Two Points For Honesty (Puck)
I don't really know how this fic appeared. I was minding my own business listening to some music, and before I knew it-- Puck had invaded my head. This is a one shot. You could consider it a prequel to Disney Laced Profanity, but you don't have to have read that for this to make sense.
Credit for the song lyrics and story title go to Guster (love them!)
Takes place after Mash Up.
If that’s all you will be,
You’ll be a waste of time.
You’ve dreamed a thousand dreams
None seem to stick in your mind.
Two points for honesty
It must make you sad to know that
Nobody cares at all.
Two Points for Honesty
Rachel Berry broke up with him. Puck’s not sure it gets more absurd than that. Oh, wait. Yes it does. She wants to be friends.
She’d looked hurt when he blew her off (which was sort of the whole point), but really, Puck is thinking Rachel should probably give him a damn medal. After all, he knocked up his best friend’s girlfriend. What does she think would happen to some second string friend?
(Though of course Rachel doesn’t know he fucked Quinn.... so maybe he can’t act like she’s a total moron.)
After dinner, he goes up to his room and lays across his bed, staring at the Pamela Anderson poster on his wall (Not the current old and skeezy version of her. Gross. This sucker is vintage from the Baywatch era. He had to pay 20 bucks for it on Ebay but it has been worth every damn penny.) Staring at the blonde in that red swimsuit has him remembering how in 6th grade he was sure he wanted to go out to California and be a stuntman for the movies. Even then, the badass ways of Noah Puckerman were legend and he’d been sure that some movie studio was just dying for a stud like him to come out and show them how it was done. He’d even dragged himself to the library and (with quite a bit of help from the old lady behind the desk) found this totally awesome book called So You Want to Be a Stuntman. (Noah had barely stopped himself from exclaiming Yes! Yes I Do! when he read the title. He’d learned from an 8th grader earlier that year that only retards get excited about anything besides chicks or booze. He’d been trying to take it down a notch or two ever since then, but sometimes -- when something cool like this happened -- acting like he didn’t care kind of sucked.)
He’d carefully signed the back of his new library card and checked the book out while the old lady smiled at him. (It was like she’d known he was excited anyway which was kind of annoying.) She’d also been very clear about all the horrible things that would happen if he didn’t bring this book back by the date she’d stamped in the back. At that point in their conversation, she hadn’t smiled at all. (Almost like she suspected something of him, which was also kind of annoying.)
Noah had a whole month with the book before it was due back, and he’d spent hours every night pouring over the details. His father wanted to know just what the fuck he was up to that he couldn’t make time to watch WWE Wrestling with him as usual, but Noah was on a mission. This was his dream. (Even if it did mean he was a fucking ungrateful little punk)
When his dad finally left (for good) the day before the book was due back, Noah couldn’t help but feel like So You Wanna Be a Stuntman had betrayed him. All that time he’d spent pouring over those pages and totally ignoring his Dad made him kind of sick to his stomach. Maybe the fact that he was a selfish little prick (his father’s last words to him) had ruined everything. His Mom cried all the time now and his little sister just looked confused.
Stupid California. Noah had kicked the book under his bed and refused to look at it again. He never took it back to the library, and Puck vaguely wonders if it is still under there. He’s not willing to get up and look, though. He doesn’t care that much (even if he still thinks it is a pretty cool fucking dream).
He groans as his cell phone beeps with another text. Fucking Berry. Against his better judgement, he rolls over and forces himself up off his bed. Digging the phone out of his jacket pocket, he sighs and opens the latest message from the crazy face that dumped him a couple of hours ago (and yet can’t seem to just let it go).
You have one new message from PSYCHO!:
....and Noah, I really wish that you would rethink your stance on whether or not a friendship would be attainable for us. It is my belief that if you just gave consideration to the...”
Puck has to smile a little bit about how the character limit keeps cutting her off. (Apparently AT&T has been able to accomplish what no one else has in 16 years.)
He remembers the first time he ever saw Rachel Berry. It was the first day of school in 7th grade and she was in a heated debate with the junior high principal about something that was apparently earth shattering. Her knee socks had caught his attention in the beginning, but it was her mouth that quickly demanded all focus. From everyone.
