Okay, so the gunshot to the knee was Finn's contribution to the event that had brought him back to America, back to Brooklyn, and Rachel, and to the baby that he'd thought he'd only get to see grow up over Skype, unfortunately, it was the only part of the event that Finn's mind hadn't blocked out, at least while he was conscious.
At the moment, though, Finn was unconscious. He was all right, though.
Finn was finally having a pleasant nap. He had fallen asleep with his head on Rachel's lap, Kurt having vacated the spot beside him on the couch long before, and the soothing sound of his wife's voice had been enough to lull him to sleep. Which was why he was not at all happy when a familiar -- yet strange -- voice woke him.
"...And then your mom wouldn't let me bring Lord Tubbs here to visit you while you were in that scary hospital," Finn heard vaguely, and he allowed the voice to draw him from his slumber, blinking with surprise when he suddenly had a lap of cat. Judging by the feline's aggrieved howl -- and the resulting extended claws into Finn's thigh -- at least he and the tabby were on the same page. "Oh, I'm sorry, Finn," the voice -- Brittany, he corrected, though he was mainly focused on not shouting in pain -- said. "I thought you would catch him."
"Why did you think that?" he asked in a pained tone, disengaging claws from flesh and allowing Lord Tubbington to lick his wounds on a fancy pillow of Kurt's that would sure to cause his brother to screech about later. "Wait, what are you doing here?"
Brittany smiled sanguinely at him. "Waiting for Santana," she answered simply. "I have a key. It's weird," she added. "I thought it was Blaine's, but my dolphin said that my having it would be 'slightly more conducive to Finn's recovery'. What recovery? I thought you were all better now."
Finn groaned. It was true that he would rather deal with Brittany -- and didn't that say so much for his current opinion of Blaine -- but he wished that someone else was there to tell her what was wrong with him, even if it was Santana herself.
"Where is your...dolphin?" he asked her, trying to remain calm. His heart was racing from the sudden appearance of Brittany -- even though she was one of his friends -- and from the very sudden appearance of Lord Tubbington. "Or Rachel?"
The tall blonde sat beside him on the couch, pulling the cat on to her lap.
"Kurtsie and Rachie are yelling at Blaine," she said in a monotone, her normally vacant stare filled with worry when her eyes locked on him. "Kurtsie told Rachie something and Rachie got really mad -- it was scary, Finny -- and the next thing I knew Lord Tubbington's play date with your baby was cancelled and they told me to stay here and hang out with you. But you were sleeping, you weren't very fun. Lord Tubbington is disappointed."
The cat was eying him with a disappointed look, Finn noted, blinking rapidly to wake himself up.
"Your cat has play dates with my baby?" he asked, peering at her in confusion. She nodded. "How exactly does that work?"
Brittany giggled, petting the fat cat's fur as she did. He jealously wondered what it was like to be in her mind, where she was always happy.
"I bring Lord Tubbington here and Rachie and I curl up on the couch with him and your baby and watch TV. They love each other."
"That's nice of you," he whispered, curling into the thick blanket that Kurt had bought especially for him, even though he vocally expressed his disapproval of microfiber comforters. "I love the baby too," he told Brittany.
Brittany leaned over and gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek, a pout gracing her features. "I'm sorry you're sick, Finn," she murmured. "I can leave, if you want."
He shook his head. "No, you're waiting for Santana," he reminded her. "It's alright, Britt," he promised. "I'm just tired."
"Because of your recovery, right?"
He nodded. "I have to take pain meds for my knee, it's still healing from my surgery," he said, steeling himself for the potential disaster that a conversation with Brittany involving complexities could be. "And you know about my PTSD, right?" He dreaded the answer. But, she simply nodded, patting his covered form in a gesture of support.
"Santana explained," she told him.
Santana had indeed explained to Brittany what was going on with Finn, once it became clear that he was healthy enough physically to come home but not entirely cured mentally. Brittany had asked everyone -- from Carole Hudson-Hummel to Lord Tubbington to a man that didn't speak a word of English -- what was going on with their friend, and no one had given her a straight answer, or taken the time to make sure they were talking sense.
Carole had used big words and kept crying and asking Brittany questions that she didn't know the answer to, thus making her feel stupid.
Lord Tubbington had just stared at her. She really had asked him as a last resort.
And the man who spoke no English had talked to her in made up words.
So when Santana had shown up and taken Brittany to a nice cafe and gotten her the biggest hot chocolate they had on the menu with extra marshmallows and finally explained, so many things made sense.
Apparently, no one really could answer Carole's questions and her dolphin was going to remind her that Brittany wasn't a doctor or anything close.
War injuries and mental health issues were really outside of Lord Tubbington's areas of expertise. (Santana had even said that with a straight face!)
And -- according to Santana -- the made up words were actually French.
Who knew? Not Brittany. And Brittany didn't entirely understand what was going on with Finn either. But she knew he was sad, and that made her sad.
"I'm going to make you a hot chocolate," she decided. Hot chocolates were good when a person was cold (and Finn was shivering, despite his blanket) and they did a good job of cheering Brittany up. Besides, Santana had a supply of her favorite microwavable cocoa mixes. And Kurtsie never touched them.
Finn merely grunted in response, but she knew he would be safe in Lord Tubbington's capable paws.
"Do you feel better now?," Brittany asked, once she had presented him with a marshmallow filled cup of cocoa, covered with whipped cream and an accompanied by an apple to hopefully stop her dolphin from freaking out about Finn's 'sugar consumption', whatever that was. "Hot chocolate always makes me feel better," she said, sitting back down beside him. "Eat your apple," she added. "Unless you wanna hear Kurt hit a high note."
