Glee is still not mine.


"Although I can still party like an absolute rock star, it would appear that I cannot recover like one."

-Unknown


She's never drinking again.

In the words of the immortal Taylor Swift, she and alcohol are never getting back together, like ever. She hasn't even moved and her body hurts. Hoping that keeping her eyes firmly closed will somehow stop the pounding in her head, she squeezes them tightly only to find that even her eyelids hurt.

"Oooh," she moans, firmly convinced she's going to die in this bed. Her body, in an effort to be as uncooperative as possible, has determined that it's now time to go pee, something she's really not looking forward to since it involves moving. Determined to ignore it, she slowly rolls to her other side, only to have the pounding in her head worsen.

Peeing seems to be the lesser of two evils so she gingerly climbs out of bed, practically crawling to the bathroom. Her peeing successfully accomplished, she rises slowly, gripping the sink for support and it's only then that she gets a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She looks like death.

Seriously, she's scaring herself. Her hair, carefully styled yesterday in loose curls with lots of hairspray is now a big bird's nest, the hairspray having hardened and making her look like Hermione from Harry Potter while her makeup, which last night had been giving off the illusion of minimalist, was now showing the truth, her eye shadow smudged everywhere and her mascara caked and streaked under her eyes. Streaks of foundation litter the straps of her tank top and she'd somehow managed to get lipstick on her own neck. As if that's not bad enough, she's got what she suspects is dried vomit around her mouth (and that awful taste in her mouth she's positive is vomit).

Figuring that her appearance is the least of her problems, she trudges out of the bathroom, planning to call Blaine and have him bring her coffee. Her bed is looking mighty appealing and she somehow manages to get back in, pulling the covers over her head. Blindly, a hand sneaks back out, feeling around her nightstand for her house phone. The phone located, she pulls her hand back under the covers, cracking one eye to dial Blaine's number. It's too much of an effort to hold the phone to her ear so she settles for propping it against her head as she listens to the ringing phone.

"Hello?"

"I'm dying. Come bring me coffee," she moans dramatically. The cost of being so dramatic is her head pounding harder and she scrunches up her nose in a silent scream.

"Where were you last night?"

"A retirement party," she whispers, since speaking too loudly hurts her head.

"A retirement party? For who?"

"Can you stop yelling?" she asks. "It's hurting my head."

"You sound awful. What'd you have to drink? Vodka? Tequila? Whiskey?"

"Yes." She shuts her eyes, willing him to stop yelling. "Can you please just bring me coffee?"

"I would but I can't. I'm already on my way to pick up this guy I've been hanging out with. We're going to a winery."

"Ugggh," she moans again at the mention of wine.

"You drink that too?"

"I don't know, maybe." The amusement in his voice is really annoying her and seeing as how Blaine is clearly not going to be useful to her, she opts to hang up without so much as a goodbye. The thought of coffee is annoyingly stuck in her brain and resigned, she sticks an arm and a leg out from under the covers, testing the air.

Fueled by her coffee addiction, she manages to get out of bed and slowly trudge her way into the kitchen. The coffee maker is clearly taunting her, residing all the way over on the other side of the kitchen and to make matters worse, she's just remembered that Daddy used the last of her favorite coffee yesterday, which means she's got to go all the way over the cabinet and get her crappy emergency coffee. Hating her life at the moment, she slumps over the counter, trying to muster the energy to walk over to the cabinet.

"Oh you're up!"

No way. No fucking way. There's just no way that who she thinks is behind her is actually behind her. Clearly, she's still drunk and hearing voices.

"How are you feeling?"

She's still drunk. She's got to be. It's obvious she's going to turn around and find nothing but an empty kitchen and not a super cute waiter/teacher but just in case, she slowly picks her head up and turns around.

And immediately wishes the floor would swallow her.

Finn's standing in front of her, looking adorable in a pair of plaid boxers and a t-shirt. His hair's a mess but it's his eyes she's drawn too, currently showing concern as he stares at her. Mortification sets in as she stares back since he's looking so so adorable and she's, well, not.

"How are you feeling?" he repeats, taking a step closer. "Like you've got a million jackhammers going off in your brain, right?"

She nods, unable to speak partly because of him being here and partly because the pounding in her head has increased.

"You need to rest." He takes a step towards the hallway. "I'm uh, just gonna get my clothes and go."

"Wait!" The simple act of raising her voice makes the jackhammers doing construction on her brain increase but it's worth it because Finn stops. A blush appears on her face at the question forming on her lips but she needs to know. "Um…I don't remember last night. Did we…?"

It's his turn to blush and he rubs his neck awkwardly. "Uh, no. Nothing happened."

"Oh. Oh ok." Her head's pounding too much for her to say more than that but since sex with Finn is something she'd definitely want to remember, she's totally relieved nothing happened. "My head is pounding."

"Yeah, you definitely had a good time at the party," he replies, running his hand through his hair.

She winces, trying not to show him how mortified she is. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not." He grins at her expression.