The other students in the hallway were all slowly starting to stare at her in amazement. No one had really ever seen someone their age talk to an adult that way. At school! He was just starting to think that maybe he needed to meet this chick when her words finally worked their way into his brain.
“... and I may be new here, but I really think that the American Civil Liberties Union would have a thing or two to say about the fact that the school year has already begun and you have no current plans for a 7th grade musical! My two dads are gay, and I will have you know that....”
Musicals and Gay Dads? Is it any wonder that Noah Puckerman (who had become Puck over the summer) literally turned and ran the other way?
Puck doesn’t really remember seeing Rachel much after that because that was the year he’d decided he was going to be an NBA player. He was a point guard on the 7th grade team (Finn was the center. Obviously.) and was pretty damn good. No, he didn’t really make most of his layups and his free-throws were for shit.... but still, Puck felt sure he had potential. He spent every day after school with Finn practicing, shooting basket after basket. But after a couple of months, he realized that most of Finn’s baskets had started going in -- while he was lucky if his shots hit the damn rim. Finn being a freak and growing about four inches in three months didn’t exactly help. But whatever. Puck was undeniably the tougher of the two (even if he was still one of the shortest guys in their class). By the end of 7th grade, though, Puck had realized that the NBA was for pussies.
(He also vaguely recalls that Rachel Berry got her musical.)
When his phone beeps again Puck prepares himself for part eight of Rachel’s cell phone novel.
You have one new message from PSYCHO!:
... rapport we established in the women’s room after the slushee incident, you will see that you can talk to me. You can trust me, Noah. I think we are going through...
Puck sighs and puts his phone in his pocket. Fucking girl is going to be the death of his last nerve. She’s certainly been standing on it for long enough. The phone beeps again, so he crosses the room and picks up his guitar to distract himself. (He is not going to write her back. Even if he just tells her to Fuck Off, she will take it as some sort of encouragement. She’s like a damn barracuda that way.)
He starts messing around with different chords, playing whatever pops into his mind. The last year of junior high was when he’d decided that his clear path in life was to be a Rock Star. Music, Chicks, and Booze? Fuck yeah. Sign me up.
He bought his guitar at the pawn shop along with a couple of books about learning to play. (No way was he going back to face that old crone at the library. She probably still has his face on a Wanted poster or some shit like that.) He picked the new skills up pretty easily. After a few weeks, Puck realized that he’d stumbled onto something that he was good at. Like, really fucking good at. It made him, like, happy (which was kind of fucking weird). Every night, he played for hours. His sister would bang on his door and tell him to knock it off, but their Mom always told her to lay off. (Puck had made sure to learn a few Neil Diamond songs. They made her smile and, more importantly, they made her take his side against the brat.)
After a few months, he’d progressed enough that Puck felt sure it was time to start his band. Naturally, he’d gone to Finn first (and not just because he already had a drum set). Finn was almost more excited than Puck about it, and even if it was just the two of them practicing together at first -- they'd had fun. They messed around with old Aerosmith songs, talked about all the chicks they’d bang when they were famous, and just generally made a lot of noise. And they may not have been able to find anyone else with an instrument who was willing to spend hours after football practice in his garage, but Puck was sure they were going places.
Everything was fine until Finn started crushing on Fucking Quinn Fabray. It wasn’t long before Finn was bailing on at least half of their practices to spend time with her. Quinn needed to go shopping. Quinn needed help rearranging her room. Puck wouldn’t have been surprised if Finn had told him he had to miss practice because princess Quinn needed her nose wiped. It all came to an abrupt end on the day Quinn came to hear them practice for the first time. As usual, Finn has been trying to find a compromise. He wanted to spend time with his (soon to be?) girlfriend and he wanted to practice with Puck, so he’d asked if he could invite her. Puck agreed -- after all, if blondie understood just how badass this whole thing was -- maybe she’d realize Finn was going to be a Rock Star and finally give it up (or at the very least go on a date with him).
