if I could tell you 3/?
Title: If I could tell you
Chapter: 3/?
Rating: PG-13 this chapter, M eventually
Characters: Puck, Rachel, OC
Word Count: 3200
Summary: Puck and Rachel get another chance when unexpected events bring her to his doorstep years after graduation.
*****
Whoever first issued the platitude 'everything will look brighter in the morning' clearly didn't have her apartment in mind. Instead, daylight just serves to show the cobwebs the corners and the dead spider in the bottom of the bathtub, the grease caked on the appliances (she actually shuddered when she opened the refrigerator) and the dinginess of the paint job throughout, with scuff marks so high on the walls of the kitchen she wonders what the previous tenants could have been up to.
Connor is in her arms because she's doesn't want to take the chance that he might cut himself on a stray piece of glass and as she looks back and forth between the photos she was sent and the reality of a living situation that she's already sunk most of her savings into, her heart absolutely sinks down to her feet. Still, perhaps things are a little better this morning, because instead of wanting to cry, she's starting to get angry. (She's done plenty of both in the last few years and she can confirm that getting angry gets a lot more done.)
"It's pretty bad isn't it?" she says to Noah who is staring grimly at the broken lock and shattered window.
He shrugs and it's absurdly encouraging. "I've seen worse. Lived in worse, too. Want me to get rid of the broken glass?"
She nods and decides that out of a series of bad options, the merely dusty larger bedroom is marginally the best bet, so she sets Connor up there with a coloring book and crayons while she 'discusses' the situation with the rental company.
Noah reappears through the apartment door as she hangs up. "I wedged a piece of cardboard over the hole and threw the glass in the dumpster out back. What did they have to say?
"The rental agent I worked with is out of the office until next week. Her assistant suggests I speak to the building superintendent in the meantime."
"This place has a super? I can have a word with him if you want," he says, clenching his fist reflexively and for a second she sees high-school Noah storming towards the door and threatening to rearrange that Jessie kid's face and it warms her now just like it did then.
It would also be much too easy to begin to rely on that kind of support.
"Thank you, but no." She needs to begin as she means to go on. "I can deal with it. Would you mind watching Connor for a few minutes? I'll be right downstairs and there are snacks and a drink in my bag. And if he gets bored with coloring, there are a few other toys...."
"I've got it, Rach," he interrupts, smiling. "Go kick some ass."
Taking a deep breath, she agrees, and swallowing through her nerves, she makes her way down the stairs and raps sharply on the door to apartment 11. She waits impatiently, tapping her foot, but it's not until she's knocked twice more that the door swings open to reveal a man blinking sleepily at her.
"Ray Morris?" she asks, taking in the greying pony-tail, the threadbare cut-offs, t-shirt and sandals combo, and most of all the faint but unmistakeable smell of marijuana wafting out into the hallway.
"Uh-huh," he agrees, giving her a friendly smile and a wave and then as if they were finished with the conversation, he tries to close the door.
She swiftly moves one arm to block the door open. "I'm the new tenant. Rachel Berry in apartment 34B. There are some problems with the current condition of the apartment. Additionally, the deadbolt seems to be completely missing and the rental company said that you would be the first person to contact."
"Yeah, that place really got trashed. Stupid college kids. I hear the new tenant's a little older, like a teacher or something. She's not moving in until August first though."
"I'm the new tenant," she reminds him from between gritted teeth.
His eyes widen. "Whoa! Man, you're early. It's really, you know, not in move in condition yet."
Don't kill him. Don't kill him. Even if it would be justifiable homicide.
"Today is August second, Ray."
He scratches his head and knits his brow together. "Shit, that's not good."
"That's an understatement. If you don't mind my asking, how did you get this job?"
He grins sheepishly. "My uncle owns the place. He's gonna be hella pissed when he finds out about this though."
Oh yes. She can work with that. "I would imagine so, Ray. But I think he'll be much more understanding when he finds out about all the help you're going to be giving me over the next few days, don't you?"
