When It Sizzles (Glee, gen, Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman, PG-13)
Title: When It Sizzles
Rating: PG-13, for language.
Word Count: 4545
Warnings: None really. Or well, occasional cultural stereotyping.
Summary: Only Will Schuester would think it was a good idea to bring Finn along as a chaperone the first time New Directions qualified for an international competition. And by the end of the trip, not even him.
Author's Note: My other entry for the glee_gen_fest, this time for xsaturated. It's a bit of a departure from the original prompt... but I hope shed liked it anyway! Thanks to peachpai for helping out with this. Title from I Love Paris, by Cole Porter.
It was somewhere between the Hall of Mirrors and all the suits of armour that they realised they had lost Blaine. Puck noticed it first; Finn was, at the time, deeply engrossed in the contemplation of how many men some of those swords had run through, and picturing himself trampling through a mucky field waving one of them about. In his head he was valiantly slaying enemies that bore an uncanny resemblance to some of the dudes he kept on bumping into at frat parties in OSU, and it took Puck saying, "Hey. You see the Warbler anywhere?" to, with one final parry, shake him out of his reverie.
Finn scanned the crowd. "Uh... no?"
"I don't either. I think we lost him." And normally, this wouldn't have been a problem, but Blaine was the one who'd dragged them here. Finn because Kurt had made him swear that he would acquire some culture on this trip; Puck because he had nothing better to do and it beat sticking around the hotel with Sugar and Tina and the other girls. He was also, crucially, the one tasked with navigation, and returning to the hotel.
Another glance around the room made it clear that even if doubling back were permitted, it would certainly be frowned upon. The flow of people from chamber to chamber, reception room to antechambers to day room was too thick and steady for it to be a real option. "Huh. When did you last see him?"
"Dunno, man. This place has too many bedrooms; they all look the same to me. You got your phone? Give him a call, find out where he is."
"My phone doesn't work. Burt said something went wrong with the rooming, something like that, I don't really know. You got yours?"
"Nuh, left it in the hotel. Figured between you and the little dude it was all covered. Crap."
"Oh well," shrugged Finn. "Let's just keep on going and meet him by the exit. This place is kinda boring anyway."
Following the flow of people eventually led them to an ample courtyard, thronged with people - tourists of all ilk, sweltering in the summer sun, and Blaine nowhere to be seen. Both Puck and Finn remembered it from the way in, although it'd been a lot less crowded then. They picked spots in the shade and leaned against them, eyes on the endless numbers of people trickling out of the gift shop door. After half an hour of unsuccessful waiting they decided more proactive measures were called for, however, and Finn rejoined the line of people waiting to enter the palace.
"Ticket, s'il vous plait."
"Huh?"
"Your ticket, please." It was said in weary, accented English, by a man of exactly the type Finn had always pictured when he thought about French people. Short, dark haired and with a bored frown on his face.
Finn patted his pockets, turning up nothing. Blaine had done most of the talking and purchasing for them, probably under instructions from Kurt, who'd threatened Finn with dire consequences if he did anything that hurt his possibilities of ever entering France. "Uh... my friend has them. We think he's inside?"
"Then I am afraid you will have to wait for him to exit."
Finn shrugged. He had expected as much, although they figured it wouldn't hurt to try. "Is this the only door?"
"Of course not," huffed the guard. "This is Versailles, after all. Excuse me - alors, madame, vos tickets, s'il vous plait." His attention shifted to the next person in line, and without looking at Finn again he added, "Maybe you can call him on your phone, yes?"
-
"You find him?"
Puck shook his head. He'd been tasked with prowling the courtyard while Finn dealt with the guard. "No. You?"
"Nope."
They shrugged, letting their gazes wander around the courtyard. Eventually Finn spoke again. "You remember what he was wearing today?"
"Do I look like Hummel to you? I'm not checking out some other dude's clothes - especially one that's taken. I learned that lesson."
Puck had a point, admitted Finn. They stood in silence, shifting uncomfortably in the rising heat, until Puck asked, "So what do we do now?"
"He's probably looking for us."
"Yeah, but there's like thousands of people here. And dude's tiny. We're never gonna find him, not in this crowd."
"So..."
"So. We should leave," said Puck, not quite managing to sound completely comfortable with his suggestion. "Go back to the hotel, tell Schue we're sorry we lost Blaine, but anyway it's after the competition so it's not our fault we lost. Hopefully he'll find him."
It made some sense. If they couldn't find Blaine, the most sensible thing was surely to go back to the only other people they knew and try to regroup there. Blaine was smart enough, he'd probably do the same thing. He'd probably get there before them. In fact, he was probably already on his way. But Finn had come on this trip to act as an official chaperone to the younger members of New Directions, after none of their parents decided to come along, and abandoning one of them so easily felt too reckless. He should probably think about it a bit more. Especially because he was pretty sure Blaine had been secretly tasked with taking care of him and Puck. "How long have we been standing here anyway?"
"About an hour. This is hopeless, and you know it," insisted Puck, swiping at the sweat beading on his brow. It really was hot. "Warblerman is probably inside, fixating on, like, drapes, or maybe he's been kidnapped by some sort of anti-gay mafia."
"I'm pretty sure that only happens in Italy," said Finn, mostly because if the mob were in France, doubtlessly Kurt would've mentioned it in the 'intro to France' Powerpoint he'd emailed Finn and insisted on reviewing together slide-by-slide.
"Whatever, man. Europe's tiny. Same difference. And I've just spent like an hour staring at dudes instead of hot chicks, and that is just wrong."
