Let It Come Down 1/6
Title: Let It Come Down
Chapter: 1/6
Rating: R
Character: Puck/Rachel
Summary: She doesn't mean to linger, but it happens because he seems relaxed and less tense than he has since she saw him yesterday, and if that's the case and her little peck on the cheek has something to do with it, she wants him to be able to feel it as long as possible.
Word Count: 7,200
Disclaimer: Don't own.
A/N: This story is 6 chapters long and deals with things like the death of a child and also adultery. It's also AU in the sense that Puck and Quinn kept Beth. There's your secondary disclaimer. Totally understandable if you want to check out now. I hope you enjoy it, though!
The minute he's told his daughter is dead, his world shifts on its axis and throws everything off balance. He thinks that if a child dies, the parents should go, too, because people aren't equipped to deal with that - this - kind of heartbreak. He's not. His wife's not. No one is.
She was 11 years old. 11 years old and full of energy and life and love and sass, and there's no way her dying was fate or destiny or any of those other fucking clichés people say when they find out you've lost a kid so young. It doesn't make sense, and it's not right, and nothing anyone could even think to say would fill the hole in his life where that little girl should be.
To think there was ever a moment when they thought about giving her up literally makes his throat close up. She was perfect - perfect - and he can't believe they almost gave her away.
And yet one night when he's got a bottle in his hand and his wife is locked in their bedroom, he's selfish enough to wonder if he could have been saved from all this if they'd chosen adoption. It's horrible and he fucking hates himself for even considering it, but it's there, just for a second. Then he realizes that he wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy, to have their child die in a hit and run accident.
... ... ...
Rachel hears the news when she's reading a french novel in a café in Paris. Her iPhone lights up on the table, and she smiles when she sees that it's an email from her father. She gasps and covers her mouth when she reads about Beth. It's not like she ever really knew the girl, not after they all graduated high school, but there are tears in her eyes.
She can't really believe it, can't believe she's sitting on a Paris street with a cup of espresso in her hand as she fumbles through some Hugo, while people she used to call her friends are grieving the loss of their daughter.
She doesn't want to accept it (she can't fathom how Noah and Quinn must feel) so she emails Finn, the only person she even keeps in touch with from high school. They send messages back and forth a couple times a year. This seems like as good a time as any to contact him.
He confirms it quickly, just a few words and ends it with, I don't know what else to say.
She goes back to the flat she's been staying in for the past two months and tries to think of something she could do or say to these people she hasn't spoken to in far too close to 10 years.
She comes up empty, opens her best bottle of wine instead, and stops questioning why she's crying so much.
... ... ...
When the call comes that they've made an arrest, he doesn't feel much of anything at all. He doesn't know that he'll be able to control himself if he sees the bastard who ruined his life and took his daughter's.
... ... ...
She finds a fancy little paper shop on some hidden street and buys a pretty card, writes a message on the inside that doesn't feel like nearly enough. She drops it in the mail after checking the address twice and rethinking the whole thing about 100 times.
... ... ...
He can't take any more time off work, and he's been pushing it as is. He knows his boss wouldn't tell him to come back to work, but he has to. He needs to get out of the house and not hear Quinn crying and not walk past Beth's closed bedroom door a half dozen times a day and not have to hear the phone ring and know it's just another person calling to give condolences that don't really mean much of anything anyway.
But he sits at his desk and he knows he's supposed to be focusing on some shit for this business trip he's working out the logistics for, but then he tries to remember the last time Beth told him she loved him, and he can't, and he punches the wall in the bathroom so hard he dislocates his knuckle. It hurts like a bitch, but he doesn't care. He just sits back down at his desk after, runs a hand over his face, and tries not to look at the family photo sitting on his desk from when he still had a family.
He gets home and finds the house completely quiet, which is both strange and not. He tosses his keys onto the table in the hall, the same place he's left him every day for five years since they moved into this house. He loosens the tie he hates wearing, and walks into the kitchen. On any given day, he'd find Quinn in there, making dinner or doing dishes or reading a magazine while standing at the counter or talking on the phone. She's usually home from work before him, and it's nice coming home to her.
He knows she didn't go in today.
When he walks back to their bedroom and pushes open the door, he sees her sitting up in their bed with one of his sweatshirts on, watching the television. She looks exactly the way she looked when he left her this morning. She barely glances at him as he walks to the closet.
He'd ask how her day was, but he's pretty sure he knows the answer. (Same as his, she just did it from their bed.)
He pulls his shirt from his pants and unbuttons it. "Want me to make dinner?" he asks. She shrugs her shoulder. He pulls on a pair of jeans with the white tee shirt he's wearing. "You've gotta eat, Q."
"I know that," she snaps, looking at him with fire in her eyes. But it's not like it's supposed to be. When she's pissed, she narrows her eyes and there are these little creases at the corner, and her lips pucker a little bit. That look makes grown men cower. This one doesn't.
"What do you feel like?" he asks, and their eyes lock and he realizes that's a loaded question. Really fucking loaded.
"Whatever," she says quietly. "Just bring it in when it's ready?"
He sighs and nods, walks over to her and runs his hand over her hair as he kisses the top of her head. "Okay."
It's not okay. It feels like nothing is anymore.
... ... ...
The production she's directing ends its run, and she wears her sleek black dress, patent leather pumps that cost more than the rent on her first apartment in New York, and diamond necklace her fathers gave her for her 25th birthday. Everything runs smoothly, which doesn't surprise her, because she's the one in charge. This one was only a four week run, and her cast was a hand selected (by her) group of professionals. Even her limited French couldn't stop the musical from receiving rave reviews from every major European critic.
It's not exactly what she thought she'd be doing, not by a long shot, but after realizing she'd never be anything more than a chorus girl, a minor player on Broadway, she started thinking of different ways to be involved in musical theater. She had a list, pros and cons and colour coded and all that, but it took a broken ankle to really push her away form performing. She'd been around enough directors over the years to know what worked and what didn't, as far as working with performers went. She knew what blocking worked, how to see the stage, how to make the most of any performance space.
She's a natural as a director. Actors love her, dancers appreciate her performance background. Her first production was tiny, just in a back room in Queens and 14 people came the first night. 22 came the second night. By the twelfth and last performance, the room was filled and the audience gave a standing ovation.
Now her home base is Cleveland, since she's working her way back up to New York, Broadway. She's working around the country, but Cleveland is home, since it's close to her fathers yet still a decent sized city.
She's on her third glass of champagne at the after party when her on-again, off-again 'fling' (it's a generous term, really) sidles up beside her and clinks his glass against hers.
"Well done, Young Miss Berry," he says, arm slinking around her shoulders.
She laughs. He's nearly eight years older than her, and if he's not calling her just 'R', he's calling her Young Miss Berry, like she's some kind of child. But he's also a brilliant vocal coach, and one of the first who would agree to work with her. He argues with her on almost everything - arrangements, placements, even choreography and blocking. It drives her crazy. She slapped him once, their fifth day working together. He'd just raised his brow, laughed, rubbed his cheek, and told her it was about time she stuck up for herself. One night, after a little too much work and a lot too much wine, he said something that enraged her, and instead of slapping him again, she kissed him. They've never been anything serious, not in the three years they've known one another, but they're friends, she and Robert. Best friends, maybe.
