Whole World Can Change In A Minute [1/12]
Title: Whole World Can Change In A Minute
Chapter: 1/12
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: She vaguely registers Quinn's sister saying things like 'car accident' and 'dead on impact' and 'they're gone, Rachel.' But who in the world would trust the man next to her with raising a child? Like it or not, they're in all this together.
Word Count: 8,000
Disclaimer: Don't own.
A/N: This idea was suggested to me by katertots_78 , based on the not-yet-released movie, Life As We Know It. She also made my awesome banner.
He cannot wait to get this chick out of his truck.
Seriously.
Worst. Date. Ever.
"Well," he says, pulling up to her massive and crazy expensive apartment building. "Later."
She lets out a huff and glares at him. She doesn't even say goodbye before pushing the door open, getting out and slamming it shut.
He doesn't wait for her to be inside of her building before peeling away from the curb. If he's quick, he can get home in time to watch the last few minutes of the game and have a beer without someone judging him from across the table.
He'll be damned if he ever lets Finn and his wife set him up on another 'blind' date again.
See, he met Rachel at the wedding. And yeah, she's hot, but she's also a control freak who has a stick up her ass. He was trying to have a little fun, and she was pissing all over it. Forgive him for trying to make people laugh during pictures. And honestly, open bars are open for a reason: So that people can get loaded and dance and make some bad choices, then blame it on the alcohol.
But did he mention she's hot?
When Finn called him and told him Quinn had gotten her best friend (maid of honour, total bitch), Rachel, to agree to a blind date, Puck decided he'd be okay with that. Someone with that much of a control problem clearly needed to get laid. And yeah, the wedding was almost two years ago, so maybe part of him was hoping Rachel would have changed somehow and turned cool. It's totally a shame for a woman that sexy to be that hard to handle.
Finn and Quinn have gotten totally boring since they had the baby, and Puck wanted a night out. He's given up hope on spontaneously calling Finn and the two of them going out for beers, so he figured that just maybe if he was sleeping with Quinn's best friend, he might get to see his best friend a little more often.
And people tell him he doesn't think about the future enough.
But see, Rachel hasn't mellowed since the wedding. He won't go into details, but the date? Worst idea ever. He's going to call Finn in the morning and tell him the truth about the whole thing and his honest opinion of this woman.
He doesn't have any clue how anyone could spend more than five minutes with her without wanting to stab themselves in the ear with the closest sharp object.
... ... ...
Rachel toes off her shoes and drops her keys in the carved wood bowl on the table in her foyer. She resists the urge to groan or yell or pick up the phone and tell Quinn never to set her up again.
She has no idea how anyone in the world could think Noah Puckerman is tolerable in any sense of the word. He has zero manners and even less tact. His idea of a nice place for dinner was a sports bar with .25 cent wings. He nursed a beer and called her cosmopolitan a 'weak ass girly drink' and yelled at the television with the crowd more than he spoke with her.
If it weren't for the fact that he's completely gorgeous and has a voice that could melt ice (she doesn't even know what that means, just that it sounds like an apt description), she would have left before their drinks even arrived.
Quinn is her best friend and has been for nearly 10 years. She knows Noah and Quinn's husband, Finn, have been best friends since they were children. She can't deny that the story would have been adorable, had things worked out this evening.
It's safe to say that he has not matured since Quinn and Finn's wedding like Rachel hoped he had. Is it too much to ask that a man that close to 30 not act like a 19 year old boy? She does find it commendable that he owns his own business, but by the sounds of it business isn't exactly booming. What solid business man has a pool installation business in Ohio? He can only work six months of the year. She thinks he doesn't really mind that, but still, there's something to be said for forward motion.
She and Quinn were college roommates, met at 18 in a tiny dorm room with two completely different backgrounds and two completely different career paths. Both of them were incredibly focused on their studies, so being roommates worked out well. When they needed to work, they worked. When they wanted to relax, they watched Hepburn movies and ate low fat popcorn. At the end of their freshman year, Rachel's fathers suggested the girls get a place off campus, and Quinn was all for it. The rest, as they say in all the best clichés, is history. They've been best friends for years, and Rachel was maid of honour in Quinn's wedding. It's only fitting, really, since she's the one who introduced Finn and Quinn in the first place.
