Fic: The Way We Are [3/?] PART TWO
Title: The Way We Are [3/?]
Author: unequivocally / une_fille
Characters/Pairings: Puck/Rachel, Finn/Brittany, Puck and Rachel being whores.
Rating: Hard R for language and sexual situations. Dude, it’s Puck.
Word Count: 12384 (lol shit)
Spoilers: None
Summary: They'd said forever, once, as teenagers and they'd both meant it. It turns out, they can't really put up with each other for more than a few weeks at a time. But fuck, she always came back. Before now. Chapter 3: A trip home, a stripper, a felony and a marriage proposal? Puck does Lima.
Disclaimer: Don't own Glee. Or The Way We Were.
Author's Notes: Fair warning, guys: This is a Puck-centric chapter. Never fear, we'll be seeing Rachel next chapter, promise. Also, something very inappropriate and illegal goes down in this chapter. We don't condone the actions of the characters in any way.
Thank you to becca_radcgg for the beta. And thank you to gubeldood208 for reading through this for us <3
Chapter 1: Katie, it was never uncomplicated.
Chapter 2: You never give up, do you? Only when I'm absolutely forced to.
Chapter 3, Part One
II.
His third day in Lima is spent like most of his high school days were; stretched out on the couch, trying to drown out the sounds of a 10-year-old while his mom flutters around the place busting his balls. The only difference is the 10-year-old's his daughter instead of his sister, and rather than complaints of his plans for the future, his mother rants about his inability to take anything seriously..
The text comes around 4 p.m. and he wants to ignore it, but there’s a chance it’s Hudson and he misses interaction with people who aren’t constantly bitching and moaning about him
Pick me up at 10 p.m. asshole, we’re going out. - S
He’s halfway into sending her a reply when the second message pops up.
HUGS AND KISSES X-O-X-O, YOU PUSSY
------
When they’d been 17 this place had seemed like heaven on earth to them. Now all Puck wants to do is go back in time and kick his teenaged-self’s ass. What a fucking dive.
Santana tells him to lose the fucking frown and start having fun but the pool tables are all taken already and there’s a headache pounding right behind his eyes that just won’t quit. They find a table in the back, still dirty, and wobbly from an uneven leg. A tiny stage lights up the room in the far corner and he’s reminded of the last time he dragged Berry to a place like this back home; she got completely hammered and tried to jump on stage to sing Moon River.
“No table dancing for you tonight, it seems,” Puck rumbles, sinking to his chair and shaking the table for emphasis.
“Please,” she huffs, “it’s my night off. I don’t dance for free anymore.”
Despite the heavy smell of cigarette smoke-suffocating, even for him-and the horrible music coming from the direction of the speakers, eventually Puck feels himself loosening up and enjoying himself, even when a redhead swings by their table to give Santana her number and completely ignores him.
“Hey, some chick is checking you out,” Santana says, slipping the piece of paper into her bra. “Cute, blonde. I know you usually prefer crazy, midget brunettes, but…” she trails off and nods her head in the direction of the bar.
He’s known her for over ten years and for about nine of those, he’s known more than half of everything that comes out of her mouth is a damned lie. When he turns to look over his shoulder he’s half expecting to see some heifer drooling to get all up on his jock, or worse, Kurt Hummel.
So turning to find a young blonde with a tight little body surprises him (but also kinda doesn’t); she's shamelessly checking him out and when he nods in her direction and raises his bottle, she sends a smile his way.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Santana asks, picking at the label of her bottle with one of her nails. He’s not sure what her game is, she’s never attempted to wingman for him in the decade he’s known her. The tiny grin playing at her lips sets off a red alert in his head, and he just raises an eyebrow at her.
“Maybe I won’t,” he finally says and she just rolls her eyes at him.
“Stop being such a pussy,” she snipes back and flicks a piece of wet paper at him, “Did Berry get your balls in the divorce or something?”