"I couldn't have done it without you," she tells him. She straightens out his tie, even though it doesn't need it, just because she knows how much he hates her fussing over him that way.
He laughs and shakes his head. "Yes, you could have," he tells her.
Truthfully? Some days she thinks it's true, if not for the sheer volume of work that goes into a production like the ones she's been doing lately. That's a good thing, she knows. She also knows that her next production, the one she's in talks to do in Cleveland, she's going to need his help. It's a revival of a major title, and she needs him. It's not so hard to admit those kinds of things anymore.
His hand moves a little (lot) lower and ends up almost on her behind. "We started Paris together," he says against the shell of her ear. "We should end it together."
She giggles softly, but turns her head toward him a little more. "I'm not leaving my own party."
"Rachel," he laughs, "it's not your party."
"It's my play," she reminds him.
"You're adorable." He kisses her temple and slides his hand across her backside.
"Don't leave without me," she says quietly, eyes locked with his before she walks away.
The night they got to Paris, they stayed in the same hotel room. They don't fly home for a couple days, and she figures it might be nice to spend them with him in her apartment.
... ... ...
Quinn manages to get herself dressed for work, but not out the door. He stands there in the kitchen, pouring coffee into his travel mug, and watches as she takes her bag off her shoulder. She drops it harshly onto the floor and kicks off her shoes so they clatter against the wall and onto the floor. She pulls her hair from its ponytail and wipes at her face angrily.
"Quinn."
"I can't. I'm not. Just...Don't tell me."
He doesn't know what he's not supposed to tell her, but he can think of about a hundred things she wouldn't want to hear.
"Fine," he says as he walks towards her. "But try not to fuckin' stay in the bedroom all day. Go for a walk or something, okay?"
He runs his hand down her arm as he stands in front of her, and she nods, closing her eyes and leaning into him. "I'll try."
He doesn't know what good a walk will do, but it can't hurt. There's no way it's healthy for her to lay in their bed in her pajamas all day long watching talk shows and soap operas.
"I'll see you tonight. Call me if..."
"You're going to make yourself late," she says evenly, pulling away from him and crossing her arms.
He doesn't say anything else before walking out the door.
He works late, calls her and tells her she's on her own for dinner, but he'll know if she doesn't eat (he's bluffing, but he doesn't think she knows that). Then he goes out for a couple drinks on his own at a bar where no one would bother looking for him. When he gets home Quinn is sleeping, curled up on her side of the bed as far away from his as possible.
He undresses, gets into bed, and it's hard to close his eyes without seeing the way things used to be.
... ... ...
Paris was all lights, all glamour, and all being 'that pretty American' (she loved that title) in her building and the shops she frequented.
Cleveland is...Cleveland. She doesn't unpack her suitcase right away, blames jet lag and falls asleep in her bed with Robert next to her. Sometime in the middle of the night, she wakes up and hears him say her name in his sleep, and she knows her life would be so different - maybe better - if she could just fall in love with him.
Truthfully, she doesn't think she's ever really been in love with anyone.
The closest was Finn, naturally. Young love and more naiveté than good sense. They proclaimed to love one another and constantly hurt one another because they didn't even really know what love was at that point. They fell apart completely when he went to college in Kentucky and she went to New York. He felt he wasn't good enough for her and she'd started doubting it, too. Not because of who he was as a person, but because any boyfriend of hers should have been in contact more and not engaged in phone tag and oh, yes, not kissed another girl in October.
To his benefit, he told her about it and they're still in touch and it's really not a big deal, since the relationship was going to end anyway and he just sped up the painful process.
Robert is by and far the best person she's ever been with, but that doesn't seem to mean a damn thing to her heart.
And he leaves in the morning, tells her he'll call her soon and she doesn't ask anything more of him.
She's not entirely sure when she stopped being the girl who demanded more.
Maybe now she's just the girl who doesn't demand things she knows she's never going to get. There can't really be anything wrong with that, can there? It certainly stops her from being disappointed so often.
... ... ...
Quinn is still asleep when he wakes up at 6:00 to head to Cleveland. He needs her to kiss him goodbye at the door and then please, please, for the love of god, go to work. She went yesterday and made it through a half a day.
He knows she's taking this harder than he is, and he supposes there's a bit of a reason for that. Beth was always a daddy's girl, though, and every fucking day he misses the way she said that word - Daddy - but he's at least trying to get back to life as normal. Or as normal as his life can be when the most important and biggest part of it isn't there anymore.
He's fucking depressed and he knows Quinn is, too. He wants to be able to talk to her about it, but she just shuts down any time he tries.
He knows her own alarm will go off in 10 minutes, so he jumps into the shower and then packs the rest of the things he needs for his trip.
The alarm is ringing and she's sleeping right through it when he steps back into the bedroom. He sighs, because he's fucking tired of this, turns off the alarm and sits down next to her on the bed, shakes her gently and says her name until she's waking up.
"Are you going?" she asks, voice coated with sleep and eyes bleary.
"Not this second. You have to get up, Q."
"I will."
"Right now," he commands.
"Puck."
"You have to go to work," he tells her. He's been gentle with her all along and it's not fucking working. "You have to start going every day."
"I will." She's looking up at him and she pushes herself so she's sitting up in bed. She rubs at her eye a little bit, then gives him a tiny smile. "I'll go. I promise."
He smiles back. "Promise?"
"I promise."
She kisses the side of his mouth gently, her lips just barely touching his, and he stands so she can get out of bed.
He feels pretty good about things. He feels okay leaving her here. He's told his mom and hers to keep an eye on her while he's gone for these four days and they've promised to check in.
He thinks everything might be on track until he's at the door with his suitcase in his hand and he says he's leaving, and she just shouts at him from the kitchen and tells him to be safe and have a good trip.
There as a time when he couldn't leave the house or her sight without her wanting every fucking detail of where he was going. She always kisses him goodbye.
She hasn't really kissed him at all since Beth.
He puts the pedal to the floor once he's on the highway, leaves it there until his car starts shaking, then slows down and sets the cruise control.
He thinks he's a fucking bastard for feeling this good about getting away.
... ... ...
She's in a meeting with her new producers and things are going well until Robert shows up and starts adding his two cents. Two cents turn into about a thousand and she can tell by the looks coming at her from across the board room table that they're not impressed with the direction this guy is taking.
"I'm sorry," she says, "Robert and I haven't had a chance to discuss his role in this production." She shoots him a look and he's just staring at her. "These ideas are not my ideas, and I can assure you there's no way..."
Robert storms out halfway through her speech and she's positive he'll never speak to her again or something ridiculous like that. His ego can be out of control and she saw that side of him today. She's not about to jeopardize her whole production - her first with this well-known producer - just because he thinks he's god's gift to musical theater.
"I apologize for that," Rachel says. The man and woman across the table look amused, if nothing else.
"It's quite alright. This isn't our first go 'round."
She laughs because she's supposed to, but it sounds a little patronizing to her. It's not her first show, either. She knows how this all works. She's excited to start casting, however, and when they start talking about renting space to hold an open call, they basically give her the green light to spend as much of their money as she needs to. Their financial backers are totally supportive of her creative process and admire her attention to detail.
It's a good thing, because yes, she's something of a perfectionist.