See, someone in her business law class insisted he had the perfect man for Rachel. She'd been in a bit of a rut, romantically-speaking, so she agreed, even though she hated blind dates (which just reminds her now that she should have said no to this set up with Noah). Anyway, the night of the date came, and she'd been told of a last-minute test taking place in her most difficult class, so she was wearing sweats, drinking coffee, and completely forgot. Quinn, however, was free, and Rachel noticed the way Quinn looked at this tall handsome man when he showed up at the door. So Rachel, being the good friend that she is, volunteered Quinn to entertain the man for the evening. (And entertain she did.) The two have been together ever since.
She's really, really thrilled for them. They just had their first baby 10 months ago. She's gorgeous, this little girl. Sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her name is Violet Noelle Hudson, and Rachel would like to roll her eyes at the homage to the man she's very close to despising, but the story really is rather cute.
See, Finn was in Detroit in meetings for the car dealership he owns when Quinn went into labour, and she dialed the first person she knew who had a car. Noah rushed to she and Finn's huge house in the suburbs and picked her up with all the stuff she needed, and drove her to the hospital. Then he stayed with her for four hours of her labour, holding her hand and (allegedly) talked her through her contractions. Rachel isn't entirely sure what he said. No one knows. That, she supposes, will stay between Quinn and Noah forever.
Anyway, when the baby was born, Quinn and Finn decided to honour Noah, and Noelle just stuck as Violet's middle name.
Rachel is only a little jealous.
She is not desperate for a husband or anything silly like that. But when she goes on dates, which isn't often at all, she's always thinking, 'Maybe this time'. And every time it doesn't work out, she's a little more disappointed.
Tonight, however, she's just relieved that she can safely leave that man for some other poor, unsuspecting woman.
... ... ...
The sun hasn't even gone down one evening in May when Puck's phone rings and he gets the news.
He legitimately doesn't believe it. He won't believe it. He gets in his car and drives out to Finn and Quinn's insanely nice neighbourhood and sees their house completely dark, no car in the driveway. Finn's always home on Thursday nights because Quinn watches Grey's Anatomy religiously and he takes care of Vi so she can watch uninterrupted.
He parks his SUV at the curb and gets out, walks around to the passenger side and looks at the house. He slides down the metal until he's kneeling, and he pounds the cement curb with the back of his hand. It probably hurts, but he can't really register the pain.
... ... ...
Rachel is sitting on the sofa in her pajamas with a glass of wine in one hand and some non-fat soy frozen yogurt in the other. She's waiting for the phone to ring so she and Quinn can have their 'date'. Every Thursday night, they get on the phone and talk (sort of...) about Grey's Anatomy as they watch. It started in school, them watching together, and it just stuck as their 'thing'. The only time they didn't watch 'together' was when Quinn was on her honeymoon in Tahiti.
The phone rings, but she isn't at all prepared for what comes next.
She vaguely registers the words being spoken, Quinn's sister, between sobs, saying things like 'car accident' and 'dead on impact' and 'they're gone, Rachel.'
She's in shock. She knows what shock is and she is most definitely experiencing it. But even in her state of complete and utter disbelief, she manages one question.
"What about Violet?"
The baby is fine, and Rachel doesn't really know what to make of that.
She hangs up the phone, drinks her entire glass of wine in one long gulp, and it falls to the ground and shatters when she really starts to comprehend what has happened.
... ... ...
Puck really, really does not want to be here. Who would? But he won't skip out right after the service, because he owes it to Mrs. H., and to Violet (she's not here, at the cemetery, but he can't stop thinking about that kid), and to Finn, in some twisted, fucked up way.
Everything's too quiet. He can remember being 17 and high and he and Finn talking about their funerals as events that weren't going to happen for years and years and years, and Finn saying that Free Bird would be the most epic and kick ass funeral song ever. Puck may have called him an idiot, but he hasn't forgotten it. There is no Free Bird. There's no music at all, just wind and crying and a minister saying stuff Puck isn't listening to at all.
He's got Mrs. H.'s hand in his, her husband - Finn's step-father - on her other side. He can see, from the corner of his eye, the Fabrays, standing there with Rachel among them, tucked in with them like family. His mom is there, too, hanging around in the back somewhere, no doubt with tears in her eyes. She knew Finn for as long as he did. He forgets that sometimes, like when she told him she was coming to the funeral and he asked her why. There has to be 100 people here. He doesn't know half of them, but he knows it just means a lot of people knew and liked Finn and Quinn or whatever.
