Bright Particular Star VI
Bright Particular Star
*****
Title: Bright Particular Star
Chapter: 6/10
Rating: M
Characters: Puck/Rachel
Word Count: ~4000
Summary: When he really needs someone, it's his truest instinct to go to her...
Rachel puts it off for as long as she can because she knows, she knows, that this conversation is going to go badly. Trying to talk to Noah Puckerman about his father has disaster written all over it in an epically tragic, operatic kind of way and she certainly doesn't needs any of her vaunted psychic abilities to predict that. Although it would have been nice if said powers had put in an appearance before she went to temple on her weekend at home, or at least before Miriam Puckerman pulled her aside at the end of Friday night services.
The older woman makes small talk at first. Questions about school, New York, the distance, who she keeps in touch with. Rachel answers politely (albeit somewhat evasively), but while Noah and his mother look almost nothing alike, there's an expression there that she's seen before on his face. Clearly, Mrs. Puckerman wants something from Rachel.
What follows is an uncomfortable, but blessedly abbreviated account of the events leading up to Mr. Puckerman's departure. Infinitely worse is the story of what brings him back to Lima. Between what Miriam tells her and what she googles later, it's clear that he's not only ill, he's terminal. And then, Rachel can feel her stomach sink as the point of the entire conversation is finally revealed. Simply put, Miriam wants her to convince Noah to contact his father.
(And no, Rachel doesn't have the faintest idea why Mrs. Puckerman thinks she has any influence with her son at all. Perhaps she's already tried everyone else.)
So why is she doing it at all? And she is going to, she knows she is, even as she murmurs a few non-committal words to Noah's mother, while trying to catch Daddy's eye.
Like a lot of thing between the two of them, it's complicated by history--his, hers, and surprisingly theirs.
While it would be untrue to say that they'd always (or possibly even ever) been friends, they've been in the background of each other's lives for a long time, much longer than she's known the rest of the Gleeks. There's temple and while neither family attended every week, that still encompasses a lot of holiday services and community potlucks. Not to mention all the bar and bat mitzvahs that they co-attended; needless to say, Glee was certainly not the first time she'd ever seen him glumly tugging on his tie, wishing he was somewhere else.
She knows all about Eli Puckerman. That story made the rounds extensively throughout their small community, and at nine Rachel was predictably tiny, small enough to be discounted when she burrows in a book in the very back of the community room. At first, she blocks it out--the gossip-mongers were talking about her own fathers last week and probably will be again next week, but her ears prick when she hears the name 'Puckerman'. (She's not admitting it now, and she won't for years, but there's always been something about him that's made her take notice.)
"...out all night...fired from two jobs this year alone..."
"...that boy, a real wild child...and now pregnant again..."
"...gone...no one knows..."
"...good riddance..."
They stop only when Rachel stomps especially noisily and slams the door on the way out.
Noah's public face has never been anything but louder, faster, tougher concerning the whole situation, but Rachel knows better. She suspects at age nine, and learns even more thoroughly later on what that kind of defection does to a person.
Now, privately she's thinking Noah could be in the right. His father might want absolution, but that doesn't make it Noah's responsibility to provide it.
Except.
Except for the other thing she knows about Noah. And this one is courtesy of Quinn Fabray and her lies. He's fearless on a sports field, he ruled McKinley with an iron fist, he's a bad-ass, or a BAMF, or whatever else he likes. But pain, at least the emotional variety? He buries all that until it become corrosive.
She doesn't want to see that happen again, even if it puts her in the unwanted position of being truth-teller.
(It takes her days to screw up the courage to do it because it's always late at night, when she's gripping her phone, finger hovering over the contact list, that she thinks about how well that went for everyone last time.)
*****
The conversation is pretty much what she expected. A fact she's willing to admit only days later when her incandescent rage has cooled slightly. It takes another two days before she accepts that her anger is only tangentially directed at him. He said something thoughtless in Puckermanesque fashion. She's heard worse. For that matter, she's heard worse from him.
Mostly, she's angry at Shelby. And she can't help it, no matter how ridiculous it is, she's angry at herself for caring. She's spent years perfecting not thinking about her mother and for the most part, she's wildly successful at it. So it's beyond disheartening to realize that a dozen careless words are all it takes to rip off that particular bandage and show the ugliness underneath.
She really thought she was over this.
