From The Ashes (We Rise) - NC17 - Puck/Rachel - OneShot (1/2)
Title: From the Ashes (We Rise)
Song: My Skin - Natalie Merchant
Category: Glee
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Picture - layinthefire
For: layinthefire (this totally ballooned out of control from the original porny prompt, lol)
Word Count: 12,450
Summary: One neighbor, a stick of incense, seven cats in a small apartment, and suddenly Rachel Berry is homeless. But fate steps in at just the right time and before she knows it, she's reunited with Noah Puckerman. Second chances have never looked so good.
stacylk
From the Ashes (We Rise)
-1/1-
Rachel stared in shock at the burning rubble of her apartment building. Fine, rubble was a bit dramatic seeing as the building itself was still standing. But flames licked from the windows and smoke billowed up in dark plumes that blotted out the city lamps that lined the street before it. Her fellow tenants stood chunked together, watching in shocked misery as the New York City fire department worked hard to put out the flames. She turned her eyes away as yet another hose shot a powerful surge of water toward her window, where her soft pink curtains were no longer flittering in the cool night breeze, but black and destroyed. She was sure the glass ballerina statues that used to sit on the ledge were gone too. And the matching tea towel, dish cloth and oven mitts were likely all lost. Along with her furniture. Oh, but she mourned her classic, pristine white, wing-backed chair with silver nailheads ringing the bottom. She'd searched all over for just the right chair to read scripts in and it had been her perfect match, with its cushy, wide seat, large enough that she could easily curl up in it, legs and feet tucked beneath her. The lamp just over her shoulder shedding light on the pages and a small end table with her favorite tea always within reach. Gone.
The fire had started a floor above, in old Miss. Brennan's apartment, no doubt from the copious amounts of incense she used to cover up the odor of too many cats, stale furniture, and terrible cooking. Miss. Brennan was fine though, and all seven of her cats were too. She'd nearly broken a hip when she went screaming from her apartment, racing all over and shouting for help. But the fire spread fast, burning through the cheap carpet and eating up the walls. Rachel was certain that her apartment was unsalvageable, being that it was directly below hers.
A scratchy blanket hugged her shoulders, but it did little to keep the chill out. It wasn't the wind, though it whipped her hair around her face. The simple fact was that Rachel was now homeless. Sure, she could afford a hotel but for how long? She was in-between gigs, currently looking for the right role. And she had a few to pick from. She was twenty-four now and she'd made a name for herself. But she wanted that big role, the Tony-award winning one. With only a year left to get it, she had goals she wasn't willing to budge on, she was just a little bit more skeptical about each role that was put in her capable hands. For the time being, however, she would have to dedicate time to finding a new apartment and most likely starting from scratch. All of her playbills, her pictures, her journals, and sheet music, gone. Her photo album, filled with every play she'd ever done, of her times at NYADA, of her life leading up to this point, disintegrated.
Her eyes burned with tears that she was sure anybody else might mistake simply for the bite of acrid smoke surrounding them. But Rachel knew it was for the loss of memories. Sure, she had them in her head and would cherish them. It wasn't the same as having visual proof of who she was, of those friends she hardly ever saw or spoke to anymore. Of fellow actors and actresses and singers coming up in the world. Of her old glee club, first starting out and eventually winning a National title. Of the boy she'd once thought she would marry, but hadn't seen or spoken to in nearly six years. Finn was married now, she'd heard from Kurt, who was currently on his own honeymoon. Finn had a lovely wife in a girl he'd met a handful of years ago at the State college that suited him far better than New York ever could. And Rachel felt no pang in her heart over it. She'd long buried any regrets she might have had, recognizing that he was her first love, but not her last.
"Rachel?"
Brows furrowed, Rachel turned her head this way and that, mind still a little blurred with all of her reminiscing and mourning. Finally, she settled on a man, broad-shouldered and wearing a heavy black coat with yellow and grey stripes ringing the elbows, forearms, chest and bottom. Matching black pants with the reflective grey and yellow rings at his calves covered his lower half, along with a pair of heavy dark boots. He pulled the black helmet off his head and for a moment she was sad to see he no longer had a Mohawk. It was short-lived however, as the fact that Noah Puckerman was standing before her, and what did it really matter what his hairstyle was?