By the time she's finished with Ray, he's called the locksmith, promised to both fix the window immediately and start painting tomorrow (and don't think she won't be knocking on his door first thing in the morning to make sure that happens), provided her with cleaning supplies, and even said he could run a buffer over the wood floors if she wants. She marches back upstairs, flushed with victory, only to find Connor and Noah sprawled out across the bedroom floor, busily playing with toy cars.
"Vroom!" Connor moves his vehicle in a wide arc. "Fast car!"
She watches from the door way as Noah pushes his car. "Wow!" he says, "That red one sure is a fast car. What about the blue one? Is mine fast too?"
"The blue one always crashes!" he says and then laughs as Noah makes exploding noises. Connor looks up and spots her. "Mommy!"
She sinks to one knee as he races to her and wraps her arms around around him, pressing a few kisses on top of his soft brown hair while she waits for the lump in her throat to subside. Meeting Noah's eye over Connor's head doesn't help with that. Forcing her eyes down, she looks at her son.
"Sweetheart, you're filthy! You need another bath." He moves to squirm out of her arms (what is it with small boys and their affinity for dirt?) and she ruffles his hair lightly. "Or at least a hand wash before we have a snack. Come on." Pausing in the doorway, she looks back at Noah. "Please don't feel like I don't appreciate your help because I really do, but I know you've probably got a million things to do. I think after my little talk with the superintendent, we're well on the way to getting things straightened out here, so don't feel like you have to stay."
He pushes himself up to his feet and makes a scoffing noise. "Like you're going to get out of this without feeding me? Look, I saw carrot sticks and raisins in that snack bag."
If he's trying to make her smile, he's succeeding.
*****
By the end of the afternoon he's tired and probably a little smelly, but at least all of her stuff is unloaded from the station wagon (he's seriously amazed at how much shit she crammed in there) and she's not living in a place that's absolutely filthy, so that's something. She's sitting on the floor, leaned up against the wall (it may be a little cleaner, but outside of the air mattress that Connor napped on, she's still got no furniture, so yeah, floor) with her phone pressed to her ear and he'd go and give her a little privacy to talk but she waves him over and pats the space next to herself invitingly.
"No Daddy, we ended up spending the night at Noah's apartment....It wasn't what I'd planned, but then the apartment wasn't exactly in the promised condition either....we're cleaning it now....Yes, Noah and I...."
Sneaking a look at him, she shifts uncomfortably and he thinks he knows why. Daniel Berry was never his biggest fan.
"Don't send another check, Connor and I are fine and you've been more than generous. And no, I don't think the ACLU needs to be notified...." Another sideways glance and then she continues in a lower tone. "Daddy, he's being a perfect gentleman and what's more, he's being a good friend....Yes, I'll remember....I love you too! I'll talk to you soon."
She ends the calls and smiles weakly. "Daddy says hi."
He laughs. "Rach, it's okay. Poor guy. Remember that nervous twitch he'd develop whenever I showed up? The one just under his eye?"
"He always admired your talent and determination, Noah. The two of you just got off on the wrong foot."
That's putting it mildly. Not that he blames the guy.
"Yeah. That was probably because when he walked in on us making out sophomore year my hand was on your thigh and heading straight for your ass."
All these years later and he can still remember exactly how soft her hair felt when he pushed it back behind her ear, how smooth her skin was, the little squeak she made when his thumb brushed the edge of her panties....And now he really needs to think about something else.
"Dad spent hours talking him down from that one. Hours. He always said he saw a lot of himself in you."
Dad. Marcus Berry.
Shit, that's something else he remembers: that feeling of total helplessness eight years ago when his mother delivered the bad news. Forty-seven and a massive heart-attack hits and that was it, one of those crappy things that you think are never going to happen to the kind of guy who does youth coaching for disadvantaged kids and dedicates a significant portion of his law practice for pro bono work. (Including helping out a fucked up kid who tried to steal an ATM from a convenience store.)