But he's kind of pissed off, too, because they didn't know Finn. Not like he did. He feels like he's lost a brother. He has, kind of. He and Finn practically taught one another how to be men, in some fucked up way. These people don't understand that. No one would.
It all just comes down to not wanting to be burying his best friend at all. That's where the anger is coming from.
He hangs back a little bit when the service is over. He doesn't know why. There are just two coffins in the ground, waiting to be covered over. There aren't even headstones there yet. It's fucked up, he just doesn't want to leave right now.
There are just a few people around when he sees Rachel sitting on one of the white folding chairs that were set up. She's in a knee length black dress, sleeveless and modest and stuff, and her knees are pressed together. She's crying. He can see her shoulders shaking and she's taking big breaths and wiping her face.
They might not have worked out, but she just lost her best friend, too, and he knows exactly how she feels.
He starts walking towards her. He has no idea what he'll say, and he thinks this tie might be cutting off the circulation to his head or something, so he tugs at it as he walks. He's right behind her, just reaching out to rest his hand on her back when one of she and Quinn's mutual friends comes over and takes her hand, pulls her away.
He watches her go. She takes one last look over her shoulder at the graves that, in his opinion shouldn't even be there, and keeps walking towards the car that will take her back to the Fabray house for the gathering. He sits down in the chair she vacated, rests his elbows on his knees, and tries to remember how to breathe.
... ... ...
She really wishes people would stop apologizing to her. What the hell good is that going to do? It's not somehow going to bring her best friend back, and it doesn't make the whole thing hurt any less. If anything, the constant reminder just forces her to face all this a little faster than even the situation dictates.
She just wants to pretend a little bit. She doesn't want to have just watched her best friend's casket lowered into the ground. And she's looking around the room, and people are eating finger foods and drinking wine, and it just doesn't seem right. Yes, maybe this is some celebration of life, or whatever people will tell her if she throws the fit she wants to throw, but people have still died.
When she hears someone laughing, she starts crying again.
She heads for the stairs, slips off her heels once she's on the second floor of the house, and decides she's going to check on Violet. She loves that little girl and she's been thinking about her all day. She knows the Fabrays have been taking care of her since the accident - how she was uninjured in that crash, Rachel will never comprehend - and Rachel hasn't seen the baby. They're also keeping her in Quinn's childhood bedroom, but Rachel takes a deep breath and tells herself it'll be fine, that there's no reason she can't step through that door.
It's open a crack, so she pushes it gently open with the hand that isn't holding her shoes. She doesn't think there's a word to describe the amount of surprise she feels when she sees Noah Puckerman standing by the window with Violet perched on his arm and his lips close to her temple. One of the floorboards creaks under her feet and he turns his head, then his whole body. Violet is wearing pajamas - a pair Rachel knows Quinn loved - and has her hand over Noah's as it sits on her stomach. There's something sad and sweet about the whole picture.
"Sorry," she says, cringing when she realizes she's used that stupid word. "I just thought I'd check on her."
He nods and she realizes his tie is loose and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. His suit jacket is laying on the bed in the room. "I just needed to get away from...everything," he admits.
She looks to the floor, to her bare feet. The polish is chipping, and she should get her manicure redone, but she and Quinn got these ones together, chose the same colour, and she's not ready to change it yet. She drops her shoes on the chair near the door and steps further into the room.
"Do you mind if I...?" she asks, looking at the baby. He shakes his head and hands Violet to her. The girl doesn't make a peep, and Rachel kisses her chubby little cheek, even as she starts tearing up, herself.
"You okay?" Noah asks. He shakes his head at himself and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I mean, yeah, this all blows, but..."
"I'm...I'm coping the best way I know how," she says quietly. She lays her cheek against the side of Violet's head as she holds the baby. She can't stop thinking about how this little girl will never know her mother and father, and it's breaking her heart.
"Yeah," he mumbles. Rachel can see out the window, people milling around the lawn. She's disgusted with all of them, if she's being honest. She pulls the curtain across so she doesn't have to look at them. "I hate all this."
She nods, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Me too."
He sits at the edge of the bed, and she can feel his eyes on her, but she doesn't care. This is her escape, and if it happens to, for some reason, include him, then so be it. He chuckles once, and she turns and looks at him.