She's in her favourite coffee shop with her MacBook open and her notes spread around her table after the meeting. She prefers working here over her deadly silent home. She doesn't know why, but she's able to get a little more done, be a little more inspired by people and sounds and conversations. She's halfway through her latté when she looks up and sees a familiar face walking through the door. She hasn't seen him since practically high school graduation, and the last she heard, he and Quinn were married and living in Lima.
She gasps when she remembers what she just heard recently, and she has no idea what to say to him when she approaches him.
He's on the phone and it looks kind of important and she's stuck in her place anyway. He hangs up so he can order, and she decides she'll just go back to her work and if he sees her, he can approach her.
She's still an actress.
He's walking past her table (she's pretending not to notice) and then he stops by the door and comes to stand right in front of her. She looks up and sees him just staring at her with a kind of surprised and bewildered expression on his face.
"Noah," she breathes out. She stands up and rounds the table, and he sets down his coffee and holds her instead. She's forced to close her eyes for a second because she feels like she's 16 again and she really doesn't mind. "How are you?" she asks once he's pulled away again.
He hasn't said a word to her yet.
He takes a breath and blows it out. "Loaded question." She closes her eyes again, but for a different reason. "I...um..."
"No, I heard," she says quietly, shaking her head. She doesn't want him to feel like he has to say the words. "I was in Paris. Daddy told me. I wanted to come, but...Gosh, Noah, I am so sorry." He just nods and takes a deep breath. She has a feeling he does this a lot. "Did you get my card? I sent a card."
"Probably," he says, laughing a little. "There were a lot of cards."
She looks at him for a second, the way his index finger plays with the lid of his to-go cup and he looks away from her when their eyes are locked a moment too long.
"Do you have...Are you in a hurry?" she asks. "You can join me."
She sounds a little desperate. She doesn't really mind when it makes him smile like that. It looks like it's been a while since he smiled like that.
"I have to run," he says. He sounds reluctant. He also looks lovely in his suit and tie. "I have meetings all day. But um...Tomorrow. Dinner?"
She smiles and nods. "I'd like that."
He takes one of her pens and writes his number down on a piece of paper. It's a casting shortlist and it's kind of important. He doesn't seem to care all that much. She tries not to.
"Call me," he says. She nods again and he steps towards the door, turns back around once he's there and almost outside. "You look good."
He throws her a wink and she should not blush at a compliment like that at this age.
... ... ...
The fucked up thing is that all day long he thinks about Rachel and meeting her for dinner. She's just an old friend and they'll catch up and talk about the last 10 or so years or whatever it's been and that'll be that.
But it's also...It's Rachel.
He always had kind of a soft spot for her, and he likes to say it's because he was her first actual boyfriend (no matter what she likes to say) and he taught her how to kiss and grind. Now that he's nearly 30 those seem like stupid reasons to still smile just thinking about someone. He hasn't thought about her at all in the last few years, certainly not at all lately. She's just this little thing that's all full of energy and confidence. He always liked that about her, that she knew what she wanted and she'd do whatever she could to get it. He knows she got fucked around a lot - by his best friend, most of the time - but she always came out on top. No, he doesn't know what the hell she's doing in Cleveland instead of new York, or why she was wearing a black tailored pants suit. He'll figure it out at dinner.
He checks in on a couple of his stores during the day. He's the Ohio district manager of a chain of sporting goods stores, the biggest and oldest one of them being in Lima. Since he started there right out of college, they've opened five more stores and nearly doubled business. That's not all on him, but he played a huge part in re-branding and all that stuff, and getting better suppliers. He's in Cleveland for four days to check in with his managers and staff and see what's going on. They all seem to know about Beth, so it's tough to just walk in and see their faces and watch some of the staff try to come up with something to say. They don't really have to say anything, so he tries to keep it as business-focused as possible.
Rachel calls him around 2:00 and asks how he feels about Italian, gives him the name and address of this place downtown, and he offers to pick her up from her house. She insists she's working downtown anyway and she'll just meet him at the restaurant at 7:00 and that the reservation will be under his name. He doesn't know why she'd put it under his, but it's fine with him.
He goes back to the hotel to change his shirt. He feels like a douche wearing a tie just to have dinner with her, so he goes open collar with his blue shirt and black suit and honestly, why in the fuck is he so worried about what he's going to wear? He's married and Rachel is nothing to him and it's just dinner.
He hasn't talked to Quinn at all today.
He calls the house and she's there. She sounds okay when she answers, asks him how his trip is going and he tells her everything seems fine and gives her some details about the store he had trouble in last time he visited. She actually engages in conversation and he smiles because she sounds kind of good.
Then he spends the entire drive to the restaurant wondering why she's good when he's not there.
He gets there before Rachel, sits down and orders a beer while he waits. She comes in five minutes later and smiles as she walks towards him. She's wearing another fancy suit, a skirt this time and a green top under her blazer.
"So sorry," she says as she sits down across from him. "I was meeting with my ass of a vocal consultant, or whatever he thinks he is to me, and he was just..." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry I'm late."
He smiles at her and says, "Don't worry about it," because honestly, it's not a big deal.
The waiter comes and Rachel orders a glass of wine and asks for another minute with the menu. She gives the guy, who looks about 21, a pretty little smile and the guy looks at her like he already adores her and says he'll be back in a few minutes. Puck seriously wonders if she's used to this treatment. Probably is.
He's got a wife, right? He's also got a working set of eyes, and Rachel? She's fucking gorgeous. She's grown into her looks. Her eyes don't seem as huge and surprised all the time, and her hair is cut to just below her shoulders and in these big, loose curls with her bangs blunt across her forehead. She's filled out, soft curves and bigger breasts (he's looked; he's a guy). She's still tiny, a tight little frame and long legs, but she's a woman and it freaked him out yesterday. Today he just really kind of likes it.
They order and the waiter brings them some fresh bread, and she nibbles on a piece and suddenly looks nervous or something. He'd ask why, but she's Rachel, so he's sure she'll open her mouth to tell him any second.
She leans forward a little bit and locks eyes with him, speaks softly. "I don't know what to talk about with you," she admits. "I mean, with everything."
He sighs. He doesn't know what to talk about either. He can't talk about Beth, though, not yet and not with Rachel, and he doesn't want to talk about Quinn, either.
"Not...Not her," he says. He flashes her a look that he hopes shows he's not being rude, it's just difficult. "Just talk about you."
She smiles a little bit. "Stop me if I become irritating."
He laughs out loud, nods and reaches for his beer. "Deal."
So he sits there all night and listens to her talk about herself, about directing and her broken ankle and school and New York and how she had to leave there in order to become successful enough to go back. She tells him all about Paris and about Robert - he thinks she's leaving out some details there, but he doesn't ask for them - and her house. She says her dads are doing well and blushes when he says he sees them on a pretty much weekly basis.
"Why don't you ever come back?" he asks as he finishes his second beer and she finishes her chocolate mousse.
She shrugs one shoulder. "Lima is...My fathers come see me. There's nothing else there I have any interest in." She looks up from her plate with wide eyes. "No offense!"
"I know," he laughs. "I mean, I kind of always wanted to leave."
He's never admitted it out loud.
Rachel nods like she knew it all along.