He reaches out and squeezes her hand briefly. "I'm really sorry I couldn't get back for the funeral. I wanted to, as soon as Ma told me about the accident, but I just couldn't swing it."
"I understand. You sent a lovely note. I would have written back, but you didn't include a return address."
Well at that point he didn't have one, or at least not anything more permanent than spending a few weeks at a time on someone's couch. (His first year in California was rough.) "I still wish I could have been there. Losing a parent...."
Thank god that car crash his Ma was in two years ago wasn't any worse. Sure he bitches, but he doesn't know what he'd do without her.
"I was going to do it," Rachel says, looking down at her hands twisting in her lap. "Go to New York that next year. Not NYADA, re-applying didn't work out, but to the city. I ran into Jessie St. James and he offered me a job doing dinner theater, wedding comedies and murder mysteries and things like that. Nothing like what I dreamed, but I could have taken lessons, audited a few classes at NYU, even gone on auditions. But then when Dad died, Daddy was such a mess and our finances were shaky and I just couldn't figure out how to make it work, so I told myself that another year wouldn't make that much of a difference. For a while, it was hard to think about him because I used to worry that he'd be disappointed in me and my choices. He was always the dreamer in our family, you know."
"Rachel, no," he interrupts. "Your Dad might have been a dreamer, but he adored you. New York or not, that was never going to change."
"I know he did. I think I finally understood that after I had Connor. Still, you don't really forget," she says matter-of-factly. "It just loosens its grip on your heart enough so you can move on with your life." She nods firmly. "Like now. Dad loved San Francisco; he went to Berkeley for law school. You know what? Let's talk about something else." She offers him the last of the last of the carrots, neatly diced up in a little plastic container.
"Nah, I'm disgusting," he says, showing her his hands, tacitly accepting her change of subject.
She waves an arm towards the newly scrubbed bathroom. "I'd offer you a shower, but I'm not sure where the box with the towels is. Plus, no shower curtain." He watches her pull out a scrap of paper and add it to the list. "And thank you so much for fixing the bathroom sink by the way. I need to know how much the tools and parts were, so I can reimburse you."
She thinks he's going to take money from her? Not likely. "It was only like two bucks for a new washer and I already had the right wrench in my toolbox."
She frowns and says, "Still...," but at that moment, Connor distracts them both by zooming by at approximately ninety miles an hour, two dust cloths in his outstretched hands like wings.
"Kid's got a lot of energy, huh?" he asks, smiling at the the boy and maybe even more at Rachel's face as she watches him.
"Always. Don't forget, he had a nap though."
He groans and stands back up. Last night's lack of sleep is definitely starting to catch up with him. "I could really use one of those." Grabbing her hand and ignoring how warm and small and good it feels in his, he carefully pulls her to her feet. "You just about done here for today?"
Her face scrunches up. "Done? I don't...."
"Look, the locksmith came and replaced the deadbolt and that's great, but do you really want Connor around while that dumb-a...." Shit, the little guy is hopping down the hall now, he's gotta start watching what he says. "...While Ray is painting and messing around with the window? I'm definitely not going to tell you your business, but it seems like he could get into trouble."
Actually, he's not planning on mentioning it to Rachel but he's already got first hand knowledge of this. He looked away from his open toolbox for like one second, only to glance back and find Connor with his hammer in hand, preparing to clobber a defenseless spider. Lesson learned: the toolbox needs to be kept latched. (Kid's got a good swing, though.)
"So think about making my place your home-base for a couple of days," he continues and his body is sort of getting ahead of his brain because he tugs her closer so that only a couple inches separate them before letting go. (What? It's friendly. Good friends do that.)
She bites her lip and looks down and he can almost hear the wheels in her head turning. And she's not looking at him, so he can stare as much as he wants, with her in a tank tops and shorts again, showing all sorts of smooth, tanned skin. Her hair is pinned up with a few loose strands curling along her neck, and a smudge of dirt along her upper arm, and he wonders what she'd do if he wiped it away and this is probably a shitty idea because she's still the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.