-
Getting back to the rest of the group was easier said than done. There were two major flaws in the plans, since neither Finn nor Puck could recall how to get to the train station from the Chateau, or where their hotel actually was. They struggled a bit trying to recall the name, until Puck triumphantly recalled, "Opera! It's totally Opera! We'll just ask for directions when we get back to Paris."
And so, armed with that knowledge and after one final, unsuccessful sweep of the courtyard, they pushed off the wall and left Versailles behind without another thought. They were quick to find signs pointing to the station, or at least to a train station - neither of them had paid much attention on the way, trusting Blaine would take care of everything, since, after all, the entire excursion had been his idea.
Once they arrived they stared at the map outside the station, a tangle of colourful lines. Eventually they managed to figure out which of the three Versailles stations they were standing on, and to their delight it seemed like they could take a train straight to the one Paris landmark they recognised: the Eiffel tower. As a group they had visited it their first night there, jetlag and excitement making for such a restless group that Mr Schue had agreed to take them outside the hotel. It was not long before Sugar's cajoling had them performing a number around the lower level, weaving in and out of other tour groups while Schue watched them with that proud grin of his. It was a bit unnerving, how he always smiled like that when they were performing; sometimes - especially after the whole Emma wedding thing. Last year Finn would often overhear Kurt wondering aloud if Mr Schue didn't have anything else to do with his life.
"Right, so. We need tickets."
Puck squinted. "Could totally jump those barriers. It's not like there's anyone watching."
"Dude, not worth it. And, besides, I'm pretty sure he is watching," Finn added, jerking his head towards the uniformed man behind the ticket window. He didn't seem like he was having the best of days; even from where they were standing Finn was fairly certain that the last thing he wanted to do was deal with lost tourists.
"Well, you do it. You have that phrasebook, the one Kurt gave you." (Over the computer screen, framed against the ugly paint of his New York dorm room, Kurt had huffed and said, "I still can't believe you're going to Paris before me. I've marked the pertinent page with a Post It, for when-- if you get lost.")
"Oh yeah!" Finn brightened considerably at that, until he remembered that he'd given it to Blaine in the morning and it was probably in the bag he'd been carrying. "... Blaine's got it."
"Well, shit."
They looked for other solutions. Puck's gaze kept darting between the turnstiles and the ticket counter when Finn spotted a ticket machine, tucked against the station corner. It even spoke English after they pressed enough keys, so Puck paid for their train tickets, pulling some crumpled Euro notes from his back pocket and muttering about how if he'd known you could pay for things with Monopoly money in Europe he would've brought some.
Once beyond the barriers Puck retained the initiative, it seemed, since he sidled up to a woman standing by herself and said, "Excuse me. ¿Habla español?"
"Dude," hissed Finn. "We're in France. They don't speak Spanish here, what the hell!"
"Well, they sure don't speak English either, so..." Puck turned back to the woman and with far more swagger in his voice asked, "Tren Paris? Oui?"
"Vous voulez l'autre voie," she replied without looking up from her magazine. "Numero trois."
Puck stared at her blankly. She sighed and pointed up, at the platform signs overhead. "Voie trois. Trois," she repeated one more time, holding up three fingers in front of Puck's face.
"Oh, tres. Got it! ¡Muchos gracias!"
-
"Man, these European chicks are tough!" Puck shook his head in disbelief. Not a single French woman had surrendered to his charms yet.
Finn simply stared. "Pond too big for you, huh?"
"Hey," said Puck with a genial shrug. "I've been a senior three times. About time little Puckzilla and I got something good out of it, especially since Figgins says he'll kick me out if I don't pass this year, and Mrs Blanchard refuses to let me clean her pool for extra credit."
The ride into the city was uneventful, beyond their conversation, which centred mostly on Puck's attempts at ensuring he had passing grades in all his classes. At a certain point the tracks dipped underground, but Finn kept his nose to the window as they entered stations, and did his best to read the signs, and the maps on the sides of the car, to ensure they would not miss their stop. Having alighted they followed the signs - and the crowds - back to ground level, and once on the street were able to spot the Eiffel tower, gleaming in the early afternoon sun, just one block away. They set off towards it after a high-five, extremely pleased at their success.
"Awesome, dude! I think we deserve some food."
Finn agreed. He'd started feeling hungry since before they left Versailles, truth be told, but the walk to the train station had failed to turn up any easy food - every place they passed was a sit down joint of some sort. They still had some Euros left, but looking around revealed few places to spend them at. There were vendors with food carts, of course, although they seemed to be offering cold drinks and popcorn for the most part, or extremely tacky souvenirs. What Finn wanted was a crepe, or two, or three, preferably with Nutella, of the type Kurt could hardly ever be persuaded to make.
A couple of food trucks idled down the road, gleaming white with some ridiculous drawings on the side. The menus affixed outside the open hutch showed photos of crepes dwarfed by piles of whipped cream and assorted sliced fruits, and Finn beamed. They ordered and paid by a combination of slowly spoken English words and hand gestures, most of which included pointing at the menu. While Finn bought their food Puck wandered over to examine the cheap metal models of the Eiffel tower on sale right next to them. After making sure there were no visible French flags anywhere, he bought one for his mom and shoved it in his pocket.
"This travelling abroad stuff is not so hard, once you get the hang of it," said Finn, licking the last traces of Nutella from his fingers. Puck hummed his agreement. They'd taken their food to a spot slightly removed from the crowds and were laying down on the grass, basking in the sun. The city was loud around them, loud and foreign with its small European cars and its incessant motion, people and dogs and cars and motorcycles and bikes on all directions. It was like when they'd gone to New York for Nationals last year, only even more pronounced.