*****
By Friday, she's hot and tired and even though the setting sun is creating long canyons of shadow, the city is holding on to the heat of the day. Rachel pinches the bridge of her nose as she feels a headache start to take hold somewhere behind her eyes. The noise of the traffic and the sound of a jackhammer from the inevitable summer construction work as she walks along the busy city streets aren't helping. Taking a deep breath as she holds her phone to her ear, she lets herself think for the tiniest of moments that neither is the third-degree she's getting from her father.
"Yes, actually the school did ask me back, but I couldn't do both....I agree, the hours are an enormous commitment, but it's a great opportunity....Well, I was thinking of the knowledge I'd gain as well as the potential contacts, but yes, I suppose it will look good on my resume....I start on Monday....Of course, I'm excited, just a little tired....Still recovering from exams, I guess....Yes, Dad, I love you too....No that's fine, just give a kiss to Daddy for me....I promise, I'll talk to you both tomorrow."
She ends the call, but she only has a few seconds to think longingly about the quiet of her air-conditioned dorm room only a few blocks away before her phone is vibrating again. She fixes a smile back on her face (ridiculous, she knows, since he can't see her.) "Yes, Dad?"
There's a long pause. "No. It's Noah. Shit, I didn't think you were actually going to answer."
She can't possibly be shocked to hear his voice, he's been trying to call for days. (Not today, though.) It takes her a moment to gather herself. Their fight, it may not really be about him, only it is a little, and it's all such a tangled mess and besides, she's embarrassed. So it's a real effort for her to force out, "Noah. Hello."
He seems to feel the constraint as well or at any rate his voice sounds odd when he says, "I want to talk to you."
Isn't that what they're doing? He's taking her confusion as a refusal because he rushes on. "Seriously. I'll wait outside your building again if I have to, but I've already been by twice and the security guard at the desk is starting to look at me sideways."
"You're in New York?" she squeaks, unable to control her voice.
He laughs shortly. (At her? At himself?) "Yeah."
And for all her confusion and embarrassment, it's suddenly simple. He's here. "Yes."
"Yes to what?" he asks gruffly.
She sighs inwardly. Are they taking turns being obtuse? "Yes, I want to see you. Yes, I'd like to speak with you as well. Take your pick."
"That's...that's good. Where are you now?"
"I'm almost at Union Square Park. There's an ice-cream vendor near the fountain." She needs something cool. It's still hot as hell out here.
(However, her headache has mysteriously disappeared.)
15 minutes later he's laughing at her choice (lemon-rosemary sorbet, best place to find it in the city) and she's rolling her eyes at his tragic inability to decide between colored or chocolate sprinkles. It feels so normal, that she's forced to remind herself that they don't really have a normal. They sit on a park bench as the shadows merge into summer twilight and for a while it's like they've made a secret pact to sweep it all under the rug, to pretend that nothing has happened.
They talk about the weather, her internship, his summer job, everything but whatever brought him a hundred miles out of his way to see her.
(Still, whenever they pause for too long, the air seems unpleasantly thick.)
Finally he brings it up, leaning forward, looking out into the park, anywhere but at her, she thinks as she watches his face from under her lashes.
"I'm sorry."
And it's not as startling as it should be, an apology on his lips, because she's starting to recognize that he isn't entirely the boy she knew in high school. Just as well. She's not exactly the girl he knew either.
"What I said, I wasn't thinking about Shelby, wasn't thinking at all I guess," he continues. "And then, shit, I never explained about that. About Beth."
As far as she knows, he never talks about Beth to anyone and it makes her heart hurt, for both of them. "I...thanks. I shouldn't have..."
He interrupts. "No. That was my mom. Believe me, I know. She's just got these ideas about you..." he trails off for a moment and Rachel looks at him, puzzled, wondering about the flush on the back of his neck. "I just...I want to tell you how that happened. With Beth and Shelby."
Her throat tightens and she can't say anything, just dips her head and scuffs her sandals on the pavement.
"When Shelby approached us...I don't know why Quinn said yes, but I agreed because I thought you and Shelby...I thought you two would be close and I could talk to you about her, about Beth I mean. I thought I wouldn't lose her completely if you were around the two of them, not like I would if she went to a couple of strangers. I didn't know. I didn't have any idea. I mean, god, Shelby made you that dress. Fuck. The last thing I wanted to do was make things worse for you."