... ... ...
She insists she doesn't need a ride home, that it's not far and she'll take a cab, but after he's paid for their meal (and practically slapped her hand away when she offered to pay her share) he tells her she's insane if she thinks he's letting her do that. It reminds her vaguely of when they were dating and he'd walk 15 minutes out of his way just to walk her home from school before he had a car to drive every day.
She climbs into the passenger seat and the first thought through her mind is that this is someone else's spot. It's stupid, since she's not doing anything wrong and they're just two old acquaintances catching up, but she can practically picture Quinn sitting here and chatting with him as they drive.
"Noah?"
"Yeah."
He's looking straight out the windshield. It's like he can tell from her tone of voice and how she said his name that the next thing she says is probably going to run a little deeper than just 'catching up'.
"How is Quinn?" she asks. She watches him shrug his shoulder. "I'm sorry if I'm overstepping. You can tell me if I am."
"You're not," he says. "It's fine."
"Okay."
She's getting the distinct impression that her asking is fine, but he has no intention of actually answering the question.
She tells him to turn left into her subdivision and when he switches on the turn signal and cranks the wheel, he says, "She's not so good," and Rachel waits for more words that don't come.
"No?" He shakes his head. "I mean, I can't even imagine."
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry."
He turns to her. "Would you stop saying that?"
It sounds half-joking, half-not. She thinks he's probably heard those two words enough in the last month or so that he's sick of them. She's just about to apologize for apologizing, so what comes out is a giggle and he glances at her again, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
"Will you tell her I'm thinking about her?" she asks quietly.
He nods, but otherwise doesn't commit, and she's got a feeling he's not going to pass along the sentiment. It doesn't bother her like it probably should; she's sure he's got very good reasons.
She directs him to her house and he pulls into the driveway. She knows the confused look on his face is because she's got her Lexus parked in the driveway and yet she's saying she'll take cabs around. She doesn't actually want to tell him that Robert came over this morning and picked her up so they could head to his studio, where they had a huge argument and then spent the entire day bickering as they tried to find suitable cast options and avoid an open call.
"Nice car," he says, jutting his chin towards it.
"It's a hybrid." It's not important. She feels stupid for pointing it out. "Robert picked me up this morning." He looks at her. "It's...it's complicated."
"Thought it might be." He looks far too amused, really, and she wishes she could tell him everything.
She misses having someone to tell everything to.
"Thank you for dinner," she says, reaching for her Coach bag off the floor next to her feet. "It was so great to see you again, Noah. Really."
"Yeah, you too, Rachel."
It's more sincerity than she's heard from him in years and years and years, and she leans over, places her hand on his cheek and kisses the opposite one. She doesn't mean to linger, but it happens because he seems relaxed and less tense than he has since she saw him yesterday, and if that's the case and her little peck on the cheek has something to do with it, she wants him to be able to feel it as long as possible.
And she likes the warmth of his cheek against her lips.
She pulls away and gives him a little smile, and he sets his hand on the gear shift. She knows it's late and he's in town another couple days.
"Maybe I'll see you soon?" she suggests. "You have my number."
He told her he usually comes to Cleveland for a day or two every couple weeks. It wouldn't be at all terrible to have a proper friend again.
"Yeah. I'll call you."
It's as close to a promise of anything as she's gotten from him all night. She doesn't know why that seems so important or feels as good as it does.
He waits until she's inside her house before he drives away.
... ... ...
He's done early and doesn't have to do anything for the rest of the day and he blames the way his thumb hovers over her name in his phone on the fact that he's bored and has no one else in town to talk to.
That's fucking bullshit, 'cause he knows a bunch of people from and through work and Artie has lived here since college, working at an IT firm. They've lost touch though, in the last couple years. It was good of the guy to come to the funeral and Puck knows it'd be an easy step to get that friendship back on track and he'd be able to thank Beth for it or whatever.
He doesn't want to.
He texts Rachel, 'Cleveland always this boring?' and she writes back within minutes, 'Don't act like you never come here!'
He can picture her laughing or something. It's fucked up but he likes it.
It shouldn't bother him that she doesn't offer to entertain him, but it kind of does. She's obviously busy - he heard all about her work last night - but she was never the type to allow anyone to be bored. Hell, half the time she wouldn't even let them take a fucking breath unless she had it scheduled and accounted for. It's pretty clear she's not the same woman (girl) she used to be. He's honestly still not sure how to feel about it. He's not too dumb or naive to recognize that it's some attempt (pathetic or not) to go back to a time when everything was less fucked up.
Who would have thought he'd want to go back to the time when he was a teen dad and not even in a relationship with his daughter's mother?
He and Quinn didn't actually get together until right before they each started college. She'd decided to take accounting and he enrolled in general business classes, and Beth cried any time she had to leave either of them to go with the other. Quinn eventually suggested they give dating a try again. (Because there wasn't much 'try' during the time she was pregnant.) It's pretty fucking easy to fall in love with the mother of your child. He'd always loved her, but sleeping next to her some nights, making her laugh and letting her hold his hand just made him completely fucking nuts for her. They moved into this tiny apartment together after just six months and both worked and busted their asses to save for a house while they were still in school.
He proposed the summer after their junior year and they were married in the spring. They've been together for years and here he is sitting alone in a hotel room and lamenting like a jackass about being snubbed by another woman.
He loves his wife. Rachel doesn't mean anything to him.
He calls Quinn at work, partly just to make sure she's there. She says she had a hard time sleeping last night without him there, and he feels fucking amazing about that, to be honest. He's felt like she doesn't even notice him lately. She seems to be doing okay and really, he can't wait to get home to her if she's getting back to normal. Or to a new kind of normal.
She says she should go and says goodbye, but he doesn't want her to hang up just yet.
"Q," he says, smiling.
"What?" she giggles. He loves that sound.
"Love you."
There's a pause, then she says quietly, "Okay. Bye," and the line goes dead.
He spends too much time feeling like shit over that. Also like a fucking moron. She hasn't said it since the morning before Beth died and he took a huge fucking risk saying it.
Then again, he doesn't think it's too much to ask that his wife say she loves him, either.
... ... ...
Part of her feels terrible for basically giving Noah the brush off, but she was in the zone and honestly couldn't get away without losing her entire train of thought. She got so much work done today and she'll thank herself later for being committed enough to stay put even when her phone buzzed with his message. And she would have explained that to him and maybe he would have understood, but he might have called her or something and his voice is admittedly hard to resist.
She's horrible for being even this attracted to a very married man.
(She leaves out the 'happily', even in her head, because they didn't talk about it enough for her to know one way or the other.)
She wishes she had a friend to call, but the girl she considers her 'best' friend is in New York and it's been weeks since they actually spoke. They email rather regularly, but Rachel wants an actual conversation and Eva is no doubt prepping for her evening show.
Yes, she's a Broadway actress. This is her first production on the big stage and she's a supporting character, but Rachel is more jealous than she wants to (or will) admit.
She calls Robert, but she can't tell him what's going on. She just asks if he wants to come over. He says he can't, that he's busy, and she is almost positive that means he's with another woman.
She changes into her pajamas and pours herself a glass of bourbon on the rocks and lays in her bed watching Dancing With The Stars. She falls asleep alone in the middle of the bed with the television on.