"Okay," Finn said, stretching. The heat had made them lethargic, and without their phones neither of them really knew what time it was, although the sun remained high in the sky, and the crowds showed no sign of thinning. "We can totally do this," he added, just in case either of them needed to hear it. They were lost in a place where neither of them spoke the language and with little clue of where they were supposed to go, after all.
"Damn straight we can," agreed Puck. "I'm pretty sure on Friday night we came to the tower from the other side of the Park,"
"I wonder if there's someone we could ask," said Finn instead. "Like, someone who knows where the hotels are."
"There's probably someone under the tower." This seemed like a sensible idea, so they wiped their hands on the grass one last time and rose. Once they were almost below the tower progress became suddenly slow. In the press of the crowd people kept bumping into them from all directions, jostling and pushing and shoving, everyone in an apparently desperate frenzy to join the lines coiling at the tower's base. At one point the throng of people closed in particularly tight around him, and Finn muttered, "Excuse you!" at a small figure weaving back into the crowd after painfully shoving his elbow into Finn's side. Kurt was rubbing off on him far too much.
There was a tourist information booth under the tower, but the queue was as daunting as those selling tickets to go up to the tower. Approaching it from the side rather than waiting for his turn in the line Puck grabbed a couple of maps and withdrew. "Look," he said. "There's a subway stop - I think that's what the M's for, anyway - and it's called Opera. I bet you five of the 2€ coins that the hotel is totally there. And it saves us standing in line."
Finn studied the map. It was a sensible suggestion, better than anything else they had so far. After all, in NYC their hotel had been called the whatever Times Square, and they had stayed right next to Times Square. And the line was extremely long, and very slow. It hadn't moved at all since they had joined it.
"Sounds good, dude. Let's do it."
Provided with a defined goal Finn was not too bad at reading a map, and managed to direct them to the subway station with minor woe. After another small tussle with the ticket machine they crossed the turnstiles and headed deep into the bowels of the station. There were no transfers or train changes to be made, and after checking the route maps posted on the wall they managed to board the right train without complications. Puck took a seat across from Finn as the train lurched out of the station. "Man, when we get there I'm gonna, like, bust Blaine's balls. Unless he did get kidnapped."
"In which case Schue will probably bust both of ours," said Finn grimly.
"I'm pretty sure if he's been kidnapped, your brother will kill us too. I've spent the entire year watching Blaine mope about missing him and how excited he is about going to New York. Hummel will totally off us if we get between their plans."
-
It was a short ride, but not short enough that there was no time for their enthusiasm at having made it back to mount. When they, triumphant and smug, emerged over ground, they were in for a surprise.
"Crap," said Finn. "You remember any of this?"
"Not a thing," admitted Puck.
"We're so screwed. We should find a cop."
"And say what? 'Sorry, dude, we're two dumb Americans who can't find their hotel?' C'mon dude, it's gotta be around here."
Finn was not completely sold on the idea. Nothing he was seeing looked even remotely familiar, and they had made the walk from the hotel to the subway stop a few times during their stay, enough that he was fairly sure some of the details would've stuck in his mind. Coming here had probably been a mistake. But Puck was adamant. "We just haven't come down this street at all or something. Let's just explore. And anyway, do you have a better plan?"
It was hot, though, probably too hot for this type of exploring. The sun was definitely on its way down, but its heat mingled with that of the asphalt and the cars on the streets and made for a rather uncomfortable experience. Finn had always been fonder of the winter, and the dry, dirty city air was beginning to cloud his thoughts. He fell silent, walking behind a frustrated Puck.
All the streets looked the same, and none of them looked right. Finn was increasingly sure of that. "I don't think this is the right neighbourhood, dude."
"Well, what else do you want to do? Just sit here and wait for Mr Schue to come pick us up?"
"Uh... no. But we should buy something to drink, at least. It's pretty hot."
They stopped, leaning against a wall while Finn took a few deep breaths to clear his head. There was a newspaper stall down the block, big and bright and with a little fridge that was hopefully full of cold drinks. Finn figured his odds were pretty good, considering the words 'Coca Cola' were printed on the side.
Except that his pocket, where he'd shoved his passport and a 50€ bill this morning was empty. He shoved his hand in again, and then, in growing degrees of frantic horror, shoved it into all the other pockets on his pants while Puck watched with curiosity.
"I don't have it," he finally admitted.
"Don't have what?"
"My passport. And my money. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!"
Puck pushed off the wall at that. "What? The fuck have you done? Search again."
"I don't have it, dude! Someone must've stolen it. At the tower. That dude that shoved into me, that fuck--"
"Fuck. You fucking dumbass, Finn! Like getting us lost wasn't enough."
"I got us lost?" Irritation was mounting within Finn. He'd always found it hard to stay level headed in weather like this, and the sudden shock of his passport loss was not helping things at all. "What the fuck, dude? You're the one who dragged us here."
"Only because you lost Blaine."
"Whatever, dude. I suggested going to the cops, but apparently you're too good for that shit. I don't even know why I listened to you, I'm the one in charge of this trip, not you."
"In charge my ass," huffed Puck. "I've seen your Facebook. Just because you got into a shitty school and a shittier frat doesn't make you better than me, Hudson. The only reason you're on this trip is that Mr Schue thought you'd be sad if you stayed at home with everyone else away. And because no one's parents wanted to come."
"Fuck you," snapped Finn.
"Fuck you too, bro," placidly returned Puck, and then took a swing at Finn's chin.