"I think this is the best we've gotten along. Like, ever," he says.
She notices how sad his eyes are, how dull. She wipes her cheek and smiles the first smile she's worn since she got that phone call. "They're meddlers," she whispers. He laughs again. She finds she doesn't mind when he does it, because if there's anyone here feeling exactly what she's feeling, it's him. It's quiet for a moment, and his head is tipped back when she speaks again. "She was the first real friend I ever had."
He nods, which looks a little ridiculous, since his head is still tipped back. He's studying the ceiling, and she's almost tempted to look up to see if there's anything there.
"He was the only real friend I ever had," he admits. He's never said it out loud. He's thought it a million times, but never said it. It's always been true.
"It's not fair," she says, crying even harder now.
She wipes angrily at her cheek with her free hand, and walks towards him. She passes the baby back to him, then brushes her cheeks and crosses her arms, turns away from him. She doesn't expect him to do anything. When she feels his hand between her shoulder blades, she lets out a sob, then covers her mouth. She can't explain why she turns and presses her forehead against his shoulder, nor can she explain the comfort she feels when he puts his free arm around her.
But they both laugh a little bit when Violet's tiny hand gets all tangled in Rachel's hair.
... ... ...
He's drunk and horny and he cried for the first time earlier (fuck it; he just lost his best friend and it really, really hit him when he was watching the game and pulled out his phone to call Finn and talk about that double play he'd just seen), and he remembers where Rachel lives, and it's not far from the bar he's been at all night.
He buzzes her apartment from outside sometime after last call, and he doesn't get what she's so pissed about when she yells at him through the intercom thing. But then the door makes a weird noise, so he pulls on the handle and it flies open. He heads for the elevator, repeating her apartment number over and over again so he doesn't forget it.
He knocks on the door. Apparently it's too loud, because she's telling him to 'shhh' as soon as she pulls the door open. She tugs the front of his shirt and pulls him inside, and then she's asking him what the hell he's doing here and stuff.
And she's wearing just a satin nightgown or something, and her hair is all sexy and falling over one shoulder, so he braces one hand on the counter next to her, and hey, when did they get to the kitchen? Whatever. He leans in really close and doesn't quite register that she's got her hand on his chest so she can push him away, not keep him closer.
"C'mon," he says. Her eyes are all wide as she looks at him. "Let's have a little fun."
She's arching her back, which sucks because he can't quite ever reach her lips.
"I don't think so," she says firmly. He doesn't move, and he might be swaying on his feet a little bit, but he wants to make it very clear that he's still good to go if she wants to go, so he presses his hips against hers a bit. She pushes hard and slips away from him. "Noah! God! You can't just...You can't come here at 2:30 in the morning and expect me to...We barely know each other! And we clearly don't like one another. You're..."
"You're sexy," he tells her. He keeps his distance, because even in this state, he knows she'd have no problem kicking him in the balls if the mood struck her. Besides, no matter how bad he wants it, no means no and he's not a complete douchebag. "I need...I need to..."
She gives him a glass of water (didn't even see her pour that) and makes sure it's securely in his hand. "You need to drink this and get some sleep," she insists.
"My truck's at...'S'down the street."
"Oh, no. You are not driving anywhere," she says, shaking her head. "What are you, 16? Don't you know how stupid that is?" He locks eyes with her as he takes a long drink of water. "What's your address? I'm going to call you a cab."
"No. No. I hate cabs. They take the long way and screw you," he says. He puts the empty glass on the counter. (Guess he was thirsty.) "I came here so I could screw you."
"You're disgusting," she spits at him. "Do you have any idea how..." She closes her eyes, sighs, and shakes her head again. "You can sleep on the couch."
"Couch?" he asks, and it comes out high pitched and weird. "C'mon, baby. Don't do that to me."
"Don't call me that, and you're lucky I'm not throwing you out on your behind."
He smirks and kicks off his shoes, flinging them and not caring where they land. "You can't even say ass."
"I can, I just prefer not to," she says, picking up his shoes. Speaking of asses, he gets a really, really great view of hers when she bends over. Twice. She catches him looking and lets out a frustrated noise, uses the sole of his sneaker to hit him on the arm. Twice. "For instance, you, Noah, are a gigantic ass!"
