of our group were able to join me, but I believe these items are Rachel's. Is she home?"

Finn nodded. "Yeah, she is, but she's finally asleep."

"Oh," Matt said and nodded. "I suppose that's a good thing, then." He pushed the box toward Finn and Finn took it awkwardly. "I took the liberty of writing a letter to her, which is also inside," he tipped his head toward the box. "I was disallowed from coming to visit her during her stay in the hospital, but I'm terribly sorry for what she's dealing with. I… I've no idea why the stairwell I went out was passable and the one she chose was not. Perhaps I should've stuck with her more closely, but…"

Finn just shrugged and rolled his eyes a little, feeling the weight of the box shifting up and down with his awkward dismissal. "She told me it was basically chaos in that building. Plus, you can't change what's done and she's gonna be fine, so…I'm sure she won't even accept your apology." His mouth tipped into a half smile. "She's actually, as far as I know, kind of anxious to get back to work. She said something about getting down what she remembers as soon as possible."

Matt nodded. "Well…best not to rush it. I'm not sure if she yet knows or not, but she will continue to be paid in full the entire time she's recuperating. My production company is also covering her medical expenses."

"Are you…" he raised his eyebrows. "Are you serious?"

Matt cracked a little bit of a smile, and if Finn were being honest, he was surprised the stern man's face didn't, like actually crack. "Quite. We want her focused solely on feeling better. There is some legal action against the arsonists in question as well that may recoup some of the funds, but…" Matt shrugged. "I won't trouble you with the details. I'm sure you've got your hands full already."

"Maybe a little," Finn admitted, his grin spreading as he ducked his head. He could see inside the box he was holding and yeah, basically none of this junk was gonna be much good. He could already kind of smell the dry, smoky scent from all of it. It was actually a little gross and he hoped even the smell wouldn't somehow hurt her because he was sure she'd go through the items in detail as soon as she knew there was even a box. "She's a little…um… stubborn."

"And it appears you are a little diplomatic," Matt countered. "Regardless, I'll leave you to it, but please have her phone me when she's up to doing so. There is no pressure for her to return to work whatsoever, but she is very welcome and we will be anxiously awaiting it."

Finn nodded. "Okay. Yeah, I mean I'll have her call you."

"Thank you, Mr. Hudson."

"Finn."

"Ah, okay then. Thank you, Finn."

The apartment was small and, despite being inside, they were really just a few steps from the door. Finn walked him out, still holding the box. There was nothing in there that couldn't wait for another time. Because, now that he was back with her, there was no more hurry. They really had all the time in the world and he was actually pretty sure that, come tomorrow or the next day or maybe next week – everything would be fine.