And suddenly things were exploding between them. They were fighting, and Finn was shouting at Puck about being irresponsible and not following through with his shit while lounging at him, while Puck returned his insults with snide retorts about Finn's studies in keggers and little else.
-
Their fight was short, coming to an abrupt end when they both felt arms pulling them apart. Glaring and spitting at one another they barely heard the "Ca suffit, les deux. Arretez!" coming from the policeman that was holding Puck back. "Vous avez beaucoup bu, huh? C'est ça?"
"Er," stammered Finn, going slack in the grip of what he presumed was another cop. "No français. English?"
"Oh," said the first cop. He then spoke into the radio on his shoulder, far too quickly for Finn or Puck to make anything out. The person at the other side said something in return, although it sounded mostly like static sputtering.
Just as the hold around Finn's shoulders loosened, Puck announced, "We're lost," to everyone around. The policeman holding him hissed, "Merde!" He spoke into his radio again, tapping his foot against the sidewalk while waiting for a reply. When it came, it was once again indistinguishable from electronic crackling, but it seemed to make sense to him. "Okay," he sighed. "You get in car. We go to the gendarmerie."
They both did as told, refusing to let their gazes meet. Finn wasn't sure if this was the French version of arresting someone, or if they were being helpful; he sincerely hoped it was the latter, because getting arrested in Paris would doubtlessly lead to lengthy lectures from Mr Schue, his mother, Burt, and Kurt, and other terrible things besides. The drive took only five minutes, and Finn noticed Puck sighing with relief when they were led to a row of plastic chairs by the entrance to the police station and no one tried to handcuff them.
"Okay," the cop. "You two will stay here. I bring boss, yes?"
This time they glared at each other. Finn's chin hurt, but he'd gotten a good swing in, and one of Puck's eyes was already beginning to swell and purple. It felt good, even if he wasn't really sure why they had fought. Puck's dig at Finn's college experience was unexpected because while no one still knew if he'd be graduating next week - if they made it home next week - he'd never seemed bothered by this fact. Puck never spoke of plans to do anything after high school or outside Lima; Finn had simply assumed it was because he wasn't interested. "Hey, dude," he tried, wincing at his stiffening jaw.
"Leave it, Hudson."
They sat in silence until a woman in a police officer came up to them. "You are the lost Americans?"
"We're here for the show choir competition," explained Finn, but the policewoman just quirked an eyebrow at him. Unsure whether he was being humoured or misunderstood, Finn kept on talking. Her accent was better than anyone else's so far, but there was no telling. "We won Nationals back home last month and so we're here for an international competition. Well, he is," he qualified, shrugging towards Puck. "I'm chaperoning. I was in the team last year, but now I'm in college." Puck rolled his one good eye at that.
"Your name?"
"Finn Hudson. Ma'am."
"And you?"
"Noah Puckerman."
"You have any identification? Passport?"
Puck reached into his pocket and offered her the little blue document. She flipped through the pages until she found his photograph, then turned to Finn. "And you?" she asked again.
Finn took a deep breath. "I lost mine. I'm pretty sure someone stole it."
She sighed. There was a lot of sighing happening. "And you're lost?"
"We can't find our hotel. We were with another guy this morning, but we lost him. He's the only one that knows where it is."
"Do you remember anything around your hotel?"
Finn did his best to remember important details, but the streets of Paris had blurred into one with impressive efficiency, like what happened whenever he tried to study history. "Uh... a big train station? Like, above ground and stuff."
"We took like two trains to get to Versailles this morning," added Puck.
"And it's called Opera. But it's not near Opera, because we spent like two hours walking around there and couldn't find a thing."
"Right. No hotel card or phone number?"
Finn shook his head. They were sharing a bedroom, Blaine, Puck and Finn, and Blaine was the only one who'd managed not to lose his key card yet, so they relied on him for access. As he was wondering how they were gonna get out of this one, Puck suddenly said, "Oh! I know Mr Schue's number! He gave it to us last year when he was trying to get us to stop drinking and I memorized it so I could prank call him even when I lost my phone." He rattled off ten digits in close succession, and then had to do it again so she could write them down on a legal pad. She disappeared for a few seconds and returned carrying a cordless phone, which she offered to Puck. He went to dial, but a tinny "Hello?" came from the speaker before he'd pressed any keys.
Puck brought the phone to his ear. "Hey Mr Schue. What's up?"
Finn tried to make out Mr Schue's reply, but all he could hear was an indistinct mumbling. Puck, however, hummed briefly and then said, "Yeah, I'm with Finn. We got lost. Blaine with you? We kinda lost him this morning."
Again, Mr Schue's reply was undecipherable, although from the lack of emotion on Puck's face Finn guessed that Blaine was fine, and had probably been for a few hours.
"Uh, we're at a police station. Can you come, like, pick us up or something?"
This time Finn could clearly hear Mr Schue's reply over the line. It consisted entirely of a very loud, very horrified, "You're where?" Finn winced, but Puck smirked at him, lightning fast.
"Relax, Mr Schue. I'm pretty sure we're not in trouble." He looked up at the policewoman as he spoke, but she didn't really react one way or another. "Or, you know, in too much trouble."
He pulled the phone away and beckoned to the officer, offering her the phone. "He wants to talk to you, he's going to take a taxi to come pick us up but he needs the address."
After a quick exchange with Mr Schue she returned the phone to Puck, who rolled his eyes as Mr Schuester spoke at length. "Yeah, yeah, we'll behave and we'll be here. See you soon, Mr Schue." Puck said. He smirked at Finn and added, "Anyway, you haven't heard the worst yet."