"Noah?"
He smirked, infuriatingly enough, and his head tilted slightly, eyes dropping as if she'd said something particularly amusing. But when he looked back up, his smile had faded, focusing instead on the blanket shrouding her small body. Brows furrowed, he glanced back at the building. "You lived here."
It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "Yes, I was in 401-D," she told him, frowning helplessly.
He winced and ate up the space between them with a few long strides. "Just beneath the hot spot, huh?"
Her lips folded up. "It was those incense sticks, wasn't it?" She turned her head to glare in the general direction of Miss. Brennan even though she was fairly sure the poor woman was taken away to the hospital for smoke inhalation or something similar.
He snorted. "I don't know. Right now we're just trying to get everything under control."
She looked back at him, eyes taking in his gear once more. "You're a firefighter," she said, before immediately admonishing herself inwardly for stating the obvious.
His smirk was back though, and she thought it was far more fitting than the frown. "Yeah, well…" He shrugged. "I should probably get back to it; see if we can't salvage something from your building."
Her nose wrinkled. "I hardly think anything's left of my apartment."
"Probably not."
She raised a brow. "Shouldn't you be more comforting?"
"I fight the fires, babe. I don't counsel the victims," he said, shrugging.
"Still as incorrigible as ever," she said, with an odd affection inflecting her voice.
He winked at her, before putting his helmet back on. "You sticking around here or you got somewhere to go?"
She bit her lip, frowning. "I would stay with Kurt but I'm afraid he's not in town…" She sighed, eyes darting up to her window once more. "And my spare key to his apartment is currently being covered with the remains of my apartment."
He nodded, tongue darting out to lick his lips quickly. "Well, look, you stick around a bit and when we got this out, you can bunk at my place."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, Noah, that-that's very gallant of you. But…" She shook her head. "It's too much. I-I'm sure I can find a passable hotel and-"
"Yeah, I'm not gonna bullshit around with you about this. You want to, you got a place at my apartment tonight. If not, catch a cab and take a hotel. Your choice, Berry." As he started walking away, he called out in what she was sure he thought was an encouraging tone, "But I've got free cable, cold beer and pizza, so… No brainer."
She laughed shortly, rolling her eyes. But before she could say anything more, he'd turned around and returned to help his team in putting out the fire still burning up the brownstone building. The attractive green vines that had once crept along the front, weaving between two windows and up, up, spindly brown branches spider-webbing across the bricks, were now withered and black, falling in chunks to the ground. The fire was beautiful in a terrible, destructive way. Eating away at the simple beauty around it, turning it into charred remains, blanketing every free space it came upon. She watched, feeling the heat of it even from where she stood across the road. The sirens still blared in warning, but they were hollow in her ears now, distant. The crowd began to break up, her fellow residents leaving to find somewhere else to stay.
She should have followed suit. Caught a cab and found a hotel. She'd had enough sense to grab her bag, where her wallet and phone lay, though she'd left her keys sitting in the dish next to the door. But instead of calling for a ride, she took a seat on a bench and tucked her feet up beneath her, briefly noticing the sooty pink slippers she'd run out wearing. How ridiculous, she thought. Bag in her lap, she brought her phone out and began texting friends and family. Letting them know tragedy had struck while still assuring that she was technically fine, although without a home, clothes, or her usual necessities. Her fathers, of course, immediately asked her to return home and stay with them until she was able to find a place. But Lima was too far from where she wanted to be and she felt as if leaving, even for a brief time, would be pausing her life in a way she simply wasn't willing to do. Kurt reminded her that his apartment was as good as hers while he was away, but sadly added that she was the only owner of a spare key and thus she had no way to get in. While she had a number of acquaintances and a few friends from her career, something very like pride kept her from reaching out and asking if they might mind her staying with them. She couldn't say she was as close to any of them as she was Kurt, and so asking for that courtesy seemed a little too much to her.