He smiles at her and tries to grab her arm when she walks past him, but she's too fast and little or something. "So where's'is couch?" he asks, running a hand over his head. If he's not getting laid, then he probably really needs to get some sleep.
She's already got a pillow and blanket in her arms when he steps into her living room. This apartment is ridiculous. He supposes when you help people get divorced all day long, you probably earn a decent living. He unzips his jeans, laughs when she turns around quickly.
"You should have everything you need," she says. "There's mouthwash, Advil and Tylenol in the bathroom. And please, please make it there if you're going to be sick."
After he's got his shirt off, he takes advantage of the fact that she's got her back to him, puts his hands on her hips and pulls her back towards him. "Thanks."
"Well, you didn't exactly give me much of a choice," she reminds him. She pulls away from him and heads for her bedroom door. "If you're gone in the morning before I wake up, I won't be too disappointed."
The door shuts and he hears a lock click into place. He looks over at her expensive leather sofa, white pillow and blanket sitting at one end, and tries to figure out where he went wrong.
... ... ...
When Rachel wakes up on Saturday morning, she actually feels rested. She smiles, takes a deep breath and stretches in bed. She's got lightweight sheets on the bed and she's wearing her favourite nightgown, and her room is spotless, since she took the day before off and reorganized her bedroom furniture. It was just time for a change. It has very little to do with the fact that when Finn helped her assemble her bedroom set, he told her the bed would look much better along the west wall than it would along the north one. She never believed him until yesterday, when she moved it to the west wall. Purely coincidental.
Anyway, it's a beautiful day. The sun is out, and it's nearing 9:00, and she's got a few mindless errands to do today, but nothing more.
Then she remembers the late night visitor she had and the day loses some of its luster.
What the hell is Noah's problem, showing up unannounced and practically pouncing on her? He'd smelled of cigarettes and whiskey, and she's trying to recall where she put that leather-safe cleaner for her sofa so she can start erasing all trace of him from her apartment.
She understands, to some degree, she does. She knows how hard it has to be for him, losing his best friend. There are days she finds it hard to get out of bed. She's called Quinn's number twice before remembering no one was going to answer. She didn't watch Grey's Anatomy last week, because she honestly doesn't think she cares about the actual show whatsoever, just the tradition that came with it.
She gets out of bed, makes it neatly, then heads to the bathroom. She always feels better after a shower with her expensive eucalyptus shampoo and honey-extract body wash. Afterward, she wraps her oversized white towel around her body and swipes on some mascara and lipgloss before drying her hair a bit, just enough to let it dry in sections and curl at the ends. She pulls on jeans and a plain black tank top from the Gap and thanks the powers that be that her apartment sounds completely quiet. Her 'guest' must be gone.
Stepping out of her bedroom, she stops in her tracks when she gets to the living room and sees the man standing with his back to her, looking out the window with just a pair of navy blue boxers on. He's got one hand on his hip and the other on the window frame as he looks down from her 11th floor apartment.
"Oh," she says, and he turns his head to look at her over his shoulder. "You're still here."
"Just woke up," he says, voice thick with sleep.
She sees that at least the blanket is folded and neatly stacked with the pillow on the sofa. His clothes are draped over her arm chair, and she debates walking over and handing them to him, but she doesn't think he'd even get the hint then.
She can't find it in her to be rude, though he certainly was last night.
"Did you sleep alright?" she asks, walking into the kitchen. She reaches for her expensive coffee maker and starts filling it with water.
"Yeah, fine," he says. He pulls on his jeans, but doesn't zip them, then walks over and sits down on one of the stools at the counter. It's a shame he's such a jackass, because he really is quite attractive. Almost excessively so. "Hey, so I was a dick."
She actually laughs. She can tell he thinks that is an apology. She looks at him warily. "Are you speaking in general terms, or about this incident specifically?" she asks. She's probably not meant to see him rolling his eyes. He almost looks embarrassed. Or maybe just sad. "I can't say I appreciated the interruption of my sleep."
He purses his lips. "Sorry. I was...I don't even know." She looks over at him and shrugs her shoulder slowly. She doesn't forgive him, but she's not angry, and she thinks that's about as good as it's going to get. "So how 'bout some breakfast? I'm fuckin' starved."
She turns to him, then, hands on her hips and an incredulous look on her face. "You expect me to make you breakfast after the stunt you've pulled?"