"So wait. If we didn't do anything, then where are your clothes?" she asks, confused but enjoying the look of him in his boxers.

"They're uh, in your dryer." He avoids looking at her.

"The dryer? Why?" Her hands on her head to ease the pain, she stares at him.

"Uh…" He rubs his neck again, biding time before he speaks. "I had to wash them because you uh, kind of puked on me."

Ok, the floor really needs to open up and swallow her because on the mortification scale of one to ten she's at about a 75. Horrified, she closes her eyes. "I did not. Please tell me I did not do that."

"Uh, ok, but you did." He leans against the door frame, watching her. "Only the first time really got me though. The other times were just a little."

The color rushes to her face even more, if that's possible and she gives a low moan, banging her head against the fridge. This turns out to be a bad move since it makes the pounding increase even more, causing her to moan louder. "Oooo. Crap that hurts."

"Seriously, are you ok?"

Despite the pain in her head, she cracks open an eye at the concern in his voice. "If feeling like your head has a thousand jackhammers doing construction inside it, then yes, I'm ok."

He chuckles, much to her annoyance. "I'm not surprised, considering how much you drank."

"I'm never drinking again. Never." Her resolve firm on his point, she watches him open various cabinets, thrilled when he pulls out her emergency coffee. He moves around her kitchen with ease, making the coffee she's craving so much. "Why'd you let me drink so much?"

"I tried to stop you but your new friends kept giving you drinks from other bartenders," he replies, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk.

"New friends? What new friends?" She rubs her pupils in a vain attempt to alleviate the pain. "I only knew you."

"Don't tell me you've forgotten Bon Voyage Bob and his homies already," Finn teases, checking the progress of the coffee. "That's gonna be awkward at the office on Monday."

"Who?" She stares longingly at the coffee pot, willing it to drip faster. "What are you talking about?"

"You do taxes too or just corporate taxes?" he continues, enjoying teasing her. "Cause I got a few tax questions."

"Huh? Taxes?" Her head's starting to throb again, possibly from bewilderment.

"Can I give you any mug or do you need your puppy mug?" he asks, still grinning.

"Considering I drank away a multitude of brain cells and am not in the mood for puzzles, can you just explain?" she demands, rubbing her pupils again. Finn doesn't seem to be doing much in terms of coffee advancement, so she slowly makes her way over to the cabinet in the hopes that the coffee is finishing. The simple act of reaching for a mug takes too much effort but fortunately Finn's there to assist, easily plucking her favorite pink mug off the shelf. Her mug secure in her hand, she turns to look at him. "Seriously. Explain now."

"I will if you tell me if Marie's getting fired or not," he counters, his eyes mocking. He holds up his hands at her expression, still grinning. "All right, all right."

She hadn't thought she was capable of feeling more mortified than last week's bridesmaid monstrosity but she's wrong. The amount of mortification she feels as Finn narrates the events of last night makes wearing that dress a walk in the park.

"So uh, that's about it. You passed out and I fell asleep waiting for my clothes," he finishes, pouring some coffee into her mug and watching her inhale deeply. "You probably want to lay down and stuff so I'm just gonna grab my stuff."

She panics, temporarily halting her musings about the wonders of coffee as she watches him move towards her laundry room. She may have the hangover from hell and the construction workers in her head have started their jackhammering again but even in that state she'll be damned before she lets him leave. "Wait!"

He turns to face her, possibly concerned by the pain her voice caused by her actions. "Yeah? You need something?"

"You," she blurts out. "I…I mean I want you to stay. I can make breakfast, like um as a thank you." She's not entirely sure she can deliver on that promise since coffee was a two person effort but she's sure as hell gonna try. "I um…make a fabulous vegetable Frittata."

"Oh, uh ok. Yeah." He pauses, staring at her. "A vegetable Frito sounds great."

"Great!" She smiles, moving to brush her hair behind her ear but one touch of her hair reminds her of the hair spray bird's nest she's got going on up there. She'd completely forgotten about her hair till now and it suddenly dawns on her that while Finn may look absolutely adorable yet sexy in his boxers and TV, she most certainly does not. Horrified, she backs up against the counter, trying to figure out the quickest escape route to the bathroom before he realizes how hideous she looks.

"Are you sure you're up to cooking?" he questions, his voice concerned.

"Just uh, give me a minute. Make yourself comfortable." She doesn't give him a chance to answer, edging along the counter as quick as her hangover allows her to. She's so busy trying to sneak out that she fails to notice the garbage can, the resulting sound from her crashing into it making her wince. Mortified, she continues her trek, Finn just behind her.

"You ok?" His voice is a mix of concern and amusement.

"Fine. I'm fine," she insists. She pauses by her little laundry room and opens the dryer, pulling out his clothes. "Here's your….uh oh."

"Whoa! What happened?" he cries, staring in horror at his uniform now fit for a doll rather than his 6'3" self.