He hung up.
Rating: PG-13, for language.
Word Count: 4545
Warnings: None really. Or well, occasional cultural stereotyping.
Summary: Only Will Schuester would think it was a good idea to bring Finn along as a chaperone the first time New Directions qualified for an international competition. And by the end of the trip, not even him.
Author's Note: My other entry for the glee_gen_fest, this time for xsaturated. It's a bit of a departure from the original prompt... but I hope shed liked it anyway! Thanks to peachpai for helping out with this. Title from I Love Paris, by Cole Porter.
It was somewhere between the Hall of Mirrors and all the suits of armour that they realised they had lost Blaine. Puck noticed it first; Finn was, at the time, deeply engrossed in the contemplation of how many men some of those swords had run through, and picturing himself trampling through a mucky field waving one of them about. In his head he was valiantly slaying enemies that bore an uncanny resemblance to some of the dudes he kept on bumping into at frat parties in OSU, and it took Puck saying, "Hey. You see the Warbler anywhere?" to, with one final parry, shake him out of his reverie.
Finn scanned the crowd. "Uh... no?"
"I don't either. I think we lost him." And normally, this wouldn't have been a problem, but Blaine was the one who'd dragged them here. Finn because Kurt had made him swear that he would acquire some culture on this trip; Puck because he had nothing better to do and it beat sticking around the hotel with Sugar and Tina and the other girls. He was also, crucially, the one tasked with navigation, and returning to the hotel.
Another glance around the room made it clear that even if doubling back were permitted, it would certainly be frowned upon. The flow of people from chamber to chamber, reception room to antechambers to day room was too thick and steady for it to be a real option. "Huh. When did you last see him?"
"Dunno, man. This place has too many bedrooms; they all look the same to me. You got your phone? Give him a call, find out where he is."
"My phone doesn't work. Burt said something went wrong with the rooming, something like that, I don't really know. You got yours?"
"Nuh, left it in the hotel. Figured between you and the little dude it was all covered. Crap."
"Oh well," shrugged Finn. "Let's just keep on going and meet him by the exit. This place is kinda boring anyway."
Following the flow of people eventually led them to an ample courtyard, thronged with people - tourists of all ilk, sweltering in the summer sun, and Blaine nowhere to be seen. Both Puck and Finn remembered it from the way in, although it'd been a lot less crowded then. They picked spots in the shade and leaned against them, eyes on the endless numbers of people trickling out of the gift shop door. After half an hour of unsuccessful waiting they decided more proactive measures were called for, however, and Finn rejoined the line of people waiting to enter the palace.
"Ticket, s'il vous plait."
"Huh?"
"Your ticket, please." It was said in weary, accented English, by a man of exactly the type Finn had always pictured when he thought about French people. Short, dark haired and with a bored frown on his face.
Finn patted his pockets, turning up nothing. Blaine had done most of the talking and purchasing for them, probably under instructions from Kurt, who'd threatened Finn with dire consequences if he did anything that hurt his possibilities of ever entering France. "Uh... my friend has them. We think he's inside?"
"Then I am afraid you will have to wait for him to exit."
Finn shrugged. He had expected as much, although they figured it wouldn't hurt to try. "Is this the only door?"
"Of course not," huffed the guard. "This is Versailles, after all. Excuse me - alors, madame, vos tickets, s'il vous plait." His attention shifted to the next person in line, and without looking at Finn again he added, "Maybe you can call him on your phone, yes?"
-
"You find him?"
Puck shook his head. He'd been tasked with prowling the courtyard while Finn dealt with the guard. "No. You?"
"Nope."
They shrugged, letting their gazes wander around the courtyard. Eventually Finn spoke again. "You remember what he was wearing today?"
"Do I look like Hummel to you? I'm not checking out some other dude's clothes - especially one that's taken. I learned that lesson."
Puck had a point, admitted Finn. They stood in silence, shifting uncomfortably in the rising heat, until Puck asked, "So what do we do now?"
"He's probably looking for us."
"Yeah, but there's like thousands of people here. And dude's tiny. We're never gonna find him, not in this crowd."
"So..."
"So. We should leave," said Puck, not quite managing to sound completely comfortable with his suggestion. "Go back to the hotel, tell Schue we're sorry we lost Blaine, but anyway it's after the competition so it's not our fault we lost. Hopefully he'll find him."
It made some sense. If they couldn't find Blaine, the most sensible thing was surely to go back to the only other people they knew and try to regroup there. Blaine was smart enough, he'd probably do the same thing. He'd probably get there before them. In fact, he was probably already on his way. But Finn had come on this trip to act as an official chaperone to the younger members of New Directions, after none of their parents decided to come along, and abandoning one of them so easily felt too reckless. He should probably think about it a bit more. Especially because he was pretty sure Blaine had been secretly tasked with taking care of him and Puck. "How long have we been standing here anyway?"
"About an hour. This is hopeless, and you know it," insisted Puck, swiping at the sweat beading on his brow. It really was hot. "Warblerman is probably inside, fixating on, like, drapes, or maybe he's been kidnapped by some sort of anti-gay mafia."
"I'm pretty sure that only happens in Italy," said Finn, mostly because if the mob were in France, doubtlessly Kurt would've mentioned it in the 'intro to France' Powerpoint he'd emailed Finn and insisted on reviewing together slide-by-slide.
"Whatever, man. Europe's tiny. Same difference. And I've just spent like an hour staring at dudes instead of hot chicks, and that is just wrong."