"Hey," he smirks, "if you'd let me into your bedroom, I probably woulda made you breakfast. 'S'all part of the Puckerman service guarantee."
She barks out a laugh and grabs a box of organic cereal from her neatly organized cupboard, then reaches for two bowls. "I certainly hope you don't charge for that, or I may have to alert the authorities."
He shakes his head and furrows his brow. "You would, too, wouldn't you?"
"I have a commitment to the..."
"Whatever," he mumbles. "I was only offered money once, thanks anyway." She stops pouring cereal and looks at him with her mouth agape. "Well, I didn't accept. Jesus. I may like sex, and I'm fucking killer in bed, but money doesn't need to change hands. What kinda guy do you think I am?"
She keeps her mouth closed, not only because she doesn't think he wants to hear her opinion on that, but because she realizes she really doesn't know all that much about him anyway.
"Here," she says, passing a bowl of cereal to him. He picks up the spoon and winks as he salutes her with it. That's kind of like a thank you, but different, she supposes. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Black," he mumbles with his mouth full. "This tastes like shit. You eat this crap? 'S'no wonder you're so fuckin' skinny."
She sets the mug in front of him with a little more force than necessary, the sound of the ceramic on her granite countertop echoing through the apartment. He has the audacity to smirk, and she's very close to throwing his shirt at his head and telling him to just get out already. She's had her fill of him, but she most definitely won't say the words, because she knows for a fact that he'd turn the innocent phrase into a sexual innuendo, and she just really doesn't want to give him the opportunity.
She's about to ask him how far his vehicle is and would he like to go get it now, please, when her phone rings. She doesn't bother to excuse herself before walking over to answer it. She figures since he has no manners to speak of, he won't comment on her behaviour.
He's watching her while she talks, and she can tell. When she turns around, he winks at her over the rim of his coffee cup. She can't decide whether to be flattered or annoyed at these little gestures of his. On one hand, there's something very close to flattering about the whole thing. On the other, he's an insufferable pig and she wants nothing to do with him.
She doesn't necessarily understand why the Fabray's are asking her to go to their house, but it sounds important and she says she'll be there shortly. She walks into her solarium/office and opens her laptop to check the weekend bus schedule, and she hears Noah's phone ring.
She isn't eavesdropping, it's just that she can hear what he's saying.
He's been asked to the Fabray's, too.
"What do they want with you?" she asks with her arms crossed as she walks back into the kitchen.
"I dunno," he says, as though she's crazy to ask. "Just told me to go to their place."
He gets up and walks to the living room, grabbing his shirt, and she snatches it from his hands. "I don't think so," she says seriously. "You are most certainly not walking into that home...like this."
He glares at her. "Well, what do you suggest, Princess?"
"A shower, for one," she says. "I'll see if I can find a clean shirt for you to wear."
He grins, takes a step towards her and reaches out, smoothing his hand over her waist before settling it on her hip. His eyes are clearly focused on her body. "Don't think you have anything in my size, babe."
She jerks herself away from him and drops his shirt into his hand. "I may have something of Paul's around here somewhere."
"Paul?" he asks, brow furrowed. Then he starts laughing. "That douche you brought to the wedding?"
"My ex-boyfriend," she corrects him.
"Dude was built like a pipe cleaner."
She looks him up and down. "I think your opinion of yourself is slightly skewed."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he asks, looking down at himself. He flexes the muscles of one arm. "I work hard for this body." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. He grabs her hand and puts it on his stomach before she can pull it away. "Tell me that's not impressive."
He pushes her hand down over his abs, and she can see (literally) where this is going, so she tugs her hand away before he manages to get it to the waistband of his boxers.
"Nice try," she laughs. "Go shower. I'll find something."
He's smirking as he walks past her toward the bathroom near the front door to her apartment. She knows he thinks he's clever.
Well, at least that makes one person.
... ... ...
Convincing her to just get in his damn car was like pulling teeth. This chick really, really hates him. It's fucked. Yeah, he was a total jerk last night, and that date they went on was terrible, and they never really got off to a great start when they first met however many years ago, but damn. They're going to the same place, and she started walking in the opposite direction as soon as they left her apartment building. She said she was heading for the bus stop, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her down the street with him. He asked why the hell she'd take the bus instead of going with him, and she told him it was so that she wouldn't have to go with him. That shit was cold.