"It shrunk." Ordinarily, she'd give a more detailed response about the laundry process but the pounding is still annoyingly present and preventing sentences of more than a few words.

He rubs his neck with one hand, the other accepting the now useless uniform. "Great. Will's gonna kill me."

Despite the pounding she giggles. "I'll be right back."

She slips into the bathroom, immediately scaring herself once more when she looks in the mirror. Horrified at the sight and that Finn saw it, she sets about making herself look human again, taking her time in a super hot shower and slowly working her way through her elaborate shower routine.

The shower makes her feel semi normal and recognizing the fact that Finn's only ever seen her in a bridesmaid dress or embarrassing pajamas she chooses her best casual yet sexy dress until she remembers that Finn's in his boxers. Not wanting to be overdressed, she opts instead for her yoga pants and tank top, something her aching body thanks her for. Part of her is afraid he'd be gone when she emerges, but to her relief he's still there, pouring some sort of concoction in her blender. "What's that?"

His eyes go wide at the sight of her, completely missing the blender with the lid he was just about to put on. "Rachel! Uh, you might want to go away for a second."

"Why?" She steps closer, not about to leave him. "What are you doing?"

"You're not gonna like it." He pauses. "Well you will but you won't."

"Huh?" She steps even closer.

"Seriously, Rachel. Go away for one second," he pleads. "I'm telling you, you'll be better off."

Despite her hungover state, she immediately assumes her stubborn stance. "I certainly will not go away. How do I know you're not stealing my blender?"

"Fine." He turns the blender on and the noisy whirling blades immediately make her grab her head in pain.

"Turn it off!" she yells as loud as she can without making her head explode.

He complies with a grin, emptying the blender into a glass and offering it to her. "Told you you'd want to leave but here, drink."

"What is it?" she asks suspiciously, her head pounding again.

"Only the world's best hangover cure." He holds it out enticingly. "Drink it all really fast."

Willing to try anything, she takes the glass, ignoring the weird smell as she takes a big gulp. It tastes pretty much like what she imagines tar would taste like and having no desire to consume tar, she hands the glass back to him. "Ew."

"Yeah, it tastes like tar but it works, trust me." He grins, holding the glass out. "Finish it."

She somehow manages to drink it, actually feeling slightly better. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever drank."

"Wish I could say the same." He takes the glass back from her, watching her move to the fridge. "You sure you want to cook? You don't have to."

"I can do it." She pulls some vegetables, eggs and cheese out of the fridge, trying not to think about how much the act of bending hurts. "So other than dancing on the bar, how else did I humiliate myself?"

"I think that was the worst of it," he promises. "Although you did get a lifetime ban from The Belvedere."

"Seriously?" She's horrified, absolutely horrified. "I've been banned?"

"Yeah. Jesse got you banned but don't worry, no one ever checks his wall of banned people." He grins at her mortified expression. "Your mug shot picture was pretty awesome though."

She closes her eyes, too embarrassed to speak for a moment. "I don't believe this. Am I banned from anywhere else?"

"Not that I know of but you did spill a tray of drinks on Jesse which was pretty sweet. The entire staff wanted to buy you drinks after that."

She giggles, accepting the fist he's holding out with a fist bump of her own. "Thanks but I think I'm done drinking for a while."

"Too bad. I'm working a wedding next Friday night." He grabs some cheese and pops it in his mouth.

"Yeah?" She gives him a small smile, concentrating on cutting her vegetables.

"You could wear that kickass bridesmaid dress," he adds with a grin. "You've still got the hat there."

Despite the effort and pain it takes, she tosses a piece of cheese at him. "Shut up. I told you, my cousin picked those out. I didn't choose to look like a Vegas marquee."

"I can't really blame her. You looked seriously hot at Puck's wedding. She probably didn't want you looking better than her," he muses with a blush.

Her head shoots up in delight, an action that almost makes her cry from the pain. "You're just saying that."

"Nope." He's watching her crack eggs and whisk them and she concentrates on that, a blush on her own face. "You looked beautiful."

"So um…are you an only child?" she asks, still riding high from his compliment.

"Nope," he repeats as she turns on the broiler. "I've got a step-brother. You're an only child, right?"

"How'd you know?" She looks up from pouring her eggs in the pan in surprise.

"You told me many times on the way home last night. That and why Daddy bought you a BMW," he replies as she adds the vegetables.

"Oh God. What reason did I say?" She braces herself for the answer, not quite sure she wants to hear it.

"That Daddy likes you. Apparently you're Daddy's favorite person like ever," he mimics, laughing at the memory of her drunken insistence on this point last night. "And also Daddy's princess but that doesn't make you high maintenance."

She winces in embarrassment as she slides the pan under the broiler. Fortunately the Frittata only needs to be under the broiler for a few minutes, which means she can focus on that and not on what a fool she made of herself last night. She manages to place a less than spectacular Frittata in front on him a few minutes later, burnt and charred, but still. She'd normally be horrified to serve it without a wide variety of condiments and sides, but given the fact that she's severely hungover, she considers it a success to even have it resemble a Frittata at all. "Ta-da! One Asparagus and Mushroom Frittata."