...Chapter 2...
Chapter: 1/6
Rating: R
Character: Puck/Rachel
Summary: She doesn't mean to linger, but it happens because he seems relaxed and less tense than he has since she saw him yesterday, and if that's the case and her little peck on the cheek has something to do with it, she wants him to be able to feel it as long as possible.
Word Count: 7,200
Disclaimer: Don't own.
A/N: This story is 6 chapters long and deals with things like the death of a child and also adultery. It's also AU in the sense that Puck and Quinn kept Beth. There's your secondary disclaimer. Totally understandable if you want to check out now. I hope you enjoy it, though!
The minute he's told his daughter is dead, his world shifts on its axis and throws everything off balance. He thinks that if a child dies, the parents should go, too, because people aren't equipped to deal with that - this - kind of heartbreak. He's not. His wife's not. No one is.
She was 11 years old. 11 years old and full of energy and life and love and sass, and there's no way her dying was fate or destiny or any of those other fucking clichés people say when they find out you've lost a kid so young. It doesn't make sense, and it's not right, and nothing anyone could even think to say would fill the hole in his life where that little girl should be.
To think there was ever a moment when they thought about giving her up literally makes his throat close up. She was perfect - perfect - and he can't believe they almost gave her away.
And yet one night when he's got a bottle in his hand and his wife is locked in their bedroom, he's selfish enough to wonder if he could have been saved from all this if they'd chosen adoption. It's horrible and he fucking hates himself for even considering it, but it's there, just for a second. Then he realizes that he wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy, to have their child die in a hit and run accident.
... ... ...
Rachel hears the news when she's reading a french novel in a café in Paris. Her iPhone lights up on the table, and she smiles when she sees that it's an email from her father. She gasps and covers her mouth when she reads about Beth. It's not like she ever really knew the girl, not after they all graduated high school, but there are tears in her eyes.
She can't really believe it, can't believe she's sitting on a Paris street with a cup of espresso in her hand as she fumbles through some Hugo, while people she used to call her friends are grieving the loss of their daughter.
She doesn't want to accept it (she can't fathom how Noah and Quinn must feel) so she emails Finn, the only person she even keeps in touch with from high school. They send messages back and forth a couple times a year. This seems like as good a time as any to contact him.
He confirms it quickly, just a few words and ends it with, I don't know what else to say.
She goes back to the flat she's been staying in for the past two months and tries to think of something she could do or say to these people she hasn't spoken to in far too close to 10 years.
She comes up empty, opens her best bottle of wine instead, and stops questioning why she's crying so much.
... ... ...
When the call comes that they've made an arrest, he doesn't feel much of anything at all. He doesn't know that he'll be able to control himself if he sees the bastard who ruined his life and took his daughter's.
... ... ...
She finds a fancy little paper shop on some hidden street and buys a pretty card, writes a message on the inside that doesn't feel like nearly enough. She drops it in the mail after checking the address twice and rethinking the whole thing about 100 times.
... ... ...
He can't take any more time off work, and he's been pushing it as is. He knows his boss wouldn't tell him to come back to work, but he has to. He needs to get out of the house and not hear Quinn crying and not walk past Beth's closed bedroom door a half dozen times a day and not have to hear the phone ring and know it's just another person calling to give condolences that don't really mean much of anything anyway.
But he sits at his desk and he knows he's supposed to be focusing on some shit for this business trip he's working out the logistics for, but then he tries to remember the last time Beth told him she loved him, and he can't, and he punches the wall in the bathroom so hard he dislocates his knuckle. It hurts like a bitch, but he doesn't care. He just sits back down at his desk after, runs a hand over his face, and tries not to look at the family photo sitting on his desk from when he still had a family.
He gets home and finds the house completely quiet, which is both strange and not. He tosses his keys onto the table in the hall, the same place he's left him every day for five years since they moved into this house. He loosens the tie he hates wearing, and walks into the kitchen. On any given day, he'd find Quinn in there, making dinner or doing dishes or reading a magazine while standing at the counter or talking on the phone. She's usually home from work before him, and it's nice coming home to her.
He knows she didn't go in today.
When he walks back to their bedroom and pushes open the door, he sees her sitting up in their bed with one of his sweatshirts on, watching the television. She looks exactly the way she looked when he left her this morning. She barely glances at him as he walks to the closet.
He'd ask how her day was, but he's pretty sure he knows the answer. (Same as his, she just did it from their bed.)
He pulls his shirt from his pants and unbuttons it. "Want me to make dinner?" he asks. She shrugs her shoulder. He pulls on a pair of jeans with the white tee shirt he's wearing. "You've gotta eat, Q."
"I know that," she snaps, looking at him with fire in her eyes. But it's not like it's supposed to be. When she's pissed, she narrows her eyes and there are these little creases at the corner, and her lips pucker a little bit. That look makes grown men cower. This one doesn't.
"What do you feel like?" he asks, and their eyes lock and he realizes that's a loaded question. Really fucking loaded.
"Whatever," she says quietly. "Just bring it in when it's ready?"
He sighs and nods, walks over to her and runs his hand over her hair as he kisses the top of her head. "Okay."
It's not okay. It feels like nothing is anymore.
... ... ...
The production she's directing ends its run, and she wears her sleek black dress, patent leather pumps that cost more than the rent on her first apartment in New York, and diamond necklace her fathers gave her for her 25th birthday. Everything runs smoothly, which doesn't surprise her, because she's the one in charge. This one was only a four week run, and her cast was a hand selected (by her) group of professionals. Even her limited French couldn't stop the musical from receiving rave reviews from every major European critic.
It's not exactly what she thought she'd be doing, not by a long shot, but after realizing she'd never be anything more than a chorus girl, a minor player on Broadway, she started thinking of different ways to be involved in musical theater. She had a list, pros and cons and colour coded and all that, but it took a broken ankle to really push her away form performing. She'd been around enough directors over the years to know what worked and what didn't, as far as working with performers went. She knew what blocking worked, how to see the stage, how to make the most of any performance space.
She's a natural as a director. Actors love her, dancers appreciate her performance background. Her first production was tiny, just in a back room in Queens and 14 people came the first night. 22 came the second night. By the twelfth and last performance, the room was filled and the audience gave a standing ovation.
Now her home base is Cleveland, since she's working her way back up to New York, Broadway. She's working around the country, but Cleveland is home, since it's close to her fathers yet still a decent sized city.
She's on her third glass of champagne at the after party when her on-again, off-again 'fling' (it's a generous term, really) sidles up beside her and clinks his glass against hers.
"Well done, Young Miss Berry," he says, arm slinking around her shoulders.
She laughs. He's nearly eight years older than her, and if he's not calling her just 'R', he's calling her Young Miss Berry, like she's some kind of child. But he's also a brilliant vocal coach, and one of the first who would agree to work with her. He argues with her on almost everything - arrangements, placements, even choreography and blocking. It drives her crazy. She slapped him once, their fifth day working together. He'd just raised his brow, laughed, rubbed his cheek, and told her it was about time she stuck up for herself. One night, after a little too much work and a lot too much wine, he said something that enraged her, and instead of slapping him again, she kissed him. They've never been anything serious, not in the three years they've known one another, but they're friends, she and Robert. Best friends, maybe.