After two songs, Quinn had quickly put an end to the whole thing. She’d tossed lots of words at them like ridiculous and loud and going nowhere. She also threw in a nasty little bit about two-bit Lima losers. By the end of her tirade, it was clear that Finn’s plans to date Quinn Fabray has been dealt a severe blow. But more importantly, their dream of being ROCK GODS was over.
(Puck didn’t stop playing the guitar, though. He just stopped doing it in front of anyone else. For Two Fucking Years.)
He’s strumming Sweet Caroline (because his mother likes it -- not because of anything to do with Rachel I’m A Stalker Berry) when his phone stops giving the occasional beep and starts ringing. He looks at the caller ID and frowns when it reads VirginMary. Why would Quinn be calling him now? Answering the phone is the last thing he wants to do, but Quinn is calling and what if his kid needs something? As a compromise, he decides not to act like the neutered version of himself that she usually demands....
“You’ve reached the sex god hotline. How can I pleasure you?”
She sighs. “Don’t be obscene. When are you going to start answering the phone like an actual adult?”
He rolls his eyes, “Acting like an adult isn’t what gets me laid, sweetheart. What do you want?”
Her tone turns formal. “After what happened this week, everyone knows I’m pregnant, Puck. I just need to make sure you aren’t going to do anything stupid.”
Puck grips the phone and his knuckles go white. “Like what? Tell everyone you boned me in your Cheerio’s outfit while Finn was at Glee practice?”
His statement is met with silence and he refuses to feel bad.
“Relax, preggo. I’m not telling anyone anything. I’ve had a shitty enough day as it is.”
“Oh, that’s right.” He can hear the smirk in her voice. “I hear you and man-hands are no more. So sorry to hear that.”
Like hell she is. Puck is officially over this conversation.
“Whatever. Are we done here?”
“We never started, Puckerman”
Puck smirks as he hears the frigid tone of her voice. Quinn has never liked being dismissed.
“Just keep your mouth shut, Puck.”
The click that follows tips him off that they really are done with this stupid conversation. It’s kind of ironic, really. The Fabrays were the first people to pay him to clean their pool. His business got started in Quinn’s backyard and now his pool cleaning is paying the bills for something else that happened in Quinn’s backyard.
The summer between freshmen and sophomore year was when it all came together. His mom had made him watch The Apprentice with her one too many times, and Puck started realizing that anyone with a little bit of brains could make some serious dough. All they had to do was look for the right fucking opportunity and jump on it. His flash of brilliance came one hot afternoon while he and Finn sat on rafts in the Fabray’s pool admiring Quinn (and friends) sunbathing. Finn’s elevation to quarterback his freshman year has rapidly made up his lost ground with Quinn, and they were finally “official” (whatever the hell that meant -- seems to Puck that dating Quinn didn’t help Finn see much more action than he was getting before anyway).
He heard Mrs. Fabray on the phone asking her husband to look into hiring someone to clean the pool. (The maid was refusing, and she’d just had a manicure so surely he didn’t expect her to do it!) The dollar signs flashed in front of his eyes -- and he knew it had to be a serious opportunity if it took his attention away from girls in bikinis. He’d offered his services, found some supplies at the same pawn shop that sold him his guitar, and the rest was history. It took some time for him to find the right angle (and no, Mrs. Fabray was not that kind of customer) but after a month or so his business really took off. If it happened to be in direct correspondence to his latex usage, well, Puck figured everyone has to start somewhere.
He’d meant what he told Quinn. Just cause he thinks that school is for suckers, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have plans. He’s always had plans. They just change, or whatever. That doesn’t make him a loser. And so what if he’s never really managed to stick with something. Only psychos like Rachel Berry know what they want to do forever when they are 12 (and have daddies that tell her she can be whatever the fuck she wants to be...and that she can accomplish anything she sets her mind to... seriously--who actually tells kids shit like that?).
He looks at the screen of his phone and sees that he has 6 unread messages. He clicks on the very last one.
You have one new message from PSYCHO!:
....and even if you never want to talk to me again, I don’t want you to feel you need to leave Glee. I am so glad you didn’t quit. You’re a very talented performer, Noah.