"How did you make this?," he asked. "Did you turn the stove off?"
She shook her head. "They go in the microwave," she told him. "Stoves confuse me."
"Kurt doesn't let me use the stove either," he told her. "Don't feel bad." He eyed the apple with a look of disgust, taking the smallest possible bite out of it. She giggled. He sighed. "Sorry you got stuck watching the freak."
"You're not a freak," she said. "Tana said...she said not to tell anyone this, but she said you were brave and that even brave people get scared," she divulged. "She said that what happened to you was too scary, even though you're the bravest person she knows. I don't know what made it so scary," she rambled. "No one would tell me what happened."
He took another bite of the apple. "'s alright," he mumbled, letting the blanket pool on his lap. "I don't remember either, most of the time."
Blaine eyed Rachel with disinterest as the petite brunette paced back and forth, having the gall to wear grooves in his carpeting in the process. He didn't understand why Kurt and Rachel were so angry with him, anyways. He was a performer. He needed his rest. And he certainly didn't care for them pandering to Finn Hudson and his pathetic attempts at histrionics.
"Histrionics?," the four-and-a-half months pregnant Rachel Hudson hissed, crossing her arms in disgust. Blaine realized -- belatedly -- that he had said that last bit out loud. "How dare you?" She thundered, fire in her eyes. "Finn has a medical condition, you jerk! He's been diagnosed! He is not indulging in histrionics!"
"It was just an bomb," he muttered, unrepentant. "He was the one who shot himself because he was scared. Some war hero. What are you gonna tell the baby, huh?"
"How dare you?!" Rachel repeated, though quite louder than before. "How dare you say those things about him? And how dare you bring our baby into it, like you think she is going to be ashamed of her father? There is nothing to be ashamed of!"
"He woke up the entire loft because of his screaming last night," Blaine told her. "And he didn't even apologize to me!"
"Not everything is about you, Blaine," his other guest said, wrapping Rachel in a protective embrace, and shooting him a murderous glance. "You left your key behind, I took the liberty of giving it to Brittany."
Blaine spluttered. "You would rather Brittany have instant access to your loft, rather than your long time boyfriend?"
"Brittany doesn't make my brother," he could hear the pointed tone in Kurt's voice, "feel like dirt because he has nightmares he can't control! Honestly, Blaine, you are treading on my last nerve."
"He's not really your brother," he retorted. "You do realize that, right?"
"My front parlor," Kurt breathed, eying it in horror, hoping that Rachel would stop taking pictures with her phone and wake the ill behaved miscreants up. "Look what they did."
Kurt had spent the entirety of his day thus far thoroughly admiring himself for his restraint and mentally patting himself on the back for it, a trend he had decided would continue when he and Rachel arrived back at the loft to find Finn and Brittany surrounded by several empty mugs of what appeared to be microwaved hot chocolate, the remnants of Kurt's homemade brownie batter, which he had specifically told Finn he was not to touch, a lone, half eaten, Granny Smith, and his brother and his favorite ex-girlfriend -- okay, Brittany was his only ex-girlfriend -- sound asleep and drooling on his living room centerpiece. Some people -- okay, the majority of the world -- referred to it as a sectional, but Kurt did not take his focal points lightly. His horror only grew when he spotted Lord Tubbington, covered in melted cheese -- he dearly prayed it wasn't anything more rare than Velveeta -- passed out on his latest throw pillow, which was from India. The most horrifying thing of all? The fact that Rachel -- his fellow diva -- was practically swooning at the sight.
"Finn looks peaceful," Rachel responded, splaying her hand across her small bump as she did. "I think it was sweet of Britt."
Kurt paused. Finn did look peaceful. "They probably had a better day than we did," he sighed, shaking his head. "I suppose we can let them sleep for awhile."
His conversation -- to refer to it politely -- with Blaine had left him with a niggling headache.
"Let's talk in the kitchen," Rachel told him, linking her arm with his. "I have some things I have to say."
He sighed, inwardly, sensing where the conversation was going. Still, he allowed her to lead him into a mercifully spotless kitchen. Which, with Brittany and Finn left to their own devices was nothing short of a miracle.
"Oh, thank Gucci," Kurt exclaimed. "Brittany has finally learned that the stove is not to be explored without proper supervision."
"I thought that was Finn?," she retorted, smiling lightly at him.
"Finn is improving," he said. "I fear Brittany has no hope."
Rachel prepared the water for tea and sat down at the table with Kurt, sighing heavily as she did. "I don't want him to come around here anymore," she told him. "He upsets your brother too much. I know he's your boyfriend...but he didn't even care. Our entire conversation was filled with BS excuses."
Kurt's sigh matched hers. "I know," he said, rather darkly. "Frankly, I'm not sure how much longer I will be around Blaine." He sighed again. "Lately, ever since Finn came back, he has been so..."
"Unpleasant?," Rachel supplied, wrinkling her nose.
"That would suffice," he agreed. "I was going to go with trying, however..."
His sister-in-law started to sniffle, and then to cry, though her sobs were silent. "I'm sorry," she wept, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. "It's just...Finn is trying so hard and Blaine has been being such an asshole! All Finn cared about last night was about the fact that he could have woken me up and about my being cold, he had ended up on the fire escape! It's going to snow soon!"
Kurt didn't know what to say. He was struggling to find words that would comfort when, much to his surprise and eternal gratitude, his lovable oaf of a brother padded slowly into the kitchen, carrying the dirty mugs. He even put them in the sink, before crossing back over to Rachel, smoothing out her hair.
"Don' cry," Finn murmured, pulling the chair closest to his wife out and sitting on it, moving it as close to her as possible. "'Please don' cry, Rach. I'm here, I'm here, it's alright."