"That dress was beautiful wasn't it? She gave me a glass too," Rachel says distantly and it's like ice-water running through her veins rather than blood. Then feeling him shift uncomfortably on the bench next to her, she sighs. "Noah, what happened between Shelby and myself didn't have anything to do with you or Beth. For whatever reason, Shelby gave up on me well before that, even if I tried to keep fooling myself for a while."
"Fucking stupid of her," he mumbles and and he's leaning into her even as her mouth curves up sadly.
"I suppose it was," she agrees, relaxing towards him slightly, accepting the comfort he's offering. It's certainly a point of view she hasn't heard proposed before (not that she talks about this with anyone). It's kind of nice. All of it.
They sit in silence for a while.
Finally, he sits up a little straighter, pulling away, and she tries not to mind. "Shit, it's starting to get dark. I should probably walk you back to your dorm and get out of here."
"Stay," she demands, without really thinking about it.
He looks at her doubtfully, but she ignores it. "It's getting late, and you'll have a much easier time managing traffic in daylight anyway. You don't have to be in Grand Rapids until Sunday night, right?"
"Yeah...," he stretches out the word.
"So stay an extra day. You haven't seen the city in summertime yet."
*****
Actually, she's surprised when he agrees so quickly and it catches her off guard a little--she's busy thinking of a few more arguments to trot out for him. So busy, that she doesn't really think about why she wants him to stay so badly until she's walking back to his truck with him so he can pick up a change of clothes.
The truth is that she doesn't want to feel sad and angry any more and maybe this is crazy because he's been at least the indirect cause of her feeling both in the last week, but for once the inconstancy doesn't bother her.
She needs a distraction from herself.
And it's not like they're going to do anything stupid, not with him leaving in a day.
(When his hand drifts to the small of her back as they cross the street, she's not so sure.)
*****
She slides her keycard in the door and instead of a blast of cool, she's greeted with the same warm, stale air as in the hallway. She steps aside to let him in, gesturing to Olivia's side of the room. "You can put your stuff there. She's in Hong Kong for the summer."
He nods and she fiddles with the thermostat for a minute, complaining, "Ugh! Why is it so hot in here?" and then recognizing what she said, perches on the edge of her bed waiting for his inevitable innuendo.
Instead he shrugs. "I'll cool you down."
She sincerely doubts that.
He crosses the room to her. "Here, turn around," he directs and stupidly, her breath catches slightly as she brings one leg up on the bed, turning away from him.
"Lift your hair up off your neck."
She pulls her hair into a loose ponytail, fastens it with a hair-tie from her wrist, and then twists around and watches him pour a little water from his water bottle into his cupped palm. He spreads it on her neck and she shivers when a few drops roll down the line of her spine. "Better?" he asks quietly. She feels herself nodding and leans infinitesimally into his touch. He pulls away, pours out a little more water and then his fingers are tracing delicate lines, drawing the cool liquid up to the hollow behind her ears and around to her collarbone.
She feels the bed sink as he seats himself behind her, still only his tips of his fingers touching her, still only exploring exposed skin and then he leans in and blows gently across her neck and shoulders. Chills race along her body and she can feel goosebumps spreading, but it's her tightening nipples that forces a tiny gasp out of her.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice gravelly, maybe a little unsure. His hands have moved to loosely grip her upper arms, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on her shoulder blades. "You're cooler, right?"
Yes, in a very limited sense. Mostly, she's on fire.
She turns in his grasp, trying to read his expression, but his eyes are hooded and the only thing that seems to suggest that he's similarly affected is his breathing--surely slightly more rapid than normal? His gaze wavers, dips to her mouth and all she can think is to hell with it, so she brushes her lips against his, and then again and again, pressing small teasing kisses on him as his hands slide to her hips.
This doesn't count as doing something stupid, does it?
And then he's kissing her back and she doesn't care.
He pulls her around completely, so now she's kneeling between his legs and his face is tilted up to hers and she nibbles his bottom lip gently before sucking on it gently, encouraging him to open his mouth for her. Their tongues dance and through the haze of sensation she feels him responding to her every move, but he's still letting her set the pace, and somehow it's making her bold.
Bold enough to arch her back and press her chest into his, moaning appreciatively as one hand comes up and rolls first one and then the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger and god, even through her through her thin cotton blouse and bra it feels fantastic, so she returns the favor, her hand finding its way under his shirt to the silver ring she knows is there, tugging delicately, revelling in his growl and the way he whispers, "baby" and "just like that" against the corner of her mouth.