"Uh, great." He pokes it with a fork in an inspection but doesn't take a bite. "What's this green stuff?"

"That's the asparagus." Her head's pounding again, but she watches carefully, anxious to prove what a good cook (and girlfriend) she is. "It's an excellent source of Vitamin B."

"Oh." He breaks off a tiny piece for further inspection. Satisfied that it won't kill him, he pops it in his mouth, chewing valiantly. "It's…good."

She has a feeling he's lying as he continues to eat it but he finishes it, so she guesses maybe it wasn't that bad. Obviously, once the marching band practicing in her head finally decides to go away, she'll be making him spectacular four course meals but until then, this will have to do.

"You're not eating." It's more of a statement than a question coming from him, but she can still sense the concern in his voice.

She shakes her head, which is a mistake since it almost makes her fall to the floor. "I don't think I could."

"Here." He stands and places his dish in the sink, turning back to her and placing an arm gently around her waist as he guides her into the living room. She stares in amazement as he disappears for a second, returning with the pillow and comforter from her bed, arranging it on the couch and patting the pillow invitingly. "You need to rest."

"Want to stay and keep me company?" she offers, already lying on the couch and snuggling under the comforter. "It's not like you can really leave without a car here and you kind of owe me since you didn't stop me from getting drunk."

"Hey I tried. Your accounting friends are super sneaky," he retorts, settling down next to her on the couch. She immediately moves around, letting the comforter settle over him until her feet just happen to be resting casually on his thigh. "Want to watch TV?"

She nods against the pillow. "I don't think there's anything good on Saturday during the day though."

"Are you kidding? It's Saturday. That means college football," he replies, his tone happy.

"Should I be thrilled about that?" she asks, watching him turn on the TV and flip through the channels till he finds what he wants.

"It's Florida and LSU. I would be." He tosses the remote on the table and settles back. "This should be an awesome game."

"Oh. The purple on the one team's uniform is pretty. Which team is that?" She stares sideways at the screen, not bothering to lift her head off the pillow. "I don't like the ugly yellow pants though. Gold would be much better."

"LSU. They're probably not gonna win even with pretty uniforms," he teases. "Florida is pretty good."

"I doubt that. That shade of orange is icky. No one can possibly win in that horrible shade of orange," she insists.

"We'll see." He shoots her a grin that she's loving.

"We will see," she retorts, despite knowing nothing about football. "Everyone knows you play much better in purple."

He laughs at that, which makes her giggle, something her pounding head doesn't appreciate. Resolved to make her head stop pounding, she snuggles deeper into the pillow and tries to follow the game. This proves useless since every play produces a barrage of questions from her mouth but Finn's amazing, answering all her questions patiently (something that Noah and even Blaine can't be bothered to do).

It's not something she'd normally do on a Saturday ever, but if watching college football means she sort of gets snuggle time with Finn, then she's officially the world's biggest LSU fan. She'd rolled her eyes at Quinn suddenly becoming into football once she'd met Noah but she gets it now. Had she known that football games mean snuggle time, she'd certainly have made an effort to watch years ago. Her feet go from their casual placement against his thigh to actually on his thigh as she watches, something she notices he doesn't bother to do anything about. The thought crosses her mind that this might be how he sits with her and that's why he doesn't do anything about it but somehow she doubts it. From what she remembers seeing, the Brunette doesn't look like a snuggler, which since she suspects Finn scores high on the snuggle scale, is a clear indication that she's not the girl for Finn. Fortunately, Rachel happens to be a fantastic snuggler and an even better cuddler, something she intends to show Finn fairly soon. All she has to do is get rid of the Brunette and she's home free. She's practically marked her territory already, so really it's all set.

Even if she did do it with puke.


Puck's so wrong.

What he called scary and intense, Finn calls amazing (especially since she's no longer puking). She's like, literally dying but she's still managed to get into the game, even though she's totally cheering for the wrong team. Normally, anyone employing the Kurt method of picking a team based on color would annoy him to no end, yet when Rachel does it, it's adorable. It's clear she has absolutely no clue what's going on in the game, but she's making a major effort which makes this crush he's got going on even bigger. Gelled Hair's picture is still turned over on the end table but annoyingly he's spotted another one of the two of them (this time at a dinner) next to the TV and yet a third one of them at a Halloween party. Puck and Quinn are actually in that picture too, and he makes a mental note to somehow ask Puck about that party and her hot fireman costume. Now that he thinks about it, there's actually quite a few pictures of that tool around, way more than he prefers. Still, her feet are resting on his leg and not Gelled Hair's so he figures that's gotta mean something.

Awesome as having her feet on his leg is, it kind of sucks in another way since it means that Rachel's got most of the couch. Forced to sit up while she lays comfortably, he places an arm across the back of the couch, resisting the urge to rub her thigh instead. Rachel chooses that moment to slowly sit up, excited by what she thinks is a good play by the LSU team.