"I couldn't have done it without you," she tells him. She straightens out his tie, even though it doesn't need it, just because she knows how much he hates her fussing over him that way.
He laughs and shakes his head. "Yes, you could have," he tells her.
Truthfully? Some days she thinks it's true, if not for the sheer volume of work that goes into a production like the ones she's been doing lately. That's a good thing, she knows. She also knows that her next production, the one she's in talks to do in Cleveland, she's going to need his help. It's a revival of a major title, and she needs him. It's not so hard to admit those kinds of things anymore.
His hand moves a little (lot) lower and ends up almost on her behind. "We started Paris together," he says against the shell of her ear. "We should end it together."
She giggles softly, but turns her head toward him a little more. "I'm not leaving my own party."
"Rachel," he laughs, "it's not your party."
"It's my play," she reminds him.
"You're adorable." He kisses her temple and slides his hand across her backside.
"Don't leave without me," she says quietly, eyes locked with his before she walks away.
The night they got to Paris, they stayed in the same hotel room. They don't fly home for a couple days, and she figures it might be nice to spend them with him in her apartment.
... ... ...
Quinn manages to get herself dressed for work, but not out the door. He stands there in the kitchen, pouring coffee into his travel mug, and watches as she takes her bag off her shoulder. She drops it harshly onto the floor and kicks off her shoes so they clatter against the wall and onto the floor. She pulls her hair from its ponytail and wipes at her face angrily.
"Quinn."
"I can't. I'm not. Just...Don't tell me."
He doesn't know what he's not supposed to tell her, but he can think of about a hundred things she wouldn't want to hear.
"Fine," he says as he walks towards her. "But try not to fuckin' stay in the bedroom all day. Go for a walk or something, okay?"
He runs his hand down her arm as he stands in front of her, and she nods, closing her eyes and leaning into him. "I'll try."
He doesn't know what good a walk will do, but it can't hurt. There's no way it's healthy for her to lay in their bed in her pajamas all day long watching talk shows and soap operas.
"I'll see you tonight. Call me if..."
"You're going to make yourself late," she says evenly, pulling away from him and crossing her arms.
He doesn't say anything else before walking out the door.
He works late, calls her and tells her she's on her own for dinner, but he'll know if she doesn't eat (he's bluffing, but he doesn't think she knows that). Then he goes out for a couple drinks on his own at a bar where no one would bother looking for him. When he gets home Quinn is sleeping, curled up on her side of the bed as far away from his as possible.
He undresses, gets into bed, and it's hard to close his eyes without seeing the way things used to be.
... ... ...
Paris was all lights, all glamour, and all being 'that pretty American' (she loved that title) in her building and the shops she frequented.
Cleveland is...Cleveland. She doesn't unpack her suitcase right away, blames jet lag and falls asleep in her bed with Robert next to her. Sometime in the middle of the night, she wakes up and hears him say her name in his sleep, and she knows her life would be so different - maybe better - if she could just fall in love with him.
Truthfully, she doesn't think she's ever really been in love with anyone.
The closest was Finn, naturally. Young love and more naiveté than good sense. They proclaimed to love one another and constantly hurt one another because they didn't even really know what love was at that point. They fell apart completely when he went to college in Kentucky and she went to New York. He felt he wasn't good enough for her and she'd started doubting it, too. Not because of who he was as a person, but because any boyfriend of hers should have been in contact more and not engaged in phone tag and oh, yes, not kissed another girl in October.
To his benefit, he told her about it and they're still in touch and it's really not a big deal, since the relationship was going to end anyway and he just sped up the painful process.
Robert is by and far the best person she's ever been with, but that doesn't seem to mean a damn thing to her heart.
And he leaves in the morning, tells her he'll call her soon and she doesn't ask anything more of him.
She's not entirely sure when she stopped being the girl who demanded more.
Maybe now she's just the girl who doesn't demand things she knows she's never going to get. There can't really be anything wrong with that, can there? It certainly stops her from being disappointed so often.
... ... ...
Quinn is still asleep when he wakes up at 6:00 to head to Cleveland. He needs her to kiss him goodbye at the door and then please, please, for the love of god, go to work. She went yesterday and made it through a half a day.
He knows she's taking this harder than he is, and he supposes there's a bit of a reason for that. Beth was always a daddy's girl, though, and every fucking day he misses the way she said that word - Daddy - but he's at least trying to get back to life as normal. Or as normal as his life can be when the most important and biggest part of it isn't there anymore.
He's fucking depressed and he knows Quinn is, too. He wants to be able to talk to her about it, but she just shuts down any time he tries.
He knows her own alarm will go off in 10 minutes, so he jumps into the shower and then packs the rest of the things he needs for his trip.
The alarm is ringing and she's sleeping right through it when he steps back into the bedroom. He sighs, because he's fucking tired of this, turns off the alarm and sits down next to her on the bed, shakes her gently and says her name until she's waking up.
"Are you going?" she asks, voice coated with sleep and eyes bleary.
"Not this second. You have to get up, Q."
"I will."
"Right now," he commands.
"Puck."
"You have to go to work," he tells her. He's been gentle with her all along and it's not fucking working. "You have to start going every day."
"I will." She's looking up at him and she pushes herself so she's sitting up in bed. She rubs at her eye a little bit, then gives him a tiny smile. "I'll go. I promise."
He smiles back. "Promise?"
"I promise."
She kisses the side of his mouth gently, her lips just barely touching his, and he stands so she can get out of bed.
He feels pretty good about things. He feels okay leaving her here. He's told his mom and hers to keep an eye on her while he's gone for these four days and they've promised to check in.
He thinks everything might be on track until he's at the door with his suitcase in his hand and he says he's leaving, and she just shouts at him from the kitchen and tells him to be safe and have a good trip.
There as a time when he couldn't leave the house or her sight without her wanting every fucking detail of where he was going. She always kisses him goodbye.
She hasn't really kissed him at all since Beth.
He puts the pedal to the floor once he's on the highway, leaves it there until his car starts shaking, then slows down and sets the cruise control.
He thinks he's a fucking bastard for feeling this good about getting away.
... ... ...
She's in a meeting with her new producers and things are going well until Robert shows up and starts adding his two cents. Two cents turn into about a thousand and she can tell by the looks coming at her from across the board room table that they're not impressed with the direction this guy is taking.
"I'm sorry," she says, "Robert and I haven't had a chance to discuss his role in this production." She shoots him a look and he's just staring at her. "These ideas are not my ideas, and I can assure you there's no way..."
Robert storms out halfway through her speech and she's positive he'll never speak to her again or something ridiculous like that. His ego can be out of control and she saw that side of him today. She's not about to jeopardize her whole production - her first with this well-known producer - just because he thinks he's god's gift to musical theater.
"I apologize for that," Rachel says. The man and woman across the table look amused, if nothing else.
"It's quite alright. This isn't our first go 'round."
She laughs because she's supposed to, but it sounds a little patronizing to her. It's not her first show, either. She knows how this all works. She's excited to start casting, however, and when they start talking about renting space to hold an open call, they basically give her the green light to spend as much of their money as she needs to. Their financial backers are totally supportive of her creative process and admire her attention to detail.
It's a good thing, because yes, she's something of a perfectionist.
