Alas I'm continuing my multiple stories at a time trend, along with my dark theme trend. I think it's the impending graduation of our favorite gleeks that's putting me in this sad fanfic mood, that and I'm reading The Road and The Walking Dead at the same time, add that to the fact that I'm already an angst whore and you can kind of see where my head's at right now. So anyway, post apocalyptic Finchel, because why the hell not at this point?

It was her or the house, it wasn't even a question. They were outnumbered, outgunned, they would have done anything to her to get that house. They may have been good people once, they probably were. Bad people would have killed them both without hesitation, but they let them both go quietly, not even requesting a "visit" with her beforehand. He wouldn't have let them hurt her, he would have died before letting them hurt her, but the house they could have. They knew that it was only a matter of time before they were forced to leave the home they built together before the world turned to ash, it was an inevitability, it was a constantly looming threat that kept them from ever getting too comfortable. He didn't sleep most nights, electing to lie awake, the gun wrapped tightly in his hand as she slept beneath him, his body blanketing her, protecting her, making her warm. She's always cold these days, she was thin before, short, tiny, like a pixie in love with a giant, but she's too skinny now, frighteningly so. He's thin too, he knows it, but he isn't fragile like she is, not yet.

He wishes it were summer, he wishes that they would have held off a little longer to uproot them, but they had always anticipated it happening in the winter, that's when people started to get desperate. Still, he knows that she's getting weaker, sicker, and the cold will only make things worse. It didn't help that they could only take what they could carry in their packs. Their guns, ammo, cans of food, water, matches, blankets, a compass, a map, his radio, batteries, the last two items could just as accurately be described as false hope, but she won't let him give up, she believes with all her heart that someone is out there, someone they can reach somewhere. He loves that about her, he loves that she never stops trying, even when there's no reason to try anymore, but as long as she's here he'll try too.

She sleeps now, underneath him like always, his body and the fire helping stave off the cold, still he can feel her shiver as he slides his hand under her coat, touching her skin. He pulls the blankets tighter around them, covering her face and he shuts his eyes. The gun is close, close enough for him to grab if he needs to, but he has to sleep now. He stopped being a heavy sleeper the first time someone tried to steal their house, but he needs to close his eyes for awhile at least. They've walked all day, walked for miles, they don't know for sure whether things will be safer in the cities, there were rumors that Washington spent years preparing for a disaster of this magnitude, but it was only when they had a home where they could be safe for awhile that she could accept them as only rumors. Things were different now, there wasn't as much to lose anymore. She insisted that if there is even the slightest hope for food, shelter and protection then they need to go after it. He didn't argue. His only purpose in life now is keeping her safe and the closest thing to happy in a world gone to hell. He'll go with her to Washington, but he won't let her kill herself getting there.

The fire dies late into the night and he can feel the chill on his face. He doesn't want to leave the bit of warmth the blankets and her tiny body are providing him, but if he doesn't relight the fire soon the cold will overwhelm them both anyway. He tries not to wake her as he gets up, no such luck. She stirs the instant he moves away.

"Finn," she says groggily, her voice sounding so small and faraway.

"I'm right here baby," he says gently. "I'm always right here."

"What are you doing?"

"Relighting the fire, I don't want you to get cold."

"Do you need help?"

"No, just go back to sleep sweetheart, it'll only take a minute." She closes her eyes as he piles dry sticks and bark onto the campfire, they were hard to come by in this weather but he managed to gather enough for the night. He finishes piling the wood and lights it, poking at the resulting flames to aggravate them. He builds a decent enough fire in not too much time, before his fingers go completely numb at least, and he joins her under the covers once more, wrapping them both tight in the blankets.

"Finn," she says, still quiet.

"Yeah Rach?"

"Do you think it's really there, the shelter?"

"I don't know babe, I really don't know," he says, sighing a little. It isn't the first time she's asked but she's never sounded so desperate for it to be true before. "I hope so."

She shifts a little and the blanket slips down past her small hand. He reaches for it, grabbing it in his, his large hand enveloping hers completely, it's ice cold. He hopes one day she'll never have to be cold again.

"I think it is," she finally says. "I think it's real."

He hopes she's right.

Stay Tuned Folks.