When her eyes wandered back up, seeing a sea of black coats and yellow reflective tape, she tried to see which of them was Noah. She couldn't be certain, though she focused on one and dubbed it him, working diligently, focused and strong. This was the first time she'd seen Noah since graduation, though it was far from the first time she'd wondered about him. Where he was, what he'd done with his life, how he was doing. She was glad, proud even, to see that he'd done something great. That not only had he gotten out of Lima and was quite obviously not close to being either dead or in jail, but that he'd taken a job that although dangerous, put some of his best traits to work. His desire to help people, to stand up for the weak. Sure, he hadn't started out that way, but when those instincts had been awoken in him, it was no wonder that he'd chosen a career where he was saving people.
She wasn't sure how long she waited, but eventually the fire abated. The flames began to die down, doused in water and fought relentlessly. Other firefighters came and some went and eventually her building was just smoking, no longer aflame. She stared at her window, where the proof of fire was imprinted in black wings reaching out across the bricks around her kitchen and bedroom window. And she sighed, tired, exhausted really. She felt ready to turn over on her side and fall asleep right there on the bench, despite the cold wind and the fact that, well, she was outside.
"You ready, Princess?"
She looked up then, blinking against exhaustion, to find Noah standing front of her, coat unbuttoned and helmet hugged to his hip. "Ready?"
He half-smiled. "To go."
"Oh…" Her brows furrowed as she untucked her feet and rose unsteadily to her feet. "Oh, yes."
He reached for her and for a moment she wasn't sure what to do, but then his arm was around her, hand on the small of her back, guiding her down the sidewalk. He waved at a few of the other firemen, told them he'd see them later, before continuing on down the road. She wasn't sure where they were going. Did he live close? He didn't say anything as they walked and Rachel almost felt like closing her eyes, letting the cool air caress her face as they got farther and farther away from the smoke and the heat, letting him bring her wherever it was they were headed, trusting in him to get her there in one piece. And how funny it was that she still trusted this boy- no, man, when she hadn't seen him in so long.
"Six years," she murmured. "And still saving me."
He looked at her suddenly and she realized too late that she'd said it aloud. But he didn't call her on it, though she thought she felt his fingertips press a little more insistently at her back. It could have been delirium from a lack of sleep, however. And that's what she would tell herself later, to justify the way her teeth dug into her bottom lip and her fingers twitched. Noah had lovely hands. Large with long, dexterous fingers, the pads of which were rough with calluses, from strumming guitars and fixing cars and whatever else it was he did. Did he still do those things? Or did his firefighting consume his life?
"Do you still play?" she asked suddenly, turning her head to face him.
How funny it must look to others, this larger than life man in his firefighting gear, guiding the petite girl, in her pajamas and robe and her dirt and soot stained slippers.
As if he knew exactly what she was thinking, what she was talking about, despite it coming out of nowhere, he nodded. "'Course. Still got my guitar. Write my own songs, too."
She smiled helplessly, remembering 'Big Ass Heart,' his first original song. Which brought her back to 'Sweet Caroline' and 'Need You Now' and suddenly she sighed. "Will you play for me?"
He chuckled. "Maybe tomorrow."
Her lips stuck out in a pout.
"You're tired," he told her.
She turned her eyes up to him. "Yes…"
"Your apartment just went up in smoke."
She nodded. "It did."
"You should probably get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be hell."
"Noah Puckerman, fighting me with logic." She smiled. "You have grown up."
He leered at her playfully. "Not too much."
She rolled her eyes, swatting at him. But her hand meeting his arm felt like a feather meeting steel. Without thinking, she squeezed his bicep. "Seems you've grown in other ways too."
He smirked lazily.
She released his arm before she stroked his ego too much. "What brought you here, Noah? To New York?"
He glanced at her and then away. "Got my bachelor of science in Cincy at UC… Started training and I dunno… I worked in Rochester for awhile. Shit went down and whatever, I wound up in NYC and it fit. Finally felt like I was where I was supposed to be, so…" He shrugged.