She's in her favourite coffee shop with her MacBook open and her notes spread around her table after the meeting. She prefers working here over her deadly silent home. She doesn't know why, but she's able to get a little more done, be a little more inspired by people and sounds and conversations. She's halfway through her latté when she looks up and sees a familiar face walking through the door. She hasn't seen him since practically high school graduation, and the last she heard, he and Quinn were married and living in Lima.
She gasps when she remembers what she just heard recently, and she has no idea what to say to him when she approaches him.
He's on the phone and it looks kind of important and she's stuck in her place anyway. He hangs up so he can order, and she decides she'll just go back to her work and if he sees her, he can approach her.
She's still an actress.
He's walking past her table (she's pretending not to notice) and then he stops by the door and comes to stand right in front of her. She looks up and sees him just staring at her with a kind of surprised and bewildered expression on his face.
"Noah," she breathes out. She stands up and rounds the table, and he sets down his coffee and holds her instead. She's forced to close her eyes for a second because she feels like she's 16 again and she really doesn't mind. "How are you?" she asks once he's pulled away again.
He hasn't said a word to her yet.
He takes a breath and blows it out. "Loaded question." She closes her eyes again, but for a different reason. "I...um..."
"No, I heard," she says quietly, shaking her head. She doesn't want him to feel like he has to say the words. "I was in Paris. Daddy told me. I wanted to come, but...Gosh, Noah, I am so sorry." He just nods and takes a deep breath. She has a feeling he does this a lot. "Did you get my card? I sent a card."
"Probably," he says, laughing a little. "There were a lot of cards."
She looks at him for a second, the way his index finger plays with the lid of his to-go cup and he looks away from her when their eyes are locked a moment too long.
"Do you have...Are you in a hurry?" she asks. "You can join me."
She sounds a little desperate. She doesn't really mind when it makes him smile like that. It looks like it's been a while since he smiled like that.
"I have to run," he says. He sounds reluctant. He also looks lovely in his suit and tie. "I have meetings all day. But um...Tomorrow. Dinner?"
She smiles and nods. "I'd like that."
He takes one of her pens and writes his number down on a piece of paper. It's a casting shortlist and it's kind of important. He doesn't seem to care all that much. She tries not to.
"Call me," he says. She nods again and he steps towards the door, turns back around once he's there and almost outside. "You look good."
He throws her a wink and she should not blush at a compliment like that at this age.
... ... ...
The fucked up thing is that all day long he thinks about Rachel and meeting her for dinner. She's just an old friend and they'll catch up and talk about the last 10 or so years or whatever it's been and that'll be that.
But it's also...It's Rachel.
He always had kind of a soft spot for her, and he likes to say it's because he was her first actual boyfriend (no matter what she likes to say) and he taught her how to kiss and grind. Now that he's nearly 30 those seem like stupid reasons to still smile just thinking about someone. He hasn't thought about her at all in the last few years, certainly not at all lately. She's just this little thing that's all full of energy and confidence. He always liked that about her, that she knew what she wanted and she'd do whatever she could to get it. He knows she got fucked around a lot - by his best friend, most of the time - but she always came out on top. No, he doesn't know what the hell she's doing in Cleveland instead of new York, or why she was wearing a black tailored pants suit. He'll figure it out at dinner.
He checks in on a couple of his stores during the day. He's the Ohio district manager of a chain of sporting goods stores, the biggest and oldest one of them being in Lima. Since he started there right out of college, they've opened five more stores and nearly doubled business. That's not all on him, but he played a huge part in re-branding and all that stuff, and getting better suppliers. He's in Cleveland for four days to check in with his managers and staff and see what's going on. They all seem to know about Beth, so it's tough to just walk in and see their faces and watch some of the staff try to come up with something to say. They don't really have to say anything, so he tries to keep it as business-focused as possible.
Rachel calls him around 2:00 and asks how he feels about Italian, gives him the name and address of this place downtown, and he offers to pick her up from her house. She insists she's working downtown anyway and she'll just meet him at the restaurant at 7:00 and that the reservation will be under his name. He doesn't know why she'd put it under his, but it's fine with him.
He goes back to the hotel to change his shirt. He feels like a douche wearing a tie just to have dinner with her, so he goes open collar with his blue shirt and black suit and honestly, why in the fuck is he so worried about what he's going to wear? He's married and Rachel is nothing to him and it's just dinner.
He hasn't talked to Quinn at all today.
He calls the house and she's there. She sounds okay when she answers, asks him how his trip is going and he tells her everything seems fine and gives her some details about the store he had trouble in last time he visited. She actually engages in conversation and he smiles because she sounds kind of good.
Then he spends the entire drive to the restaurant wondering why she's good when he's not there.
He gets there before Rachel, sits down and orders a beer while he waits. She comes in five minutes later and smiles as she walks towards him. She's wearing another fancy suit, a skirt this time and a green top under her blazer.
"So sorry," she says as she sits down across from him. "I was meeting with my ass of a vocal consultant, or whatever he thinks he is to me, and he was just..." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry I'm late."
He smiles at her and says, "Don't worry about it," because honestly, it's not a big deal.
The waiter comes and Rachel orders a glass of wine and asks for another minute with the menu. She gives the guy, who looks about 21, a pretty little smile and the guy looks at her like he already adores her and says he'll be back in a few minutes. Puck seriously wonders if she's used to this treatment. Probably is.
He's got a wife, right? He's also got a working set of eyes, and Rachel? She's fucking gorgeous. She's grown into her looks. Her eyes don't seem as huge and surprised all the time, and her hair is cut to just below her shoulders and in these big, loose curls with her bangs blunt across her forehead. She's filled out, soft curves and bigger breasts (he's looked; he's a guy). She's still tiny, a tight little frame and long legs, but she's a woman and it freaked him out yesterday. Today he just really kind of likes it.
They order and the waiter brings them some fresh bread, and she nibbles on a piece and suddenly looks nervous or something. He'd ask why, but she's Rachel, so he's sure she'll open her mouth to tell him any second.
She leans forward a little bit and locks eyes with him, speaks softly. "I don't know what to talk about with you," she admits. "I mean, with everything."
He sighs. He doesn't know what to talk about either. He can't talk about Beth, though, not yet and not with Rachel, and he doesn't want to talk about Quinn, either.
"Not...Not her," he says. He flashes her a look that he hopes shows he's not being rude, it's just difficult. "Just talk about you."
She smiles a little bit. "Stop me if I become irritating."
He laughs out loud, nods and reaches for his beer. "Deal."
So he sits there all night and listens to her talk about herself, about directing and her broken ankle and school and New York and how she had to leave there in order to become successful enough to go back. She tells him all about Paris and about Robert - he thinks she's leaving out some details there, but he doesn't ask for them - and her house. She says her dads are doing well and blushes when he says he sees them on a pretty much weekly basis.
"Why don't you ever come back?" he asks as he finishes his second beer and she finishes her chocolate mousse.
She shrugs one shoulder. "Lima is...My fathers come see me. There's nothing else there I have any interest in." She looks up from her plate with wide eyes. "No offense!"
"I know," he laughs. "I mean, I kind of always wanted to leave."
He's never admitted it out loud.
Rachel nods like she knew it all along.
... ... ...