"Oh! That's good, isn't it?" she questions. The feet she'd had resting on his thigh actually move across his leg as she sits up, sliding between his thighs to rest under his right leg. "The purple team ball kicker kicked that really far. I bet that's a touchdown."

"Nope. That was a punt. They were just getting rid of the ball." He laughs at her put out expression.

"Are you sure? Why would they give it to the ugly team?" She scoots a little closer to him, rearranging the blanket around them. "That hardly seems fair."

"Positive. They gave it away because they sucked that drive." He can smell the perfume she must've put on and it's making him crazy, in an I desperately want you sort of way. The feet she's got tucked under his thigh are dangerously close to his hardening junk, something he hopes she doesn't feel. Just in case, he shifts the comforter more, making sure her legs and his groin are 100% covered.

"Exactly why they should get a do over," she argues. "If I were the coach, I'd argue that."

"I bet you would." He grins, the arm he's got resting on the back of the couch moving closer to her. "Your argument would make total sense, especially if you tell them they should get the ball because the other team's uniforms are icky."

"Very funny." She smiles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Thanks. I thought so."

"Those uniforms are icky," she insists, moving closer.

"Uh huh." Her perfume is seriously intoxicating and the fact that she keeps moving closer to him isn't helping.

"You know it's true." She moves still closer, staring at his face intently.

"I don't." His eyes drop to her lips.

"I'm going to kiss you now," she announces. "I've decided."

"Ok." He barely has time to think about what's happening before he's reacting, kissing her back hungrily. It's so much better than when she'd kissed him at the bar, even though that kiss had rendered him speechless. He may have been incapable of speech that time but this time? Well, this time he's just blown away. Her hands have moved to just behind his ears, threading softly with his hair and her tongue is just everywhere inside his mouth.

It's incredible. It's indescribable. It's…ending. Rachel suddenly stops kissing him, pulling away and leaving him bewildered. He stares in confusion, watching Rachel sit still for a moment, hand near her mouth until she suddenly jumps up and runs to her bathroom.

Great. Her kissing makes him forget his name and see stars. His kissing makes her sick.

He follows her to the bathroom, once again finding her draped over the toilet. All too familiar with this routine, he crouches down low next to her, placing a hand on her back. "Hey. You ok?"

She turns her head towards him. "I puked."

He grins at that throwback to her drunk self. "Yeah, I see. Let's get you back to the couch."

She nods gratefully as he helps her up, slowly walking her back to the couch and cocooning her in her blanket before settling back next to her. Her feet immediately take up residence on his lap, which he's decided means she's into him but makes a mental note to ask Kurt just in case.

They're quiet after that, watching the game unfold, but it's a comfortable kind of quiet, the type he likes best since it means he doesn't have to think of things to say that'll probably come out super lame. It's been a while since he's been in a relationship but he doesn't remember being this comfortable this early and the fact that he can actually have this type of silence with her is seriously making her even more awesome. He doubts she has that with Gelled Hair since judging by the amount of hair product he uses, he's high maintenance and would need to have conversation.

Gelled Hair. It's making him crazy, not knowing where exactly he stands. Rachel seems to be the queen of mixed signals and he's beyond confused, trying to figure out her relationship status. She'd asked earlier if they'd fooled around last night and at first he'd been kind of thrilled by that till he realized she might be trying to figure out if she'd cheated or not. Just to confuse him even more she's been using him as a personal footrest and Official Hair Holder while she pukes, things normally reserved for the boyfriend. Determined to get something, he grabs the picture he'd knocked over earlier, admiring her bikini for a moment before he speaks. "This a vacation?"

"Huh?" She turns her head slightly to see what he's talking about. "Oh. Yeah. That was in Mexico. Daddy took us for my birthday. Quinn too."

"Oh." He digests this for a moment, once again cursing the mixed signals. Quinn most likely wouldn't have gone if it was a romantic vacation but then again if her father booked a trip for all of them then maybe it was like a casual friends and couples thing. "Gel…I mean uh, that's the guy from Puck's wedding right?"

"Yup. Blaine." Her voice is odd, in a way he hopes means he's gone and she just hasn't gotten around to deBlaining the apartment, a hope that's squashed with her next words. "I'm mad at him."

"Oh?" He holds his breath, hoping that whatever Blaine did was bad enough to make Rachel decide to dump him.

"He couldn't be bothered to bring me coffee this morning, even though I'm dying," she explains, her eyes on the screen. "Jerk."

What. A. Tool. He seethes at Blaine's selfishness since if Rachel was his girlfriend and wanted coffee, he'd have bought out Dunkin' Donuts the second she asked. Not about to defend a fellow guy, he nods in agreement. "Yeah that sounds pretty douchy."

"Normally I don't care for that word but in this case, I agree." She smiles. "That's why I'm glad I have you. You're taking good care of me."