"You should've looked me up," she told him. "If I'd known you were here…"
"Yeah, well…" He cleared his throat. "I saw you on stage once."
She looked over, her brows lifted. "You did?"
He nodded, licking his lips. "You were pretty amazing." He half-smiled at her. "Like usual."
She grinned, ducking her head. She should be used to praise by now. She had a number of fans always willing to dish it out to her. But there was something about hearing it from someone who'd known her when she was a nobody; when she was just a girl with a dream, fighting for it to come true, standing up against the oppression of high school, against ridicule and slushees and failure. There was something about hearing it from Noah Puckerman. "You could've come backstage. I would've shown you around, introduced you to the cast…" She smiled. "Maybe next time."
"Maybe," he allowed.
He stopped then and Rachel was momentarily confused, eyes darting. She hadn't realized how far they'd walked in that short time, but they were standing outside of a red brick building, with tall windows ringed in black boarders and stone ledges with plants spilling over their pots. Black iron bars made a fence around the front of the building, leading up to either side of the four steps.
Noah climbed the stairs and pressed a button on the comm. for one of his neighbors.
"What?" came a tired voice.
"It's Puck, I left my keys at the station, buzz me in," was all he said.
There was an irritated sigh, but a buzz let them know it was unlocked and he was quick to grab the door and swing it open. Rachel followed him inside, eyes wandering around the hall. There was a wall of silver mailboxes and a basket beneath for flyers or junk mail. Three apartments filled the main floor, one marked 'Superintendent,' with a note beneath that read, 'No calls after 6.' The other doors were such a dark brown they were nearly black, with shiny gold numbers screwed in, front and center. There was no elevator to speak of, but she imagined with the shape Noah was in, he didn't even notice the climb. Rachel, however, was tired, and felt like her legs were lead weights. She used the banister, hand sliding over the smooth wood as she climbed. He was gentlemanly enough not to mention it and just walk slower next to her, but when they reached the third floor and she was about to offer to just sleep there on the landing, he scooped her up in his arms.
"Noah!" she complained, although she couldn't say lying in his arms was any great injustice in her life.
"I do this for a living," he said, climbing the stairs swiftly enough.
He lived on the fourth floor and only dropped her back to her feet as they reached his door. He walked to the fire extinguisher down the hall, tucked in its place built into the wall, and lifted it to grab the spare key from beneath. Walking back to her, he used it to unlock the door before he put it back in its place and then nudged her forward and inside. She squinted as she stepped into the dark unknown before her, blinking rapidly when he shut the door behind him and flicked on the light. She wasn't sure what she was expecting; a bachelor pad, maybe. With shag carpeting, a permanent poker table, and some cheesy Marvin Gaye that automatically turned on as soon as a woman walked into the room, the silken classic voice crooning 'Let's Get It On,' to instantly put a woman in the mood. But Noah's apartment was nice, casual. He had an overstuffed couch and a giant armchair that looked as though it was well used. He had a shelf overflowing with CDs and movies, next to a much too large television. A stereo was set up on the adjacent wall, with large speakers and a few loose CD cases scattered over the top. A dying plant sat in the window, withering, with one long, reaching arm of greenery. She imagined he only remembered to water it every once in awhile. It was probably the first and only plant he'd ever owned. She smiled at the thought.
His kitchen was small, with a square brown table and two chairs stuck in close. The counter space was lackluster but he made-do with hanging some of his larger cooking utensils on a wall unit. There was even a Kiss the Cook apron hanging off a hook. She briefly found herself wondering if maybe he had a girlfriend, who could very well possibly be in the apartment. How awkward. And even if there was no such person in the apartment, she noticed there was only one bedroom and a bathroom, which meant she would no doubt be taking the couch. She couldn't expect his kindness to reach so far as to let her have the bed too. And she wasn't sure she would ask it of him, either. The idea of lying in his bed, face buried in pillows that smelled like him, she was fairly sure she wouldn't get any sleep at all.
"Your place is very nice," she told him.