-
Getting back to the rest of the group was easier said than done. There were two major flaws in the plans, since neither Finn nor Puck could recall how to get to the train station from the Chateau, or where their hotel actually was. They struggled a bit trying to recall the name, until Puck triumphantly recalled, "Opera! It's totally Opera! We'll just ask for directions when we get back to Paris."
And so, armed with that knowledge and after one final, unsuccessful sweep of the courtyard, they pushed off the wall and left Versailles behind without another thought. They were quick to find signs pointing to the station, or at least to a train station - neither of them had paid much attention on the way, trusting Blaine would take care of everything, since, after all, the entire excursion had been his idea.
Once they arrived they stared at the map outside the station, a tangle of colourful lines. Eventually they managed to figure out which of the three Versailles stations they were standing on, and to their delight it seemed like they could take a train straight to the one Paris landmark they recognised: the Eiffel tower. As a group they had visited it their first night there, jetlag and excitement making for such a restless group that Mr Schue had agreed to take them outside the hotel. It was not long before Sugar's cajoling had them performing a number around the lower level, weaving in and out of other tour groups while Schue watched them with that proud grin of his. It was a bit unnerving, how he always smiled like that when they were performing; sometimes - especially after the whole Emma wedding thing. Last year Finn would often overhear Kurt wondering aloud if Mr Schue didn't have anything else to do with his life.
"Right, so. We need tickets."
Puck squinted. "Could totally jump those barriers. It's not like there's anyone watching."
"Dude, not worth it. And, besides, I'm pretty sure he is watching," Finn added, jerking his head towards the uniformed man behind the ticket window. He didn't seem like he was having the best of days; even from where they were standing Finn was fairly certain that the last thing he wanted to do was deal with lost tourists.
"Well, you do it. You have that phrasebook, the one Kurt gave you." (Over the computer screen, framed against the ugly paint of his New York dorm room, Kurt had huffed and said, "I still can't believe you're going to Paris before me. I've marked the pertinent page with a Post It, for when-- if you get lost.")
"Oh yeah!" Finn brightened considerably at that, until he remembered that he'd given it to Blaine in the morning and it was probably in the bag he'd been carrying. "... Blaine's got it."
"Well, shit."
They looked for other solutions. Puck's gaze kept darting between the turnstiles and the ticket counter when Finn spotted a ticket machine, tucked against the station corner. It even spoke English after they pressed enough keys, so Puck paid for their train tickets, pulling some crumpled Euro notes from his back pocket and muttering about how if he'd known you could pay for things with Monopoly money in Europe he would've brought some.
Once beyond the barriers Puck retained the initiative, it seemed, since he sidled up to a woman standing by herself and said, "Excuse me. ¿Habla español?"
"Dude," hissed Finn. "We're in France. They don't speak Spanish here, what the hell!"
"Well, they sure don't speak English either, so..." Puck turned back to the woman and with far more swagger in his voice asked, "Tren Paris? Oui?"
"Vous voulez l'autre voie," she replied without looking up from her magazine. "Numero trois."
Puck stared at her blankly. She sighed and pointed up, at the platform signs overhead. "Voie trois. Trois," she repeated one more time, holding up three fingers in front of Puck's face.
"Oh, tres. Got it! ¡Muchos gracias!"
-
"Man, these European chicks are tough!" Puck shook his head in disbelief. Not a single French woman had surrendered to his charms yet.
Finn simply stared. "Pond too big for you, huh?"
"Hey," said Puck with a genial shrug. "I've been a senior three times. About time little Puckzilla and I got something good out of it, especially since Figgins says he'll kick me out if I don't pass this year, and Mrs Blanchard refuses to let me clean her pool for extra credit."
The ride into the city was uneventful, beyond their conversation, which centred mostly on Puck's attempts at ensuring he had passing grades in all his classes. At a certain point the tracks dipped underground, but Finn kept his nose to the window as they entered stations, and did his best to read the signs, and the maps on the sides of the car, to ensure they would not miss their stop. Having alighted they followed the signs - and the crowds - back to ground level, and once on the street were able to spot the Eiffel tower, gleaming in the early afternoon sun, just one block away. They set off towards it after a high-five, extremely pleased at their success.
"Awesome, dude! I think we deserve some food."
Finn agreed. He'd started feeling hungry since before they left Versailles, truth be told, but the walk to the train station had failed to turn up any easy food - every place they passed was a sit down joint of some sort. They still had some Euros left, but looking around revealed few places to spend them at. There were vendors with food carts, of course, although they seemed to be offering cold drinks and popcorn for the most part, or extremely tacky souvenirs. What Finn wanted was a crepe, or two, or three, preferably with Nutella, of the type Kurt could hardly ever be persuaded to make.
A couple of food trucks idled down the road, gleaming white with some ridiculous drawings on the side. The menus affixed outside the open hutch showed photos of crepes dwarfed by piles of whipped cream and assorted sliced fruits, and Finn beamed. They ordered and paid by a combination of slowly spoken English words and hand gestures, most of which included pointing at the menu. While Finn bought their food Puck wandered over to examine the cheap metal models of the Eiffel tower on sale right next to them. After making sure there were no visible French flags anywhere, he bought one for his mom and shoved it in his pocket.
"This travelling abroad stuff is not so hard, once you get the hang of it," said Finn, licking the last traces of Nutella from his fingers. Puck hummed his agreement. They'd taken their food to a spot slightly removed from the crowds and were laying down on the grass, basking in the sun. The city was loud around them, loud and foreign with its small European cars and its incessant motion, people and dogs and cars and motorcycles and bikes on all directions. It was like when they'd gone to New York for Nationals last year, only even more pronounced.