He can’t help the grin that sneaks across his face.
Fucking Berry.
Before he can talk himself out of it, he picks up his cell, hits Return Message, and starts typing.
Credit for the song lyrics and story title go to Guster (love them!)
Takes place after Mash Up.
If that’s all you will be,
You’ll be a waste of time.
You’ve dreamed a thousand dreams
None seem to stick in your mind.
Two points for honesty
It must make you sad to know that
Nobody cares at all.
Two Points for Honesty
Rachel Berry broke up with him. Puck’s not sure it gets more absurd than that. Oh, wait. Yes it does. She wants to be friends.
She’d looked hurt when he blew her off (which was sort of the whole point), but really, Puck is thinking Rachel should probably give him a damn medal. After all, he knocked up his best friend’s girlfriend. What does she think would happen to some second string friend?
(Though of course Rachel doesn’t know he fucked Quinn.... so maybe he can’t act like she’s a total moron.)
After dinner, he goes up to his room and lays across his bed, staring at the Pamela Anderson poster on his wall (Not the current old and skeezy version of her. Gross. This sucker is vintage from the Baywatch era. He had to pay 20 bucks for it on Ebay but it has been worth every damn penny.) Staring at the blonde in that red swimsuit has him remembering how in 6th grade he was sure he wanted to go out to California and be a stuntman for the movies. Even then, the badass ways of Noah Puckerman were legend and he’d been sure that some movie studio was just dying for a stud like him to come out and show them how it was done. He’d even dragged himself to the library and (with quite a bit of help from the old lady behind the desk) found this totally awesome book called So You Want to Be a Stuntman. (Noah had barely stopped himself from exclaiming Yes! Yes I Do! when he read the title. He’d learned from an 8th grader earlier that year that only retards get excited about anything besides chicks or booze. He’d been trying to take it down a notch or two ever since then, but sometimes -- when something cool like this happened -- acting like he didn’t care kind of sucked.)
He’d carefully signed the back of his new library card and checked the book out while the old lady smiled at him. (It was like she’d known he was excited anyway which was kind of annoying.) She’d also been very clear about all the horrible things that would happen if he didn’t bring this book back by the date she’d stamped in the back. At that point in their conversation, she hadn’t smiled at all. (Almost like she suspected something of him, which was also kind of annoying.)
Noah had a whole month with the book before it was due back, and he’d spent hours every night pouring over the details. His father wanted to know just what the fuck he was up to that he couldn’t make time to watch WWE Wrestling with him as usual, but Noah was on a mission. This was his dream. (Even if it did mean he was a fucking ungrateful little punk)
When his dad finally left (for good) the day before the book was due back, Noah couldn’t help but feel like So You Wanna Be a Stuntman had betrayed him. All that time he’d spent pouring over those pages and totally ignoring his Dad made him kind of sick to his stomach. Maybe the fact that he was a selfish little prick (his father’s last words to him) had ruined everything. His Mom cried all the time now and his little sister just looked confused.
Stupid California. Noah had kicked the book under his bed and refused to look at it again. He never took it back to the library, and Puck vaguely wonders if it is still under there. He’s not willing to get up and look, though. He doesn’t care that much (even if he still thinks it is a pretty cool fucking dream).
He groans as his cell phone beeps with another text. Fucking Berry. Against his better judgement, he rolls over and forces himself up off his bed. Digging the phone out of his jacket pocket, he sighs and opens the latest message from the crazy face that dumped him a couple of hours ago (and yet can’t seem to just let it go).
You have one new message from PSYCHO!:
....and Noah, I really wish that you would rethink your stance on whether or not a friendship would be attainable for us. It is my belief that if you just gave consideration to the...”
Puck has to smile a little bit about how the character limit keeps cutting her off. (Apparently AT&T has been able to accomplish what no one else has in 16 years.)
He remembers the first time he ever saw Rachel Berry. It was the first day of school in 7th grade and she was in a heated debate with the junior high principal about something that was apparently earth shattering. Her knee socks had caught his attention in the beginning, but it was her mouth that quickly demanded all focus. From everyone.