"Works for me," he said, shrugging off his heavy coat and hanging it up in his closet. The white t-shirt he wore beneath clung to him. He still had that lean, toned definition to his body. Wide shoulders and a full, masculine torso, filled out the cotton shirt wonderfully. It hugged his arms, where she could now see his biceps were even more defined than in high school. Suspenders hung down, clipping to his pants. He undid them, flipping them over his shoulders to hang down from the back.
"I'm gonna shower," he told her. "I smell like smoke."
She nodded, her throat tight. "C-Could I have some water?"
He pointed toward the kitchen. "Help yourself. Whatever you want."
As he walked off, her eyes trailed after him, and she wondered for a moment if what she wanted could even be found in the kitchen, and not the bathroom. Shaking it off, she walked to the fridge. Like he'd said earlier, he had cold beer and leftover pizza, though neither of those were anything she wanted. She found a head of lettuce and a few vegetables in the crisper though, salvageable enough that she could make a salad. He had a vinaigrette dressing that she was almost certain he'd never used. Perhaps an ex-girlfriend? She told herself to stop wondering about his personal life so much and instead focused on making up her meal and drinking from the bottle of water she'd snagged from the door of his fridge.
Sitting on his large armchair, mourning her own once more, she curled up with her salad balanced on her knee. As she waited for Noah to return, she noticed that she didn't exactly smell like roses herself. Smoke clung to her clothes and her skin and it was a bitter smell that she hated having to breathe in at all. She listened for the sound of the water turning off and shut down every loose thought about a naked Noah under the hot, pulsing spray. When finally it stopped, she'd barely touched her food though, mind helplessly wondering.
And it froze entirely when he stepped out of his bathroom in nothing but a low-slung towel. She almost wanted to cover her eyes, feeling childish and far more innocent than she actually was. His was not the first half-naked body she'd seen. Although it was certainly the most attractive. Her eyes followed a drop of water that ran down between his pecs and fell trapped in the dark trail of hair that led from a few inches above his navel and down, down to beneath the dark green towel.
"Rach?"
Her eyes darted up to meet his, though she spotted the tilt of a smile on his lips. "You wanna jump in now?"
"Oh…" She looked away, brows furrowed. "I-I don't really have anything else to wear. And…" She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure I could bring myself to put this back on after I was clean and refreshed." She looked down at herself, finding her pajamas to be entirely too scruffy for her liking.
"I'll find you something," he offered. He pointed a thumb back behind him. "I'll leave it on the counter."
Matter closed, he walked off to his bedroom. And nobody could blame her for watching him go, water dripping down his flexing back. Licking her lips, she pointedly turned in the direction of the bathroom and hurried toward it. Closing the door, s he took a deep breath but found it full of warm steam from the just finished shower. The mirror was fogged too. She wasn't sure she wanted to see what she looked like at the moment anyway. Although she imagined her cheeks were flushed, her hair a mess, and her skin touched with soot. She kicked off her slippers but lined them up against the wall, hoping they might be somewhat salvageable. Stripping off her clothes, she folded them up and laid them on the closed toilet seat, before finally walking to the shower and turning the water on, testing it with her hand.
When finally she stood under the spray, she sighed in relief. She felt her body begin to relax, the muscles loosening from head to toe. Her hair drooped, wet, hanging sloppily down her back. Noah's shampoo and conditioner was a 2-in-1, which was unfortunate, to say the least. Her hair treatment regiment was… involved. But it would have to do. His bodywash was very masculine too, with a woodsy scent that she imagined fit him quite nicely, while she herself was used to more flowery, softer scents. But she wanted her skin clean and so she scrubbed it in, rubbing her body down from head to toe. She hummed under her breath, eyes closed, letting the bubbles in her hair and draping her body, drip and wash away, fingers weaving through her hair and slicking it back. She almost didn't hear the sound of the door opening, but when she did, her heart thudded loud and her humming lost its tune. All she could think of was that he was just feet away, with only a thin piece of shower curtain separating her naked body from him.