So anyway, she's sitting in the passenger seat of his SUV, looking out the window and not saying anything.
He's pulling at the collar of the douchey shirt she gave him to wear. Seriously. Who the fuck is this Lacoste guy and where does he get off charging a hundred bucks for a fucking golf shirt? And this thing is bright blue. Like, bright blue. Rachel smiled when he put it on, though. Whatever. Obviously she likes her men to look as fucking stupid as possible. Why else would she have dated that Paul guy in the first place?
"Just stop fussing with it!" she snaps, looking at him for the first time since he pushed her in the direction of the open car door. That was 15 minutes ago.
"It's tight," he insists. "I told you it was too small." She rolls her eyes and lets out a huff. "It is."
"Considering you're hungover and, frankly, in dire need of a haircut, you almost look presentable," she says.
Goddamn. Even her compliments are like a slap to the face.
She's sitting next to him in a knee-length black skirt with satin and whatever around the pockets, a white button down shirt with a red sweater overtop. He liked the jeans and tank top better, but this is alright, too.
"What do you think they want?" he asks after another couple minutes.
"I don't know," she says quietly. "I'm nervous." He glances over at her with a smirk on his face. "What?"
"You're capable of feeling nerves? Who'd'a thought?"
She turns towards him, knees pressed together as she glares. "I don't appreciate you passing judgment on me. You don't know anything about me. Perhaps you would, had you actually paid attention to me on that sorry excuse for a date you took me on."
He flicks his wrist in the air between them and she crosses her arms, flops back against the seat. He turns up the radio as they pull into the Fabray's neighbourhood.
Okay, so maybe they don't get along, but goddamn. Could she at least try not to be a complete and total raging bitch to him all the fucking time?
"It's the next driveway," she says.
"I know where they live," he replies, annoyed. He pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine. "You're not the only one who knows things."
"I didn't say..."
He cuts her off by getting out and slamming the door closed behind him.
He at least waits until she's standing on the porch next to him before ringing the bell, so she supposes she can be thankful for that. But she hates this tension.
"Noah, I didn't..."
"Shh. Footsteps," he says. He honestly gets a kick out of cutting her off, 'cause she gets all pissy and lets out these little breaths that prove she's annoyed.
The door swings open, and Quinn's mom practically pushes Puck out of the way so she can get to Rachel, pulling her into a hug. She smoothes her hands over Rachel's cheeks as the two exchange hellos, and he's just standing there until they're invited inside.
He doesn't expect to see Finn's mom and step-dad there, too. He walks over and gives Mrs. H. a hug, then shakes Burt's hand, and sits down where Mr. Fabray tells him to. (Not many people can scare Puck, but this dude is slightly terrifying.) Rachel sits on the sofa next to him.
Rachel is given an official-looking folder, which she opens and looks through while Mr. Fabray and Mrs. H. talk about stuff. Puck's a little confused. He looks down at the papers in Rachel's lap, but it's all legal garbage and that makes even less sense to him.
"So, you two were named Godparents," Mrs. H. says. Puck remembers that part, Finn and Quinn having him for dinner and asking him if he'd want the job.
He said yes, thinking it wasn't really a job at all.
"Right," he says, brow still furrowed.
"Well, in their last will and testament, they named you two as Violet's legal guardians," Mr. Fabray says, and if Puck is reading his voice correctly, he doesn't sound at all impressed with this. Mrs. H. just smiles at Puck when he looks at her.
"I'm sorry," Rachel says, looking up from the documents in her hands. "Together?"
"Whoa. What?" Puck asks.
Rachel starts shaking her head and leafing through the papers. That cannot be right. Who in the world would trust the man next to her with raising a child? You'd have to be crazy! But there it is in black and white, with Quinn and Finn's signatures at the bottom of the page, a document naming both Rachel and Noah as Violet's guardians in the event of Finn and Quinn's deaths before the girl turned 18.
"No one's more surprised than I am," Mr. Fabray says. "But it is what it is."
"Rachel, you know we trust you with...Well, with anything," Mrs. Fabray insists.
Puck is very aware he's not being mentioned here.
So is Rachel.
"I can't...I don't know what to say," Rachel says quietly, shaking her head. "I mean, I understand what the responsibility of a Godparent is, but this is...You never expect..."