She insists she doesn't need a ride home, that it's not far and she'll take a cab, but after he's paid for their meal (and practically slapped her hand away when she offered to pay her share) he tells her she's insane if she thinks he's letting her do that. It reminds her vaguely of when they were dating and he'd walk 15 minutes out of his way just to walk her home from school before he had a car to drive every day.
She climbs into the passenger seat and the first thought through her mind is that this is someone else's spot. It's stupid, since she's not doing anything wrong and they're just two old acquaintances catching up, but she can practically picture Quinn sitting here and chatting with him as they drive.
"Noah?"
"Yeah."
He's looking straight out the windshield. It's like he can tell from her tone of voice and how she said his name that the next thing she says is probably going to run a little deeper than just 'catching up'.
"How is Quinn?" she asks. She watches him shrug his shoulder. "I'm sorry if I'm overstepping. You can tell me if I am."
"You're not," he says. "It's fine."
"Okay."
She's getting the distinct impression that her asking is fine, but he has no intention of actually answering the question.
She tells him to turn left into her subdivision and when he switches on the turn signal and cranks the wheel, he says, "She's not so good," and Rachel waits for more words that don't come.
"No?" He shakes his head. "I mean, I can't even imagine."
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry."
He turns to her. "Would you stop saying that?"
It sounds half-joking, half-not. She thinks he's probably heard those two words enough in the last month or so that he's sick of them. She's just about to apologize for apologizing, so what comes out is a giggle and he glances at her again, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
"Will you tell her I'm thinking about her?" she asks quietly.
He nods, but otherwise doesn't commit, and she's got a feeling he's not going to pass along the sentiment. It doesn't bother her like it probably should; she's sure he's got very good reasons.
She directs him to her house and he pulls into the driveway. She knows the confused look on his face is because she's got her Lexus parked in the driveway and yet she's saying she'll take cabs around. She doesn't actually want to tell him that Robert came over this morning and picked her up so they could head to his studio, where they had a huge argument and then spent the entire day bickering as they tried to find suitable cast options and avoid an open call.
"Nice car," he says, jutting his chin towards it.
"It's a hybrid." It's not important. She feels stupid for pointing it out. "Robert picked me up this morning." He looks at her. "It's...it's complicated."
"Thought it might be." He looks far too amused, really, and she wishes she could tell him everything.
She misses having someone to tell everything to.
"Thank you for dinner," she says, reaching for her Coach bag off the floor next to her feet. "It was so great to see you again, Noah. Really."
"Yeah, you too, Rachel."
It's more sincerity than she's heard from him in years and years and years, and she leans over, places her hand on his cheek and kisses the opposite one. She doesn't mean to linger, but it happens because he seems relaxed and less tense than he has since she saw him yesterday, and if that's the case and her little peck on the cheek has something to do with it, she wants him to be able to feel it as long as possible.
And she likes the warmth of his cheek against her lips.
She pulls away and gives him a little smile, and he sets his hand on the gear shift. She knows it's late and he's in town another couple days.
"Maybe I'll see you soon?" she suggests. "You have my number."
He told her he usually comes to Cleveland for a day or two every couple weeks. It wouldn't be at all terrible to have a proper friend again.
"Yeah. I'll call you."
It's as close to a promise of anything as she's gotten from him all night. She doesn't know why that seems so important or feels as good as it does.
He waits until she's inside her house before he drives away.
... ... ...
He's done early and doesn't have to do anything for the rest of the day and he blames the way his thumb hovers over her name in his phone on the fact that he's bored and has no one else in town to talk to.
That's fucking bullshit, 'cause he knows a bunch of people from and through work and Artie has lived here since college, working at an IT firm. They've lost touch though, in the last couple years. It was good of the guy to come to the funeral and Puck knows it'd be an easy step to get that friendship back on track and he'd be able to thank Beth for it or whatever.
He doesn't want to.
He texts Rachel, 'Cleveland always this boring?' and she writes back within minutes, 'Don't act like you never come here!'
He can picture her laughing or something. It's fucked up but he likes it.
It shouldn't bother him that she doesn't offer to entertain him, but it kind of does. She's obviously busy - he heard all about her work last night - but she was never the type to allow anyone to be bored. Hell, half the time she wouldn't even let them take a fucking breath unless she had it scheduled and accounted for. It's pretty clear she's not the same woman (girl) she used to be. He's honestly still not sure how to feel about it. He's not too dumb or naive to recognize that it's some attempt (pathetic or not) to go back to a time when everything was less fucked up.
Who would have thought he'd want to go back to the time when he was a teen dad and not even in a relationship with his daughter's mother?
He and Quinn didn't actually get together until right before they each started college. She'd decided to take accounting and he enrolled in general business classes, and Beth cried any time she had to leave either of them to go with the other. Quinn eventually suggested they give dating a try again. (Because there wasn't much 'try' during the time she was pregnant.) It's pretty fucking easy to fall in love with the mother of your child. He'd always loved her, but sleeping next to her some nights, making her laugh and letting her hold his hand just made him completely fucking nuts for her. They moved into this tiny apartment together after just six months and both worked and busted their asses to save for a house while they were still in school.
He proposed the summer after their junior year and they were married in the spring. They've been together for years and here he is sitting alone in a hotel room and lamenting like a jackass about being snubbed by another woman.
He loves his wife. Rachel doesn't mean anything to him.
He calls Quinn at work, partly just to make sure she's there. She says she had a hard time sleeping last night without him there, and he feels fucking amazing about that, to be honest. He's felt like she doesn't even notice him lately. She seems to be doing okay and really, he can't wait to get home to her if she's getting back to normal. Or to a new kind of normal.
She says she should go and says goodbye, but he doesn't want her to hang up just yet.
"Q," he says, smiling.
"What?" she giggles. He loves that sound.
"Love you."
There's a pause, then she says quietly, "Okay. Bye," and the line goes dead.
He spends too much time feeling like shit over that. Also like a fucking moron. She hasn't said it since the morning before Beth died and he took a huge fucking risk saying it.
Then again, he doesn't think it's too much to ask that his wife say she loves him, either.
... ... ...
Part of her feels terrible for basically giving Noah the brush off, but she was in the zone and honestly couldn't get away without losing her entire train of thought. She got so much work done today and she'll thank herself later for being committed enough to stay put even when her phone buzzed with his message. And she would have explained that to him and maybe he would have understood, but he might have called her or something and his voice is admittedly hard to resist.
She's horrible for being even this attracted to a very married man.
(She leaves out the 'happily', even in her head, because they didn't talk about it enough for her to know one way or the other.)
She wishes she had a friend to call, but the girl she considers her 'best' friend is in New York and it's been weeks since they actually spoke. They email rather regularly, but Rachel wants an actual conversation and Eva is no doubt prepping for her evening show.
Yes, she's a Broadway actress. This is her first production on the big stage and she's a supporting character, but Rachel is more jealous than she wants to (or will) admit.
She calls Robert, but she can't tell him what's going on. She just asks if he wants to come over. He says he can't, that he's busy, and she is almost positive that means he's with another woman.
She changes into her pajamas and pours herself a glass of bourbon on the rocks and lays in her bed watching Dancing With The Stars. She falls asleep alone in the middle of the bed with the television on.
...Chapter 2...