Tom and Emily found Finn and Rachel sitting together in the kitchen having coffee. It was way too early for any of them. Finn looked haggard; Rachel, worried.

"I'm sorry, guys," Finn said. "Nights this bad are very, very, rare now. To be honest, I was hoping they had gone altogether."

"It's okay, Finn," Tom said, gently. He walked to the coffee maker, but before pouring asked, "You were able to make coffee this morning, right?"

It was the perfect thing to say. Finn just shook his head, rolled his eyes, and life appeared in his face. His laughter brought a smile to Rachel's face, and soon all of them were sitting around, talking easily. But it reminded Finn that he wasn't the only one in the process of integration; Rachel and his friends were too, integrating him into their lives. And they were at a distinct disadvantage, because they had no idea what he had been through, or how he felt. So he decided to tell them, in the best way he knew how.

"Guys, take your coffee and meet me in the living room. I have something to say." Finn smiled and squeezed Rachel's hand reassuringly. She responded with that look of love and trust he had come to adore. He then disappeared into their bedroom, and emerged with a guitar. Rachel, Tom and Emily sat on the couch, expectant. He sat opposite them, cross-legged on the floor, on the other side of the coffee table.

"Last night makes me realize that you guys have signed on for some things that you may not have expected. As you may have guessed, I haven't been able to leave everything about Afghanistan behind, or at least process it so it doesn't spook the natives." He smiled quickly, hoping they'd take his joke the right way. They did.

"We used to call going home going back to The World, because that was where everything was supposed to make sense. But a lot of it doesn't, especially when you first get back, after being immersed in the kind of savagery there is over there, because, over there you have to adapt to that very quickly and completely, or go mad. What becomes normal for you is nothing but madness and nightmares to your loved ones. The feeling that really eats at you is the desire to be normal again, to enjoy the simple things, and the fear that you may never be able to do that." The others didn't speak, but he saw tears in Rachel's and Emily's eyes. He smiled.

"I'm trying, and I think I've succeeded for the most part. I hope you can give me a little more time, but until then, here's a song Red taught me in Sheridan, by a great songwriter and guitarist named Richard Thompson. It describes how I felt, and where I want to get better than anything I've ever heard. "

He began to pick out a soft, slow, delicate melody, and started to sing in his low, warm voice:

Oh she danced in the street with the guns all around her
All torn like a rag doll, barefoot in the rain
And she sang like a child, toora-day toora-daddy
Oh how will I ever be simple again

She sat by the banks of the dirty grey river
And tried for a fish with a worm on a pin
There was nothing but fever and ghosts in the water
Oh how will I ever be simple again

War was my love and my friend and companion
And what did I care for the pretty and plain
But her smile was so clear and my heart was so troubled
Oh how will I ever be simple again

In her poor burned-out house I sat at her table
The smell of her hair was like cornfields in May
And I wanted to weep and my eyes ached from trying
Oh how will I ever be simple again

So graceful she moved through the dust and the ruin
And happy she was in her dances and games
Oh teach me to see with your innocent eyes, love
Oh how will I ever be simple again
Oh how will I ever be simple again

He had trouble singing the last couple of lines, but by that time Rachel, Tom and Emily had come over , to huddle next to him, keeping him company, no matter what.

XXXXxxxx

She was standing on stage in a tight, short, black dress, convincing hundreds of people that her character had just destroyed her lover's life in order to keep him. The stage lights highlighted her face, those eyes, burning with the desperate fever of unrequited love, but also with triumph, knowing that she carried their son, the merging of their flesh, the bond that would chain her appalled lover to her forever. Her powerful voice compelled the audience to witness the personal destruction of an innocent man, brutally overpowering the desperate, human urge to turn away.

It was an exceptionally unnerving performance in an equally extraordinary musical. One critic wrote:

Tom Foley's often gorgeously melodic score lulls one into complacency, compounding the horror of being dragged into hell, unable to even scream, by Rachel Berry's obsessed, narcissistic Sally Jones.

He sat, where he dreamed he would, in the very front row. Her talent washed over him, picked him up like an irresistible wave, and carried him away. He surrendered to the power of her art, because she dedicated it, all of it, to him, and like she said, all he ever wanted was for her to be able to do what she loved, what she was born to do. Seeing her wring every ounce of feeling from an audience told him that it was all worth it, all seven years. Seeing her beaming down at him as she took her bows, Finn Hudson felt the Universe give in.

He didn't hear the audience screaming around him. He didn't see the other cast members. All he saw was her, and all she saw was him; one final, glorious integration of souls.

And he knew that he was finally home, in The World.

FIN

A/N: Many thanks to those readers who hung in and enjoyed the story. It was a pleasure and an honor.

Lyrics are from "How Will I Ever Be Simple Again", by Richard Thompson