"I know, sweetie," Mrs. Fabray says, walking over and taking Rachel by the hand. Rachel stands and the Fabray's pull her through the door and into the kitchen.
Puck sits back on the couch and runs a hand over his face. Mrs. H. comes and sits next to him, places her and on his shoulder and smiles sadly.
"I know this is a lot to process," she says, laughing when he shoots her a look. "But they chose you for a reason, Noah."
"But I'm...I mean, what do I know about...This is fucked." He might be struck down for cursing with all these pictures of Jesus on the wall, but that's not really his concern right now. "Rachel, yeah. She's the obvious choice. She has her shit together and she's...you know. Look at her. She's a tightass and whatever. But me?" He shakes his head and Burt laughs. It somehow puts him at ease. "Why the hell would he pick me?"
"Honey, Finn thought of you as a brother. He trusted you," Mrs. H. says, taking his hand between both of hers. "He wouldn't want anyone else raising his daughter." Puck opens his mouth to say he doesn't know anything about raising kids, but she cuts him off. "You can do this. You'll learn as you go."
"But Quinn's sister...She's married."
"And she has three children under the age of four," Mrs. H. laughs. "Noah, you don't give yourself enough credit."
"No offense, Mrs. H., but you're giving me too much right now. I can't do this. And I have to do it with Rachel? She fuckin' hates me."
"Rachel is a sweet girl," she insists. "Between the two of you, you'll be fine."
"And you can call us if you have to," Burt adds. "No one expects you to do this all on your own."
Puck takes a deep breath. Not that this is a Grade A pep talk or anything, but it's almost working. He doesn't know anything about babies. At all. Any time Violet cried, he passed her back to Finn or Quinn. Diapers? Totally not his deal. He dug her when she was all mellow and quiet, or when she was giggling and crawling around on the floor and stuff. And he got her a teddy bear when she was born, and he thinks it's awesome that it's her favourite toy, but all that's a far cry from actually being responsible for her upbringing.
Rachel and the Fabrays walk back into the room, and Rachel has tears on her face. She looks at him with about as much terror as he's feeling, then sits down next to him again.
"They want us to live in their house. In Finn and Quinn's house," she tells him.
His eyes go wide.
That was her reaction, too.
"What?" he asks a little too loudly.
Mrs. H. squeezes his hand and he looks at her again. "Violet has been through so much. Yes, she's young, but she...Too much change would be difficult," she explains. "It makes sense. The house was theirs, bought and paid for, and they've left it to Violet. Technically, since you're her guardians, it's yours."
"This is insane," Rachel whispers, wiping her face again.
She cannot believe she's being asked to raise her dead best friend's infant daughter. Furthermore, she's expected to do it with Quinn's husband's immature, ridiculous best friend, and now she's being told she, in a technical, legal sense, owns Quinn and Finn's four bedroom home.
This cannot be her life.
... ... ...
"You okay?" he asks her as they drive back to her place so she can start packing some things. They've agreed to start caring for Violet tomorrow. To be honest, that seems way too fucking soon, but he can't do anything about it, really.
It's not like there's a right time for your best friend to die and leave you his kid.
"I'm fine," Rachel says quietly, staring out the window and brushing a tear from her cheek again.
"You know, this is all happening to me, too," he says, because honestly, she's making this all about her, like she's the only one getting thrown headfirst into this, and it doesn't really seem all that fair.
Yeah, what he just said may have made him sound like a pussy who actually talks and/or cares about feelings, but whatever. He's emotional right now, okay? God.
She realizes he's right. Until now, she's been thinking of this solely in terms of herself. She didn't really put too much stock into him being part of this, because she couldn't necessarily see him as part of his. Something clicked when he said that, however, pointed out that his life is changing just as much as hers is. It's like she now knows he wants to be a part of this whole situation, that he's not going to pass off his responsibilities. She, perhaps, should have given him a little more credit.
"I'm sorry," she says after another minute or two. "I don't mean to be selfish, I'm just...I'm sorry."
"'S'okay," he says.
His hand lands on her thigh, and he's not even trying to make a move. He's just trying to...He doesn't know. He does know that she doesn't push it away or anything. She doesn't try to hold it or have a 'moment' or whatever, but she doesn't tell him to not touch her ever, either.
Like it or not, they're in all this together.