He literally can't force himself to care.
"There's obviously enough room and it'll give you more time to unpack and...um...paint fumes...bad for vocal chords, right?"
Fine. He's reaching.
She tilts her head towards him and one corner of her mouth quirks up. "It's been a while since I worried about my vocal cords," she admits quietly.
(Rachel who insisted on having room temperature water available backstage and gave gave them all handouts decorated with little gold stars about the effects of dairy on mucus production. Rachel with a white-board the week before Nationals, refusing to speak unless it was absolutely necessary.)
"I dunno. You sounded pretty good this morning. Best ladybug song I've ever heard," he says and just like he intends, the corner of her mouth tilts up.
"As a hot-shot producer, I'm sure you get a lot of demand for ladybug songs," she says dryly.
"I'm an expert, babe. Seriously, think about it. I've got a couple of days off," (Sorry Josh) "and it would be fun to catch up."
Or okay, maybe fun is the wrong word, since what he really wants to know what the fuck happened with her and Finn, or hell, more of what's been going on with her for the last nine years, since twenty minutes in a grocery store two years ago doesn't really do it. And obviously he's not about to grill her about the whole thing, but he's pretty sure that if they start talking, it'll all come out. She's always been ridiculously easy to talk to.
Rachel still looks like she could go either way, and he's trying to figure out a way to tip the scales when Connor makes a reappearance, dragging his stuffed animal by one paw. "Bunny's hungry again," he says plaintively. "He needs Rice Krispies."
Awesome.
She lets out a little puff of breath. "All right, Noah. If you're sure you're up for it, we'd be very happy to take you up on your offer." She picks Connor up and hugs him. "Sweetie, Noah has invited us to stay for a couple days, while our new apartment gets fixed up. How does that sound?"
Connor leans over and reaches up to pat his cheek. "Can we have more Rice Krispies?"
His heart skips a beat for a second when he looks into those big brown eyes, fringed with enormously long lashes that are just exactly like his mom's.
"You know it, big guy," he says.
Part Four
Chapter: 3/?
Rating: PG-13 this chapter, M eventually
Characters: Puck, Rachel, OC
Word Count: 3200
Summary: Puck and Rachel get another chance when unexpected events bring her to his doorstep years after graduation.
*****
Whoever first issued the platitude 'everything will look brighter in the morning' clearly didn't have her apartment in mind. Instead, daylight just serves to show the cobwebs the corners and the dead spider in the bottom of the bathtub, the grease caked on the appliances (she actually shuddered when she opened the refrigerator) and the dinginess of the paint job throughout, with scuff marks so high on the walls of the kitchen she wonders what the previous tenants could have been up to.
Connor is in her arms because she's doesn't want to take the chance that he might cut himself on a stray piece of glass and as she looks back and forth between the photos she was sent and the reality of a living situation that she's already sunk most of her savings into, her heart absolutely sinks down to her feet. Still, perhaps things are a little better this morning, because instead of wanting to cry, she's starting to get angry. (She's done plenty of both in the last few years and she can confirm that getting angry gets a lot more done.)
"It's pretty bad isn't it?" she says to Noah who is staring grimly at the broken lock and shattered window.
He shrugs and it's absurdly encouraging. "I've seen worse. Lived in worse, too. Want me to get rid of the broken glass?"
She nods and decides that out of a series of bad options, the merely dusty larger bedroom is marginally the best bet, so she sets Connor up there with a coloring book and crayons while she 'discusses' the situation with the rental company.
Noah reappears through the apartment door as she hangs up. "I wedged a piece of cardboard over the hole and threw the glass in the dumpster out back. What did they have to say?
"The rental agent I worked with is out of the office until next week. Her assistant suggests I speak to the building superintendent in the meantime."
"This place has a super? I can have a word with him if you want," he says, clenching his fist reflexively and for a second she sees high-school Noah storming towards the door and threatening to rearrange that Jessie kid's face and it warms her now just like it did then.