"Okay," Finn said, stretching. The heat had made them lethargic, and without their phones neither of them really knew what time it was, although the sun remained high in the sky, and the crowds showed no sign of thinning. "We can totally do this," he added, just in case either of them needed to hear it. They were lost in a place where neither of them spoke the language and with little clue of where they were supposed to go, after all.
"Damn straight we can," agreed Puck. "I'm pretty sure on Friday night we came to the tower from the other side of the Park,"
"I wonder if there's someone we could ask," said Finn instead. "Like, someone who knows where the hotels are."
"There's probably someone under the tower." This seemed like a sensible idea, so they wiped their hands on the grass one last time and rose. Once they were almost below the tower progress became suddenly slow. In the press of the crowd people kept bumping into them from all directions, jostling and pushing and shoving, everyone in an apparently desperate frenzy to join the lines coiling at the tower's base. At one point the throng of people closed in particularly tight around him, and Finn muttered, "Excuse you!" at a small figure weaving back into the crowd after painfully shoving his elbow into Finn's side. Kurt was rubbing off on him far too much.
There was a tourist information booth under the tower, but the queue was as daunting as those selling tickets to go up to the tower. Approaching it from the side rather than waiting for his turn in the line Puck grabbed a couple of maps and withdrew. "Look," he said. "There's a subway stop - I think that's what the M's for, anyway - and it's called Opera. I bet you five of the 2€ coins that the hotel is totally there. And it saves us standing in line."
Finn studied the map. It was a sensible suggestion, better than anything else they had so far. After all, in NYC their hotel had been called the whatever Times Square, and they had stayed right next to Times Square. And the line was extremely long, and very slow. It hadn't moved at all since they had joined it.
"Sounds good, dude. Let's do it."
Provided with a defined goal Finn was not too bad at reading a map, and managed to direct them to the subway station with minor woe. After another small tussle with the ticket machine they crossed the turnstiles and headed deep into the bowels of the station. There were no transfers or train changes to be made, and after checking the route maps posted on the wall they managed to board the right train without complications. Puck took a seat across from Finn as the train lurched out of the station. "Man, when we get there I'm gonna, like, bust Blaine's balls. Unless he did get kidnapped."
"In which case Schue will probably bust both of ours," said Finn grimly.
"I'm pretty sure if he's been kidnapped, your brother will kill us too. I've spent the entire year watching Blaine mope about missing him and how excited he is about going to New York. Hummel will totally off us if we get between their plans."
-
It was a short ride, but not short enough that there was no time for their enthusiasm at having made it back to mount. When they, triumphant and smug, emerged over ground, they were in for a surprise.
"Crap," said Finn. "You remember any of this?"
"Not a thing," admitted Puck.
"We're so screwed. We should find a cop."
"And say what? 'Sorry, dude, we're two dumb Americans who can't find their hotel?' C'mon dude, it's gotta be around here."
Finn was not completely sold on the idea. Nothing he was seeing looked even remotely familiar, and they had made the walk from the hotel to the subway stop a few times during their stay, enough that he was fairly sure some of the details would've stuck in his mind. Coming here had probably been a mistake. But Puck was adamant. "We just haven't come down this street at all or something. Let's just explore. And anyway, do you have a better plan?"
It was hot, though, probably too hot for this type of exploring. The sun was definitely on its way down, but its heat mingled with that of the asphalt and the cars on the streets and made for a rather uncomfortable experience. Finn had always been fonder of the winter, and the dry, dirty city air was beginning to cloud his thoughts. He fell silent, walking behind a frustrated Puck.
All the streets looked the same, and none of them looked right. Finn was increasingly sure of that. "I don't think this is the right neighbourhood, dude."
"Well, what else do you want to do? Just sit here and wait for Mr Schue to come pick us up?"
"Uh... no. But we should buy something to drink, at least. It's pretty hot."
They stopped, leaning against a wall while Finn took a few deep breaths to clear his head. There was a newspaper stall down the block, big and bright and with a little fridge that was hopefully full of cold drinks. Finn figured his odds were pretty good, considering the words 'Coca Cola' were printed on the side.
Except that his pocket, where he'd shoved his passport and a 50€ bill this morning was empty. He shoved his hand in again, and then, in growing degrees of frantic horror, shoved it into all the other pockets on his pants while Puck watched with curiosity.
"I don't have it," he finally admitted.
"Don't have what?"
"My passport. And my money. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!"
Puck pushed off the wall at that. "What? The fuck have you done? Search again."
"I don't have it, dude! Someone must've stolen it. At the tower. That dude that shoved into me, that fuck--"
"Fuck. You fucking dumbass, Finn! Like getting us lost wasn't enough."
"I got us lost?" Irritation was mounting within Finn. He'd always found it hard to stay level headed in weather like this, and the sudden shock of his passport loss was not helping things at all. "What the fuck, dude? You're the one who dragged us here."
"Only because you lost Blaine."
"Whatever, dude. I suggested going to the cops, but apparently you're too good for that shit. I don't even know why I listened to you, I'm the one in charge of this trip, not you."
"In charge my ass," huffed Puck. "I've seen your Facebook. Just because you got into a shitty school and a shittier frat doesn't make you better than me, Hudson. The only reason you're on this trip is that Mr Schue thought you'd be sad if you stayed at home with everyone else away. And because no one's parents wanted to come."
"Fuck you," snapped Finn.
"Fuck you too, bro," placidly returned Puck, and then took a swing at Finn's chin.