There she goes again with the mixed signals. What does she mean by that? Is he taking good care of her the way a friend would or a boyfriend would? (For the record, the fact that she puked on him and he's still here helping her totally puts him in like the husband range, he's been that awesome). He's not really watching the game since he's trying to figure out what all these recent developments mean. She'd kissed him so did that mean he was out of the picture? Or was she so repulsed by his kissing skills that she just wants to use him as a foot rest? The fact that she's made no move to kiss him again has him worried that his lame kissing and kick ass taking care of her skills have regulated him to the Friend Zone. Having been stuck in the Friend Zone too many times for his liking, he's determined to make this time different.

He just has no clue how.


She can't even look at him.

He's so cute and so sweet taking care of her and she finally decides to kiss him, (brunette be damned), and what does she do? She pukes.

She has a kiss that's like straight out of a storybook and her body responds not with graceful stomach butterflies like Sleeping Beauty or tingles like Cinderella but with strong heaving motions, forcing her to ditch him and haul ass to the bathroom. She'd tried to ignore them and keep kissing but the result was that she'd almost humiliated herself even more by puking in the potted plant Daddy had bought when she'd gotten her new apartment since she barely made it to the bathroom in time. So yeah, she's never coming out from under this blanket.

He's been sitting next to her, sharing her blanket igloo like before, still letting her use his thighs as a footrest. Unlike before, he's actually using her thigh as an arm rest over the comforter, something she gets a secret thrill out of since it's totally like something a boyfriend would do.

She'd spent a period and intermission (halftime –she needs to remember that) of the game trying to figure out how she could possibly start kissing him again, since she's discovered that it's something she likes to do. A lot. Unfortunately, the horrors of puking during the kiss (and the resulting puke breath) are still fresh in her brain, making her hesitate.

Other than using her as an armrest, Finn hasn't made a move either, much to her annoyance. He hasn't mentioned that brunette which she's hoping means he's rid of her. He looks so perfect sitting on her couch in his boxers, that she's officially decided the only brunette in his life needs to be her and makes a mental note to plot with Blaine.

"I'll be right back." He stands, stretching a little and her eyes immediately go to his adorable butt. "You ok? You need anything?"

"Oh. Um, yeah. Something to drink." She bites her lip, embarrassed at getting caught staring.

"No problem." He walks away, disappearing towards the bathroom.

She barely has time to snuggle back against the pillow before the sound of her front door opening is heard and her father appears. She stares at him, making no move to lift her head from the pillow. "Hi Daddy."

"Angel! What's going on?" Hiram asks in concern. "We need to leave for Ruth's soon."

"I'm sick," she announces, her voice extra pitiful particularly since she's just remembered that Aunt Ruth was throwing a birthday party in honor of Aunt Adelaide's 85th birthday. "I can't go."

"Do you have a fever?" Hiram worries, holding a hand to her head. "You're watching football."

"I don't have a fever. I'm having stomach problems," she replies. "And this is a big game. The purple team is very important."

"Yes, you've always been a big LSU fan," he answers, amused.

"This is a big game, Daddy," she insists, turning back to the screen as footsteps are heard.

"Rach, I…oh. Hi, Mr. Berry," Finn stammers, pausing next to the couch, a bottle of water in his hand.

"Daddy, you remember Finn right?" Rachel asks, a hand coming out from under the blanket to take the water bottle he's offering. "He was the bartender at Sara's wedding."

"My future son-in-law! Of course I remember!" Hiram stares at him, beaming until he takes in Finn's t-shirt and boxers. "What's going on here, Rachel? Did you two get married and have your wedding night already?"

"Daddy!" Rachel cries, her face red as she pulls the comforter over her head in mortification.

"Well what am I supposed to think when I see him in his boxers, Princess?" he asks, watching Finn sit then stand really quickly. Rachel's muffled answer comes from under the blanket, so he turns to Finn expectantly. "Finn? Did you at least use protection?"

Another shriek comes from under the comforter and Finn turns red, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. "Uh…"

Despite her hungover state, Rachel shoots up, throwing the comforter to the side. "Daddy! Stop! Nothing happened!"

"Well why not? Is there something wrong with my princess?" Hiram demands of Finn, enjoying this more than the two in front of him were.

"Daddy. Finn had to wash his clothes here and they shrunk," she screeches, her face red. "He brought me home when I um…got sick."

"So you two were together!" He beams at this but at his daughter's distressed state, he grows worried. "Now Angel, what exactly are your symptoms? You don't feel sick."

"I'll be fine, Daddy. I just need to lay down." She settles back against her pillow, pulling the comforter around her. "You go to the party. Finn will stay with me."

"I don't know," Hiram worries. "Maybe I should take you to the doctor."

"I'm fine," she promises. "Finn's been taking good care of me all night."

"She's a lot better," Finn offers, unknowingly not helping her case to stay.

"Well in that case, you're coming, Princess. You know how much Aunt Adelaide looks forward to you singing happy birthday to her every year," Hiram decides. "Go get dressed."