Bold enough to ease back onto one elbow, and pull him on top of her, tongues tangled again, letting her thighs part as he settles in between them, tugging at his shirt until he yanks it off, running her hands along his arms and the muscles of his back, everywhere she can reach.
Bold enough to bite out his name when she feels him hard against her center even through layers of clothes and then demand breathlessly, "Touch me."
His response is immediate; one hand slides up her skirt, lightly stroking up and down along her inner thigh, until she's gasping, her hips moving against him. He sweeps across her panties, pressing at just the right spots and he must be able to feel exactly how soaked she is, because he's practically purring his approval as he pulls them down her thighs.
"Noah," she says again and it's almost a whine and his voice is hot in her ear.
"Gonna make you feel so good." And then he is, plunging one finger, then another into her wet heat, the movement of his hand matching the small involuntary rotations of her hips. Her head is thrown back, eyes closed, so she can't see, only feel him touching her exactly like she wants, like he knows how to pluck each individual sensation from her, like her body is an instrument, and then before she can even ask, he's picking up the pace, moving faster and everything is spiralling, tightening.
"Baby," his voice is almost pleading, "baby, look at me."
She tilts her head and opens her eyes with an effort and stares at him and his face is totally unguarded, and for a second it's like a code that she's finally on the verge of breaking, but then his thumb brushes alongside her clit, once, twice, a third time and she's the one who's breaking, clenching and shuddering against him, while he breathes words she can't understand into her shoulder, her hair.
When she recovers herself a little, she traces her hands down his side, stopping for a moment to run her fingers along his abs and the cut of hip and then lower, sliding to the front of his cargo shorts to find his erection. He groans and thrusts once into her hand, while she makes quick work of the button and zipper and then he's right there and really she shouldn't be surprised that he's gorgeous all over. She wraps her hand around him and every noise he makes, every line of his body is telling her that he loves it and it doesn't take much, a half dozen strokes, a curl of her wrist, and he's coming, hot and sticky all over her hand.
"Fuck...that was...fuck," he says collapsing to one side of her, and she'd gloat a little at making him incoherent, but as she lies back next to him, breathing heavily, she has to admit that it's not like she's in much better shape.
He leans over the bed and grabs his t-shirt, offering it to her and she giggles, "Tissues are on the desk," and he snags a few and helps her clean off, before sinking back down and throwing an arm over her.
It's unfortunate, but probably inevitable, when her brain starts working again.
He's smoothing down her skirt along her thigh and tracing the line on her leg where it settles, and she's thinking about things like distance and timing and condoms.
He's scraping a fingernail gently along the sliver of skin showing where her blouse is riding up and she's thinking that this boy, this man, could break her heart.
He's starting to work the buttons at her neckline and she's starting to talk.
"Noah, that was amazing..."
"Mmmm," and he's nuzzling her neck, unbuttoning, pressing a kiss to newly exposed skin.
"But...wait."
He groans, but his hands still.
"I think...I think maybe we should stop. This has the potential to be quite complicated and I'm not sure if continuing along this road is the wisest course."
She has never wanted to be wrong more in her life, and large part of her is dying for him to persuade her that this really is a good idea.
Instead, he's pushing up. "Yeah, I gotcha," he says and grabs the blanket off the bottom of her bed and tosses it on the floor, following it with his body.
She'd tell him that he could use Olivia's bed, but she thinks he'll just roll his eyes at her. Or worse.
"Are you mad?" she asks quietly.
"Shit, Berry," he says, folding his arms under his head and looking at her irritatedly, "I'm not a complete asshole."
She glares right back. "That's a perfect example right there! Is it really too much to ask for you to address me by my first name, given the circumstances?"
He snorts. "You mean the circumstance where I made you forget your own name five minutes ago?"
She throws a pillow at him and he grins and thanks her so she flings herself over so she doesn't have to look at his smug face.
After a few minutes: "C'mere."
She's going to ignore him.
"Just c'mere," he says again and she flops over with a huff to find him still on the floor with his hand held out to her. With a frown, she takes it and he gently tugs her onto the floor with him.
"It's okay," he says, tucking her in the crook of his arm. She's tense for a moment, not knowing if he's talking about what they did do or what she prevented them from doing or something else entirely.
"Stop thinking so hard," he rumbles.
"I resent that," she says as she settles into his side.
"Course you do," he says sleepily.
She yawns and throws one arm over his chest. "Noah, we do have two perfectly adequate beds in this room."
"I know. Shhhhh. Just close your eyes."
She's asleep in minutes.