The other students in the hallway were all slowly starting to stare at her in amazement. No one had really ever seen someone their age talk to an adult that way. At school! He was just starting to think that maybe he needed to meet this chick when her words finally worked their way into his brain.
“... and I may be new here, but I really think that the American Civil Liberties Union would have a thing or two to say about the fact that the school year has already begun and you have no current plans for a 7th grade musical! My two dads are gay, and I will have you know that....”
Musicals and Gay Dads? Is it any wonder that Noah Puckerman (who had become Puck over the summer) literally turned and ran the other way?
Puck doesn’t really remember seeing Rachel much after that because that was the year he’d decided he was going to be an NBA player. He was a point guard on the 7th grade team (Finn was the center. Obviously.) and was pretty damn good. No, he didn’t really make most of his layups and his free-throws were for shit.... but still, Puck felt sure he had potential. He spent every day after school with Finn practicing, shooting basket after basket. But after a couple of months, he realized that most of Finn’s baskets had started going in -- while he was lucky if his shots hit the damn rim. Finn being a freak and growing about four inches in three months didn’t exactly help. But whatever. Puck was undeniably the tougher of the two (even if he was still one of the shortest guys in their class). By the end of 7th grade, though, Puck had realized that the NBA was for pussies.
(He also vaguely recalls that Rachel Berry got her musical.)
When his phone beeps again Puck prepares himself for part eight of Rachel’s cell phone novel.
You have one new message from PSYCHO!:
... rapport we established in the women’s room after the slushee incident, you will see that you can talk to me. You can trust me, Noah. I think we are going through...
Puck sighs and puts his phone in his pocket. Fucking girl is going to be the death of his last nerve. She’s certainly been standing on it for long enough. The phone beeps again, so he crosses the room and picks up his guitar to distract himself. (He is not going to write her back. Even if he just tells her to Fuck Off, she will take it as some sort of encouragement. She’s like a damn barracuda that way.)
He starts messing around with different chords, playing whatever pops into his mind. The last year of junior high was when he’d decided that his clear path in life was to be a Rock Star. Music, Chicks, and Booze? Fuck yeah. Sign me up.
He bought his guitar at the pawn shop along with a couple of books about learning to play. (No way was he going back to face that old crone at the library. She probably still has his face on a Wanted poster or some shit like that.) He picked the new skills up pretty easily. After a few weeks, Puck realized that he’d stumbled onto something that he was good at. Like, really fucking good at. It made him, like, happy (which was kind of fucking weird). Every night, he played for hours. His sister would bang on his door and tell him to knock it off, but their Mom always told her to lay off. (Puck had made sure to learn a few Neil Diamond songs. They made her smile and, more importantly, they made her take his side against the brat.)
After a few months, he’d progressed enough that Puck felt sure it was time to start his band. Naturally, he’d gone to Finn first (and not just because he already had a drum set). Finn was almost more excited than Puck about it, and even if it was just the two of them practicing together at first -- they'd had fun. They messed around with old Aerosmith songs, talked about all the chicks they’d bang when they were famous, and just generally made a lot of noise. And they may not have been able to find anyone else with an instrument who was willing to spend hours after football practice in his garage, but Puck was sure they were going places.
Everything was fine until Finn started crushing on Fucking Quinn Fabray. It wasn’t long before Finn was bailing on at least half of their practices to spend time with her. Quinn needed to go shopping. Quinn needed help rearranging her room. Puck wouldn’t have been surprised if Finn had told him he had to miss practice because princess Quinn needed her nose wiped. It all came to an abrupt end on the day Quinn came to hear them practice for the first time. As usual, Finn has been trying to find a compromise. He wanted to spend time with his (soon to be?) girlfriend and he wanted to practice with Puck, so he’d asked if he could invite her. Puck agreed -- after all, if blondie understood just how badass this whole thing was -- maybe she’d realize Finn was going to be a Rock Star and finally give it up (or at the very least go on a date with him).
After two songs, Quinn had quickly put an end to the whole thing. She’d tossed lots of words at them like ridiculous and loud and going nowhere. She also threw in a nasty little bit about two-bit Lima losers. By the end of her tirade, it was clear that Finn’s plans to date Quinn Fabray has been dealt a severe blow. But more importantly, their dream of being ROCK GODS was over.