And suddenly things were exploding between them. They were fighting, and Finn was shouting at Puck about being irresponsible and not following through with his shit while lounging at him, while Puck returned his insults with snide retorts about Finn's studies in keggers and little else.
-
Their fight was short, coming to an abrupt end when they both felt arms pulling them apart. Glaring and spitting at one another they barely heard the "Ca suffit, les deux. Arretez!" coming from the policeman that was holding Puck back. "Vous avez beaucoup bu, huh? C'est ça?"
"Er," stammered Finn, going slack in the grip of what he presumed was another cop. "No français. English?"
"Oh," said the first cop. He then spoke into the radio on his shoulder, far too quickly for Finn or Puck to make anything out. The person at the other side said something in return, although it sounded mostly like static sputtering.
Just as the hold around Finn's shoulders loosened, Puck announced, "We're lost," to everyone around. The policeman holding him hissed, "Merde!" He spoke into his radio again, tapping his foot against the sidewalk while waiting for a reply. When it came, it was once again indistinguishable from electronic crackling, but it seemed to make sense to him. "Okay," he sighed. "You get in car. We go to the gendarmerie."
They both did as told, refusing to let their gazes meet. Finn wasn't sure if this was the French version of arresting someone, or if they were being helpful; he sincerely hoped it was the latter, because getting arrested in Paris would doubtlessly lead to lengthy lectures from Mr Schue, his mother, Burt, and Kurt, and other terrible things besides. The drive took only five minutes, and Finn noticed Puck sighing with relief when they were led to a row of plastic chairs by the entrance to the police station and no one tried to handcuff them.
"Okay," the cop. "You two will stay here. I bring boss, yes?"
This time they glared at each other. Finn's chin hurt, but he'd gotten a good swing in, and one of Puck's eyes was already beginning to swell and purple. It felt good, even if he wasn't really sure why they had fought. Puck's dig at Finn's college experience was unexpected because while no one still knew if he'd be graduating next week - if they made it home next week - he'd never seemed bothered by this fact. Puck never spoke of plans to do anything after high school or outside Lima; Finn had simply assumed it was because he wasn't interested. "Hey, dude," he tried, wincing at his stiffening jaw.
"Leave it, Hudson."
They sat in silence until a woman in a police officer came up to them. "You are the lost Americans?"
"We're here for the show choir competition," explained Finn, but the policewoman just quirked an eyebrow at him. Unsure whether he was being humoured or misunderstood, Finn kept on talking. Her accent was better than anyone else's so far, but there was no telling. "We won Nationals back home last month and so we're here for an international competition. Well, he is," he qualified, shrugging towards Puck. "I'm chaperoning. I was in the team last year, but now I'm in college." Puck rolled his one good eye at that.
"Your name?"
"Finn Hudson. Ma'am."
"And you?"
"Noah Puckerman."
"You have any identification? Passport?"
Puck reached into his pocket and offered her the little blue document. She flipped through the pages until she found his photograph, then turned to Finn. "And you?" she asked again.
Finn took a deep breath. "I lost mine. I'm pretty sure someone stole it."
She sighed. There was a lot of sighing happening. "And you're lost?"
"We can't find our hotel. We were with another guy this morning, but we lost him. He's the only one that knows where it is."
"Do you remember anything around your hotel?"
Finn did his best to remember important details, but the streets of Paris had blurred into one with impressive efficiency, like what happened whenever he tried to study history. "Uh... a big train station? Like, above ground and stuff."
"We took like two trains to get to Versailles this morning," added Puck.
"And it's called Opera. But it's not near Opera, because we spent like two hours walking around there and couldn't find a thing."
"Right. No hotel card or phone number?"
Finn shook his head. They were sharing a bedroom, Blaine, Puck and Finn, and Blaine was the only one who'd managed not to lose his key card yet, so they relied on him for access. As he was wondering how they were gonna get out of this one, Puck suddenly said, "Oh! I know Mr Schue's number! He gave it to us last year when he was trying to get us to stop drinking and I memorized it so I could prank call him even when I lost my phone." He rattled off ten digits in close succession, and then had to do it again so she could write them down on a legal pad. She disappeared for a few seconds and returned carrying a cordless phone, which she offered to Puck. He went to dial, but a tinny "Hello?" came from the speaker before he'd pressed any keys.
Puck brought the phone to his ear. "Hey Mr Schue. What's up?"
Finn tried to make out Mr Schue's reply, but all he could hear was an indistinct mumbling. Puck, however, hummed briefly and then said, "Yeah, I'm with Finn. We got lost. Blaine with you? We kinda lost him this morning."
Again, Mr Schue's reply was undecipherable, although from the lack of emotion on Puck's face Finn guessed that Blaine was fine, and had probably been for a few hours.
"Uh, we're at a police station. Can you come, like, pick us up or something?"
This time Finn could clearly hear Mr Schue's reply over the line. It consisted entirely of a very loud, very horrified, "You're where?" Finn winced, but Puck smirked at him, lightning fast.
"Relax, Mr Schue. I'm pretty sure we're not in trouble." He looked up at the policewoman as he spoke, but she didn't really react one way or another. "Or, you know, in too much trouble."
He pulled the phone away and beckoned to the officer, offering her the phone. "He wants to talk to you, he's going to take a taxi to come pick us up but he needs the address."
After a quick exchange with Mr Schue she returned the phone to Puck, who rolled his eyes as Mr Schuester spoke at length. "Yeah, yeah, we'll behave and we'll be here. See you soon, Mr Schue." Puck said. He smirked at Finn and added, "Anyway, you haven't heard the worst yet."
He hung up.