It would also be much too easy to begin to rely on that kind of support.
"Thank you, but no." She needs to begin as she means to go on. "I can deal with it. Would you mind watching Connor for a few minutes? I'll be right downstairs and there are snacks and a drink in my bag. And if he gets bored with coloring, there are a few other toys...."
"I've got it, Rach," he interrupts, smiling. "Go kick some ass."
Taking a deep breath, she agrees, and swallowing through her nerves, she makes her way down the stairs and raps sharply on the door to apartment 11. She waits impatiently, tapping her foot, but it's not until she's knocked twice more that the door swings open to reveal a man blinking sleepily at her.
"Ray Morris?" she asks, taking in the greying pony-tail, the threadbare cut-offs, t-shirt and sandals combo, and most of all the faint but unmistakeable smell of marijuana wafting out into the hallway.
"Uh-huh," he agrees, giving her a friendly smile and a wave and then as if they were finished with the conversation, he tries to close the door.
She swiftly moves one arm to block the door open. "I'm the new tenant. Rachel Berry in apartment 34B. There are some problems with the current condition of the apartment. Additionally, the deadbolt seems to be completely missing and the rental company said that you would be the first person to contact."
"Yeah, that place really got trashed. Stupid college kids. I hear the new tenant's a little older, like a teacher or something. She's not moving in until August first though."
"I'm the new tenant," she reminds him from between gritted teeth.
His eyes widen. "Whoa! Man, you're early. It's really, you know, not in move in condition yet."
Don't kill him. Don't kill him. Even if it would be justifiable homicide.
"Today is August second, Ray."
He scratches his head and knits his brow together. "Shit, that's not good."
"That's an understatement. If you don't mind my asking, how did you get this job?"
He grins sheepishly. "My uncle owns the place. He's gonna be hella pissed when he finds out about this though."
Oh yes. She can work with that. "I would imagine so, Ray. But I think he'll be much more understanding when he finds out about all the help you're going to be giving me over the next few days, don't you?"
By the time she's finished with Ray, he's called the locksmith, promised to both fix the window immediately and start painting tomorrow (and don't think she won't be knocking on his door first thing in the morning to make sure that happens), provided her with cleaning supplies, and even said he could run a buffer over the wood floors if she wants. She marches back upstairs, flushed with victory, only to find Connor and Noah sprawled out across the bedroom floor, busily playing with toy cars.
"Vroom!" Connor moves his vehicle in a wide arc. "Fast car!"
She watches from the door way as Noah pushes his car. "Wow!" he says, "That red one sure is a fast car. What about the blue one? Is mine fast too?"
"The blue one always crashes!" he says and then laughs as Noah makes exploding noises. Connor looks up and spots her. "Mommy!"
She sinks to one knee as he races to her and wraps her arms around around him, pressing a few kisses on top of his soft brown hair while she waits for the lump in her throat to subside. Meeting Noah's eye over Connor's head doesn't help with that. Forcing her eyes down, she looks at her son.
"Sweetheart, you're filthy! You need another bath." He moves to squirm out of her arms (what is it with small boys and their affinity for dirt?) and she ruffles his hair lightly. "Or at least a hand wash before we have a snack. Come on." Pausing in the doorway, she looks back at Noah. "Please don't feel like I don't appreciate your help because I really do, but I know you've probably got a million things to do. I think after my little talk with the superintendent, we're well on the way to getting things straightened out here, so don't feel like you have to stay."
He pushes himself up to his feet and makes a scoffing noise. "Like you're going to get out of this without feeding me? Look, I saw carrot sticks and raisins in that snack bag."
If he's trying to make her smile, he's succeeding.
*****
By the end of the afternoon he's tired and probably a little smelly, but at least all of her stuff is unloaded from the station wagon (he's seriously amazed at how much shit she crammed in there) and she's not living in a place that's absolutely filthy, so that's something. She's sitting on the floor, leaned up against the wall (it may be a little cleaner, but outside of the air mattress that Connor napped on, she's still got no furniture, so yeah, floor) with her phone pressed to her ear and he'd go and give her a little privacy to talk but she waves him over and pats the space next to herself invitingly.