(Puck didn’t stop playing the guitar, though. He just stopped doing it in front of anyone else. For Two Fucking Years.)
He’s strumming Sweet Caroline (because his mother likes it -- not because of anything to do with Rachel I’m A Stalker Berry) when his phone stops giving the occasional beep and starts ringing. He looks at the caller ID and frowns when it reads VirginMary. Why would Quinn be calling him now? Answering the phone is the last thing he wants to do, but Quinn is calling and what if his kid needs something? As a compromise, he decides not to act like the neutered version of himself that she usually demands....
“You’ve reached the sex god hotline. How can I pleasure you?”
She sighs. “Don’t be obscene. When are you going to start answering the phone like an actual adult?”
He rolls his eyes, “Acting like an adult isn’t what gets me laid, sweetheart. What do you want?”
Her tone turns formal. “After what happened this week, everyone knows I’m pregnant, Puck. I just need to make sure you aren’t going to do anything stupid.”
Puck grips the phone and his knuckles go white. “Like what? Tell everyone you boned me in your Cheerio’s outfit while Finn was at Glee practice?”
His statement is met with silence and he refuses to feel bad.
“Relax, preggo. I’m not telling anyone anything. I’ve had a shitty enough day as it is.”
“Oh, that’s right.” He can hear the smirk in her voice. “I hear you and man-hands are no more. So sorry to hear that.”
Like hell she is. Puck is officially over this conversation.
“Whatever. Are we done here?”
“We never started, Puckerman”
Puck smirks as he hears the frigid tone of her voice. Quinn has never liked being dismissed.
“Just keep your mouth shut, Puck.”
The click that follows tips him off that they really are done with this stupid conversation. It’s kind of ironic, really. The Fabrays were the first people to pay him to clean their pool. His business got started in Quinn’s backyard and now his pool cleaning is paying the bills for something else that happened in Quinn’s backyard.
The summer between freshmen and sophomore year was when it all came together. His mom had made him watch The Apprentice with her one too many times, and Puck started realizing that anyone with a little bit of brains could make some serious dough. All they had to do was look for the right fucking opportunity and jump on it. His flash of brilliance came one hot afternoon while he and Finn sat on rafts in the Fabray’s pool admiring Quinn (and friends) sunbathing. Finn’s elevation to quarterback his freshman year has rapidly made up his lost ground with Quinn, and they were finally “official” (whatever the hell that meant -- seems to Puck that dating Quinn didn’t help Finn see much more action than he was getting before anyway).
He heard Mrs. Fabray on the phone asking her husband to look into hiring someone to clean the pool. (The maid was refusing, and she’d just had a manicure so surely he didn’t expect her to do it!) The dollar signs flashed in front of his eyes -- and he knew it had to be a serious opportunity if it took his attention away from girls in bikinis. He’d offered his services, found some supplies at the same pawn shop that sold him his guitar, and the rest was history. It took some time for him to find the right angle (and no, Mrs. Fabray was not that kind of customer) but after a month or so his business really took off. If it happened to be in direct correspondence to his latex usage, well, Puck figured everyone has to start somewhere.
He’d meant what he told Quinn. Just cause he thinks that school is for suckers, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have plans. He’s always had plans. They just change, or whatever. That doesn’t make him a loser. And so what if he’s never really managed to stick with something. Only psychos like Rachel Berry know what they want to do forever when they are 12 (and have daddies that tell her she can be whatever the fuck she wants to be...and that she can accomplish anything she sets her mind to... seriously--who actually tells kids shit like that?).
He looks at the screen of his phone and sees that he has 6 unread messages. He clicks on the very last one.
You have one new message from PSYCHO!:
....and even if you never want to talk to me again, I don’t want you to feel you need to leave Glee. I am so glad you didn’t quit. You’re a very talented performer, Noah.
He can’t help the grin that sneaks across his face.
Fucking Berry.
Before he can talk himself out of it, he picks up his cell, hits Return Message, and starts typing.