The door closed seconds later though and she told herself it was a silly thought. She'd known Noah, the boy from her glee club, from high school. The man out there, who fought fires and lived in New York and who knows what else, was practically a stranger to her. There was so much she probably didn't know about him. Like whether or not he had a girlfriend. A question that had been plaguing her possibly since he'd said her name when she'd been standing outside the building. And what a silly question to ponder when there were so many other things to think about. Like where she was going to live, how she was going to afford new furniture, if there was anything left of her apartment at all.
She climbed out of the shower when the water started to cool. Noah left her two towels, a face cloth, and a t-shirt that she was sure would reach her knees. Unwilling to walk around bare beneath a shirt, especially since her thoughts were entirely too hormonally driven of late, she pulled on her panties, possibly the only item of clothing she'd been wearing that wasn't dirty or dark with soot.
Her hair was still dripping when she left his bathroom, a cloud of steam following her, her arms filled with her folded clothes and the damp towels she'd used. His grey t-shirt hung to her mid-thighs.
"You can drop that stuff in my laundry basket. I'll take it down tomorrow morning," he told her.
She found him standing in the kitchen in a pair of sweat pants and white wife-beater, his back to her as he went through the fridge. Assuming his laundry basket was in his room, she walked toward it, flicking the light on and letting her eyes wander the area. He had a large bed, sandwiched by two night stands, a lamp on either one. An alarm clock and a book were set on what she assumed was the side he preferred, the left. She noticed a couple pictures on his dresser, one of what had to be Beth, six years old and just as beautiful as ever. Another was of his sister Sarah. The last two were of what looked to be his fire-squad, seeing as they were all wearing FDNY t-shirts, arms around each other while a few were flexing their arms dramatically. She smiled to herself as she found the laundry basket and dropped everything inside.
He was on his couch with a plate of cold pizza and a beer on the coffee table where his feet were crossed and resting.
She sat back down on the armchair, feeling oddly naked though she was sure Noah had seen and even felt far more of her legs than what the shirt was currently showing.
Reaching up, she tucked her damp hair behind her ears and let her eyes wander from his feet up. His plate was resting on his stomach as he leaned back into the couch.
"Thank you for letting me stay, Noah," she told him. "I appreciate your hospitality."
He shrugged, looking entirely at ease with her. "You're still a midget, not like you take up much space."
She pursed her lips to keep from smiling and shook her head. "What is so difficult about simply saying 'You're welcome, Rachel'?"
Through a mouthful of pizza, he garbled, "You're welcome, Rachel."
She rolled her eyes.
Reaching for his beer, he knocked back a few swigs and licked his lips. "So?" He raised a brow at her. "How's life been? Six years later and all I know is you were in at least one play and you had a kick ass apartment before it burned."
She sighed. "It was a lovely apartment…" Leaning back in her seat, she reached for the bottle of water she'd left behind and unscrewed the cap distractedly. "Well, I went to NYADA, but you knew that."
"Saw you off on the train," he agreed, nodding.
"And it was wonderful." She smiled brightly. "For once, I felt like I really fit in." Sighing wistfully, she tipped her head in memory. "And when I left, I immediately started looking for work, for a breakout role." She combed her fingers through her hair. "I've been in a number of shows and I've received mostly good reviews. There've been a few negative ones." She wrinkled her nose. "But I haven't found that big one yet. The one that will define me from everyone else."
He stared at her thoughtfully, before saying simply, "You'll find it."
She looked at him, with pizza crumbs on his shirt and a beer in hand, a faint shadow of whiskers along his jaw, his hair shaven like usual, the strip of a Mohawk long gone. The cocky youthfulness she remembered was still there just a little, in the quirk of a smirk that touched his mouth sometimes, or the mischief in his eyes when he teased her. But she could also see a change in him, growth and maybe a calm acceptance, of himself perhaps.
"You look happy," she told him softly.
"I am." He half-smiled. "I took off not long after graduation, got out of Lima as quick as I could. Cincinnati was where I needed to be. It was still Ohio, but it worked for me. I never really though I'd fit in at a university, but…" He drew in a deep breath, his brows hiked. "I guess when I really want something, I can actually buckle down and get it."