"No Daddy, we ended up spending the night at Noah's apartment....It wasn't what I'd planned, but then the apartment wasn't exactly in the promised condition either....we're cleaning it now....Yes, Noah and I...."
Sneaking a look at him, she shifts uncomfortably and he thinks he knows why. Daniel Berry was never his biggest fan.
"Don't send another check, Connor and I are fine and you've been more than generous. And no, I don't think the ACLU needs to be notified...." Another sideways glance and then she continues in a lower tone. "Daddy, he's being a perfect gentleman and what's more, he's being a good friend....Yes, I'll remember....I love you too! I'll talk to you soon."
She ends the calls and smiles weakly. "Daddy says hi."
He laughs. "Rach, it's okay. Poor guy. Remember that nervous twitch he'd develop whenever I showed up? The one just under his eye?"
"He always admired your talent and determination, Noah. The two of you just got off on the wrong foot."
That's putting it mildly. Not that he blames the guy.
"Yeah. That was probably because when he walked in on us making out sophomore year my hand was on your thigh and heading straight for your ass."
All these years later and he can still remember exactly how soft her hair felt when he pushed it back behind her ear, how smooth her skin was, the little squeak she made when his thumb brushed the edge of her panties....And now he really needs to think about something else.
"Dad spent hours talking him down from that one. Hours. He always said he saw a lot of himself in you."
Dad. Marcus Berry.
Shit, that's something else he remembers: that feeling of total helplessness eight years ago when his mother delivered the bad news. Forty-seven and a massive heart-attack hits and that was it, one of those crappy things that you think are never going to happen to the kind of guy who does youth coaching for disadvantaged kids and dedicates a significant portion of his law practice for pro bono work. (Including helping out a fucked up kid who tried to steal an ATM from a convenience store.)
He reaches out and squeezes her hand briefly. "I'm really sorry I couldn't get back for the funeral. I wanted to, as soon as Ma told me about the accident, but I just couldn't swing it."
"I understand. You sent a lovely note. I would have written back, but you didn't include a return address."
Well at that point he didn't have one, or at least not anything more permanent than spending a few weeks at a time on someone's couch. (His first year in California was rough.) "I still wish I could have been there. Losing a parent...."
Thank god that car crash his Ma was in two years ago wasn't any worse. Sure he bitches, but he doesn't know what he'd do without her.
"I was going to do it," Rachel says, looking down at her hands twisting in her lap. "Go to New York that next year. Not NYADA, re-applying didn't work out, but to the city. I ran into Jessie St. James and he offered me a job doing dinner theater, wedding comedies and murder mysteries and things like that. Nothing like what I dreamed, but I could have taken lessons, audited a few classes at NYU, even gone on auditions. But then when Dad died, Daddy was such a mess and our finances were shaky and I just couldn't figure out how to make it work, so I told myself that another year wouldn't make that much of a difference. For a while, it was hard to think about him because I used to worry that he'd be disappointed in me and my choices. He was always the dreamer in our family, you know."
"Rachel, no," he interrupts. "Your Dad might have been a dreamer, but he adored you. New York or not, that was never going to change."
"I know he did. I think I finally understood that after I had Connor. Still, you don't really forget," she says matter-of-factly. "It just loosens its grip on your heart enough so you can move on with your life." She nods firmly. "Like now. Dad loved San Francisco; he went to Berkeley for law school. You know what? Let's talk about something else." She offers him the last of the last of the carrots, neatly diced up in a little plastic container.
"Nah, I'm disgusting," he says, showing her his hands, tacitly accepting her change of subject.
She waves an arm towards the newly scrubbed bathroom. "I'd offer you a shower, but I'm not sure where the box with the towels is. Plus, no shower curtain." He watches her pull out a scrap of paper and add it to the list. "And thank you so much for fixing the bathroom sink by the way. I need to know how much the tools and parts were, so I can reimburse you."