"Daddy no, I'm sick," she whines, burrowing into the comforter.

"Rachel. You rsvp'd yes. Ruth and Saul already paid for your plate," he announces sternly. "You don't look sick, just hungover."

"Hungover is a kind of sickness." She pouts into her pillow a little, knowing better than to point out that Daddy had rsvp'd yes for her. If it had been up to her, she'd have rsvp'd with a hell no. "I might puke on Aunt Adelaide."

The thought's not unpleasant to her and she sneaks a peek from her pillow at her father, hoping he's reconsidering but he doesn't look moved.

"What did she drink?" he asks, looking at Finn.

"Uh, everything." He rubs his neck. "I only served her water but uh, she still got alcohol from somewhere else."

"Rachel, really. You know alcohol can damage your vocal cords." He tsks tsks his tongue. "Go get dressed. We need to be there early before Aunt Adelaide gets there."

"Fine." She sits up, making a show of slowly walking into her bedroom and slamming the door, something she immediately regrets. Afraid of what Daddy's going to say to Finn, she grabs the first dress she sees out of her closet, the cheery print of butterflies not quite matching her mood and dresses, quickly doing her hair and makeup in her haste to get back.

"About time, Angel. We need to drop Finn off at his car," Hiram announces upon her return. "How could you puke on him? He's got to do the Walk of Shame to his car now."

She giggles at that, despite her embarrassment. Finn's staring at her like he's never seen her before and she smooths her dress self-consciously. "I'm not the one who put his clothes in the dryer."

"No, but you're the reason they had go in the dryer in the first place," Hiram answers, Finn incapable of speech next to him. "Go get his clothes."

She can hear them talking as she pulls his now tiny tuxedo out of the dryer, bringing it back with a giggle. "Here. Looks like it's a perfect fit."

"Yeah." He sighs, accepting the ruined tuxedo. "Will's gonna kill me."

"Princess, Finn and I were just talking," Hiram announces as he opens the front door, gesturing Finn and Rachel to go through. "I've had an idea."

"Oh?" She bit her lip, the laughter threatening to escape her lips at the sight of Finn walking out to Daddy's BMW in just his boxers and t-shirt along with the dress shoes from his uniform making her head hurt even more. Carefully, she opens the back door, ready to lie down across the back seat. "What's the idea?"

"Well it occurs to me that you probably haven't properly thanked Finn for taking such excellent care of you," Hiram announces, shutting the door behind her once she's crawled onto the back seat.

Like that's her fault. She'd certainly started thanking him via kiss but her stupid stomach got in the way. She watches from her makeshift bed as both Daddy and Finn settle into the front seats, waiting for him to continue.

"So I've decided that since the party ends early, Finn should come over for a Berry dinner tonight," Hiram continues. "He's coming over at 7."

She sits up in excitement, thrilled for once at Daddy's meddling. "You're coming for dinner?"

"Uh yeah." He turns to look at her. "Your dad wouldn't take no for an answer."

She beams at this, her mind already whirling with possible dinner menus and ways to get rid of Daddy. Finn's coming for dinner, which means staring tonight, she'll be on her way to getting rid of the brunette and getting herself installed as his girlfriend.

She can't wait.


He's never quite done a Walk of Shame like this.

There'd been a few humiliating times back in college but nothing quite like this. Will, Sam, Santana and a few landscapers had all been outside The Belvedere when Rachel and her dad had dropped him off, all witness to his plaid boxers, t-shirt and shiny black dress shoes. Will and Sam had laughed, Santana had naturally commented on his boxers and the landscapers had snickered. To make matters worse, he'd been forced to stop and talk to Will about the alcohol delivery rather than make a quick retreat like he'd planned. Will had been less than pleased to find out about his uniform, muttering about the cost of ordering another with extra length but he kind of couldn't care less about either the ruined tuxedo or even the Walk of Shame because he's sort of got a date with Rachel tonight. True, her dad actually made the date and true, her dad was actually going to be there but still, it counts.

Which means he needs backup.

He manages to wait until he's in the car and Rachel and her dad have long driven off before he dials Kurt's number, willing to let him dress him this one time.

"Helloooo?"

"Dude, you need to help me. I've got a date with a girl tonight. Well with her and her dad," Finn greets him, noting the weirdness of Kurt's voice. "What's with your voice?"

"I'm at a winery getting my wine on…What? Would I say no to Merlot? Hell no."

"Seriously?" Kurt's main goal in life is to give him a makeover and the one time he's willing to let him do it, he goes and gets himself drunk.

"I'm cultured, unlike you."

"When are you going to be home?" He's slightly panicked, worried at what fashion advice a drunk Kurt would give but he figures it's still better than what he could come up with. "It's a first date, I need help."

"A first date? With her dad? Who does that?"

"Shut up. She's awesome," he snaps. "And she didn't invite her dad, he just planned the dinner. Wait. Does that mean it's not a date?"

"Sounds like you're dating her dad. Welcome to my side, Finn. Oh! Gotta go, the Chardonnay is coming out! Wear something plaid!"