She grinned wryly. "If I remember correctly, you were always very good at getting what you wanted."
He stared at her a long moment, brows furrowed faintly. "Some things… Not usually things that really mattered." He snorted, draining his beer. "Girls and cougars and popularity, that shit was easy…" He licked his lips. "Family, friendship, loyalty… love… Always got away from me." He shook his head, folding his mouth up in a frown. He picked and peeled at the label on his beer. "Got myself a head-doctor though, y'know? Try and figure out what was so wrong with me…"
Rachel frowned. "Noah, there was nothing wrong with you."
"History said different…" He shrugged. "Anyway…" He scrubbed a hand at his jaw, dragging his knuckles over the whiskers. "Doc said I had issues coming out my ass… Between my parents and constant rejection from just about everybody I ever cared about, all that sex with people who should've realized I was just a kid…" He snorted, shaking his head. "Quinn and Finn and Beth… I was like a shrink's wet dream."
Rachel sat forward in her chair, clasping her hands tight around the bottle. "Noah, if I'd known you were feeling this awful about yourself…"
He looked over at her sharply. "You were pretty involved with your Finchel drama."
She winced, her eyes falling. "You're right…" She smiled sadly. "Too involved."
He raised a brow.
"Finn and I went our separate ways… He's happily married now to a very nice girl, from what I hear…" She nodded. "And I don't regret it." She tipped her head. "Well, I regret how blind I was in high school. How much I gave up of myself and how readily I would've given up everything for… for a boy…" She sighed. "But I suppose it was good it happened then and not later. I learned my lesson before it could destroy my future." She turned to look at him. "But maybe I should've learned it sooner." She shook her head. "Noah, I'm sorry I was such a bad friend to you… I should've paid more attention and realized you were struggling. So much had happened in your life and we were all so caught up in ourselves and Nationals that we overlooked you. And for that I am truly sorry."
He stared at her, licked his lips and then nodded. "S'in the past, right?" He shrugged. "I got over it. Got myself through school, moved on."
"What was Rochester like?" she wondered. "I've never been there."
A shadow passed over his face. "It was good… Probably would've stayed there, lived out my whole life."
Her brows furrowed. "But you didn't?"
His jaw ticked, teeth grinding.
"We don't have to talk about it," she murmured, worried she'd touched a nerve without meaning to.
He shook his head. "I just had a friend…" He swallowed tightly. "Name was Jerry. Good guy." He half-smiled. "You'd of liked him."
"If he's your friend then I'm sure you're right," she offered.
"He died," he told her, eyes centered on the table in front of him, but distant, caught up in his head. "There was a fire… Support beam splintered… Floor tilted…" He paused for a long moment. "Went right through his stomach, his guts were hanging out his jacket…" He sniffed hard, and reached forward to drop his empty beer bottle on the table. "Carried him down six flights of stairs, but he died in the ambulance…" His hands fisted in his lap, knuckles turning white with the pressure. "Wife was six months pregnant… I was the best man at their wedding."
"Oh, Noah…" she breathed. Standing from the chair, she circled the table to sit next to him. He didn't look at her when she covered his hand with hers, her thumb rubbing against his wrist. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry you lost your friend."
He shook his head, chin wobbling. "Couldn't live there after that… Couldn't really… cope."
"That's understandable," she told him, nodding.
"So I took off and I dunno… Wound up here." He shrugged. "Fit better. The music scene, no bad memories except that shitty Finchel kiss that lost us Nationals."
She pursed her lips, but softened when his mouth tilted, his humor shining through.
"Is that why you started seeing a psychologist?" she wondered, fingers moving in slow circles over his hands, watching as they relaxed, as his fingers unfurled.
"I froze up at a fire… Just stood in the street and stared at the building like an idiot, staring at the flames. Stupid. People could've been dying, team needed my help, but all I did was stand there like a douche…" He sighed. "Captain told me to get help or lose my job…" His jaw ticked. "I was meant to be a firefighter… I couldn't give it up."
"Maybe it was a blessing in disguise."