She thinks he's going to take money from her? Not likely. "It was only like two bucks for a new washer and I already had the right wrench in my toolbox."
She frowns and says, "Still...," but at that moment, Connor distracts them both by zooming by at approximately ninety miles an hour, two dust cloths in his outstretched hands like wings.
"Kid's got a lot of energy, huh?" he asks, smiling at the the boy and maybe even more at Rachel's face as she watches him.
"Always. Don't forget, he had a nap though."
He groans and stands back up. Last night's lack of sleep is definitely starting to catch up with him. "I could really use one of those." Grabbing her hand and ignoring how warm and small and good it feels in his, he carefully pulls her to her feet. "You just about done here for today?"
Her face scrunches up. "Done? I don't...."
"Look, the locksmith came and replaced the deadbolt and that's great, but do you really want Connor around while that dumb-a...." Shit, the little guy is hopping down the hall now, he's gotta start watching what he says. "...While Ray is painting and messing around with the window? I'm definitely not going to tell you your business, but it seems like he could get into trouble."
Actually, he's not planning on mentioning it to Rachel but he's already got first hand knowledge of this. He looked away from his open toolbox for like one second, only to glance back and find Connor with his hammer in hand, preparing to clobber a defenseless spider. Lesson learned: the toolbox needs to be kept latched. (Kid's got a good swing, though.)
"So think about making my place your home-base for a couple of days," he continues and his body is sort of getting ahead of his brain because he tugs her closer so that only a couple inches separate them before letting go. (What? It's friendly. Good friends do that.)
She bites her lip and looks down and he can almost hear the wheels in her head turning. And she's not looking at him, so he can stare as much as he wants, with her in a tank tops and shorts again, showing all sorts of smooth, tanned skin. Her hair is pinned up with a few loose strands curling along her neck, and a smudge of dirt along her upper arm, and he wonders what she'd do if he wiped it away and this is probably a shitty idea because she's still the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.
He literally can't force himself to care.
"There's obviously enough room and it'll give you more time to unpack and...um...paint fumes...bad for vocal chords, right?"
Fine. He's reaching.
She tilts her head towards him and one corner of her mouth quirks up. "It's been a while since I worried about my vocal cords," she admits quietly.
(Rachel who insisted on having room temperature water available backstage and gave gave them all handouts decorated with little gold stars about the effects of dairy on mucus production. Rachel with a white-board the week before Nationals, refusing to speak unless it was absolutely necessary.)
"I dunno. You sounded pretty good this morning. Best ladybug song I've ever heard," he says and just like he intends, the corner of her mouth tilts up.
"As a hot-shot producer, I'm sure you get a lot of demand for ladybug songs," she says dryly.
"I'm an expert, babe. Seriously, think about it. I've got a couple of days off," (Sorry Josh) "and it would be fun to catch up."
Or okay, maybe fun is the wrong word, since what he really wants to know what the fuck happened with her and Finn, or hell, more of what's been going on with her for the last nine years, since twenty minutes in a grocery store two years ago doesn't really do it. And obviously he's not about to grill her about the whole thing, but he's pretty sure that if they start talking, it'll all come out. She's always been ridiculously easy to talk to.
Rachel still looks like she could go either way, and he's trying to figure out a way to tip the scales when Connor makes a reappearance, dragging his stuffed animal by one paw. "Bunny's hungry again," he says plaintively. "He needs Rice Krispies."
Awesome.
She lets out a little puff of breath. "All right, Noah. If you're sure you're up for it, we'd be very happy to take you up on your offer." She picks Connor up and hugs him. "Sweetie, Noah has invited us to stay for a couple days, while our new apartment gets fixed up. How does that sound?"
Connor leans over and reaches up to pat his cheek. "Can we have more Rice Krispies?"
His heart skips a beat for a second when he looks into those big brown eyes, fringed with enormously long lashes that are just exactly like his mom's.
"You know it, big guy," he says.
Part Four