Whoa. Kurt must be on his way to being trashed if he's recommending Finn wear something plaid, an item normally banned from Kurt's presence. He stares at the phone in disgust, slamming the phone down on the passenger's seat. Annoyed, he begins to drive, debating what to do. He could call Puck, but even though he went to his wedding and they eat lunch together, they haven't reached the 'hang out outside of work' stage of friendship. Sam would be normally be his go to call but considering Sam was practically on the ground laughing at him just now he's not exactly in the mood to talk to him.

His stomach's growling. Rachel's vegetable Frito thing hadn't exactly been the greatest meal ever (and definitely didn't have any Fritos in it, much to his disappointment), but he'd valiantly choked it down, ignoring the burned taste and rubbery green things. Already knowing his apartment would have crap, he heads on over to his mom's, mulling over his plan for tonight.

Burt's actually finishing a snack in front of the TV when he arrives and he practically drools at the sight of the food on the coffee table, not noticing the surprised looks he's giving him as he sits. "Hey. I'm starving. Where's Mom?"

"Mom's shopping with Aunt Claire. Uh, you want to explain?" Burt asks, still staring.

"I only had a breakfast Frito, which wasn't that good so I'm starving," he replies, shoveling salsa onto his plate. "Didn't have Fritos in it either. I checked."

"Not that. I meant the look. Is this one of Kurt's weird fashion commentaries?" Burt asks. "Are you helping him for a project or something?"

"Huh?" A chip poised mid-air, he glances down suddenly realizing that he's still in his Walk of Shame clothes. Not willing to share yet exactly what led to this outfit, he blurts out the first thing he can think of. "Oh. I uh, tried to do my laundry."

"I gotta get a picture. Has Kurt seen?" Burt demands, pulling out his phone and snapping away. "And what's with the dress shoes? Why not sneakers? You wash those too?"

"No," he snaps, annoyed at the incessant questions.

"That seems more like a Walk of Shame outfit," Burt muses. "Didn't you work last night? You meet a hot bridesmaid or something?"

He almost chokes on his chips at Burt's accuracy. "Uh…"

"You did." He smirks, adjusting his hat. "She must be something if you can't even remember to get dressed."

"I shrunk my clothes in her dryer," Finn mutters, annoyed Burt figured it out. "She puked on me."

Burt snorts. "Are you that bad?"

"She was sick! I brought her home!" Finn cries. "She showed up to get her hat from last week's wedding and the people at the retirement party last night thought she was an employee and got her drunk."

"So you volunteered to bring her home? Smooth." He tosses a chip at Finn. "Next time bring her home after a date though. She better than the girl who caught the bouquet?"

"It's the same girl," he replies with a blush, remembering too late that Kurt had been more than willing to share the pictures he'd taken of him dancing with Rachel with their parents. His mom had been incredibly excited, calling him to find out if he'd gotten her number because they 'looked so adorable together'.

"No shit? Wait'll your mom finds out." He grins. "Wouldn't want to be in your dress shoes, man."

"You can't tell her. She can't know about last night or tonight," he panics. "She'll drive me crazy."

"Tonight? What's tonight?" Burt demands.

Shit. He hadn't meant to let that slip. "Uh, I'm going to dinner with her. Her dad wants to thank me for taking care of her."

Burt laughs. "Her dad's going on the date too? Only you, Finn."

"Yeah." He shifts uncomfortably. "They seem to be close. She's an only child."

"Like you and your mom," Burt muses.

"Yeah but you and Mom never bought me a BMW," Finn points out. "Although he's got one too but the nicer model. Rachel's got the convertible but he's got the seven series. They're both sweet though. I got to drive Rachel's."

"Nice." Burt adjusts his hat, always appreciative of a good car.

"This still counts as a date though? I mean, her dad was the one who asked me, but it's still a date, right?" Finn worries, back on the dating dilemma.

"I think it counts as a date with her dad," he teases. "He catch the bouquet?"

"Funny," he snaps. He pauses in contemplation for a moment. "I think it qualifies as a date. I'm gonna count it."

"Ok then." Burt takes a sip of his soda. "Just make sure you wear pants this time."

He ignores that, having just remembered Gelled Hair but deciding that there's just no way her dad would call him his son-in-law or invite him to dinner if Rachel had a boyfriend. The thought crosses his mind that maybe Hiram's not a fan of gelled hair, which would be awesome for him since Hiram seems to be Team Finn. "You think I should bring her flowers or something?"

"Probably a good idea," Burt decides. "You know, if it's her dad who invited you to dinner, that means hes he likes you already. You've totally bypassed the dreaded meet the dad moment."

"Awesome." He grins, sneaking a peek at the clock. He's got a few hours before he needs to be at Rachel's but he's already planning the night and possible ways to get her alone for more kissing to prove that he's not Friend Zone material.

He just hopes she doesn't puke.


A/N: Finally updated. Go Mets!