He flinched.
"Not the death of your friend," she soothed. "But freezing up that day. I'm sure you felt awful, helpless, like you were letting your team down." She raised her eyes to look at him searchingly. "But if it hadn't happened, you wouldn't have seen this doctor and worked on everything that was hurting you."
He stared back at her. "Maybe."
"You seem calmer, Noah." She tipped her head. "You were always very good at being laid back, but… there was always a certain excited energy about you. It's not there anymore. Not nipping at your heels to drive you headlong into danger or mischief." She smiled faintly. "It's good to see you've found your passion… Your Broadway, I guess."
He snorted. "The guys aren't really into showtunes."
She lifted her nose in the air and said with all authority, "I could change their minds."
He laughed, lighthearted and good-naturedly. "Yeah, I'm sure."
"I could," she argued, huffing.
He reached out, lifting a loose tendril of hair from her cheek and tucking it gently behind her ear.
Her breath caught and she suppressed a shiver as his fingers slowly, lightly, skimmed against her skin.
"Noah?"
He didn't say anything at first, eyes centered on her lips. And she felt sixteen again, with this same boy, looking at her the same way, leaning in for a kiss that she desperately wanted. There was no Jesse waiting in the wings this time. No reason to say no. They were both consenting adults with a history. It wouldn't be so wrong.
But then he cleared his throat and turned his eyes away. "We should go to sleep."
"Oh. Uh, yes." She turned forward, drawing her hands away and back to her lap. "Is there a blanket I could use? The couch seems quite comfy."
He snorted and, standing from the couch, he shook his head. "Bed's big enough for both of us."
She stared up at him, her eyes wide and round. Funny how the idea of sharing a bed with him now didn't seem so appealing when seconds ago kissing him seemed like such a great idea. "Oh, well, I-I-"
"I don't bite," he told her. "'less you want me to." He grabbed up his empty plate and bottle and walked to his kitchen, not bothering to see her reaction.
Eventually, regaining her wits, she stood to follow him. "I suppose it shouldn't be a problem… You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine."
"Technically, both sides are mine." He wiggled his eyebrows at her as he walked into his room.
Mouth suddenly dry, Rachel bit her lip as she stepped back into his room, wiggling her toes in the carpet absently.
Like expected, he went to the left side of the bed, and turned on the lamp there.
Rachel turned off the ceiling light and crept around to the right side, lifting the blanket and sheet and crawling between, hissing as the cool fabric that met her mostly bare skin.
Her eyebrows hiked high when he dragged off his shirt and climbed in next to her. Despite having seen miles of that naked skin not very long ago, it still felt like a shock to her system. Tanned and toned as ever, his body fairly rippled, muscles moving and flexing as he laid down, tucking an arm behind his bed, stretching his bicep attractively.
Rachel tried not to stare, but she was fairly sure she failed miserably.
Sinking down lower in the bed, she forced her eyes to the ceiling.
"What time is it?" she wondered.
"Late," he replied.
She pursed her lips in frustration.
"You got work tomorrow?"
"No." She shook her head. "I was going to spend my day looking through scripts, trying to find which would be my next role." She stacked her hands on her chest, atop the blanket. "They all burned in the fire, I'm sure. I'll have to contact my agent and have them reissued."
"You're probably not gonna be allowed in your apartment for awhile… If at all, depending on the damage."
She sighed, closing her eyes.
He bumped his elbow into her arm and she turned her head to look at him. "It'll be okay," he promised her, staring at her earnestly. "You're Rachel Berry, remember? You can do anything."
The belief in her, the honesty in his face, made her smile. "What happened to not counseling the victims, only fighting the fires?"
"You're not just any victim," he said simply.
She wondered for a moment if maybe he meant more than just that.
You're not just any girl.
If she were being truthful, Noah had never just been just any boy for her, either. But that was a long time ago, a different her and a different him.
"I'm tired," she murmured, eyes drifting closed once more as mental and physical exhaustion collided.
"Night Princess."
She couldn't help the way her lips quirked.
[Continued to: Second Half.]