Her ugly-ass boots are kind of turning him off in a major way and she looks WAY too excited to be in such a shithole. But she's blonde and fuck, brunettes have pretty much been ruining his life lately so maybe he needs to give blondes a chance. Again. Still, when he saunters up to the bar and offers to buy her a drink and she asks for a Sex On The Beach, he thinks he might be playing a little too far out of his usual roster.
“Name’s Shelley,” she yells over the shit music, leaning in so close to him that he can smell the fruity drink on her breath. She’s so easy he almost feels ashamed of himself until he looks over at his table to find Santana miming a blowjob with a wink and a smile.
“Puck,” he replies coolly and she actually fucking giggles.
“Puck? And I assume you like to…”
Finally, someone that gets him.
He hasn't danced in about FOREVER but she drags him onto the floor and he guesses he doesn't know her well enough to tell her to step the fuck off. The song is some annoying-as-shit teenybopper hit that Barbie blasts all the time so he's at least familiar with it when she starts grinding her ass against his crotch and he thinks Ok, I'll fucking dance this one time.
And he thinks he's doing an okay job at it until he makes the mistake of looking back at Santana who's pounding a fist against their table, her body convulsing in laughs.
He really couldn't care less what he fucking looks like right now (he's gonna get laid even though the moves he thought he had in high school have completely abandoned him) but he's still comforted by the fact that Shit-faced Shelley isn't doing much better.
He's danced with a grand total of four women (four PEOPLE, full stop) in his life -- Rachel's been trained from an early age and could probably school every last person in this place, barring San who moves her body in ways he can’t even wrap his head around.
Quinn dances like she talks; every movement has a purpose and it’s executed with ruthless precision. Barbie basically sucks but he forgives her because she’s still only half a person.
Shelley’s not dancing, she’s trying to shove her hands down his pants while bopping her head to the music. She grazes her thumb along the button of his jeans before standing on her tip-toes to put her mouth near his ear, and she brushes her tongue against the lobe of his ear when she says, “Hey, let’s just get out of here.”
Puck doesn’t even glance back at his table as he leads her out of the bar.
-----
When he wakes the next morning, it’s to the feeling of someone fidgeting in the bed restlessly, and he’s still half asleep when he grumbles, “B, chill the fuck out.”
“Morning, baby.”
Puck swears out loud when he opens his eyes to find Shelley staring at him intently, running her hand across his bare chest as she grins up at him with a smile that nearly splits her face in half.
He takes a moment to wonder how the fuck Santana got home but he snorts to himself when he realizes she probably rode the first guy back to her place. Puck glances over at the clock perched on his nightstand and groans loudly. Fuck, Barbie will be waking up any minute now, and he’s sure she’ll come looking for waffles or bacon or a pony or some other shit.
“Fuckin’ 7 a.m.,” he says with a sigh and tries to adjust his arm under the girl next to him in an effort to get the blood circulating again.
It’s been a while since he had to do the I’ll call you thing and he’s pretty out of practice, but Shelley beats him to the punch, jumping up from bed with a soft curse word.
“I’m going to be so late!” she moans, scrambling around on the floor, no doubt looking for her panties. He’s pretty sure he remembers ripping them, but he just rolls onto his side and mutters a, “see you later.” over his shoulder.
Awesome he doesn’t even have to ask her to leave.
“Hey,” she says a moment later, crawling across the bed to drape an arm over his waist, “think you can give me a ride to school?”
He chokes back the laugh that threatens to escape, cause if she thinks he’s going all the way to Ohio State she’s out of her fucking mind.
“Sorry, babe,” he chuckles, pulling the pillow over his face as she traces his navel, “I gotta be here when the kid wakes up.”
“Please?” She’s whining now and fuck, wasn’t he supposed to get a break from this shit with Berry gone? “My homeroom teacher is going to kill me and there’s no bus stop near here.”
“Since when does college have homeroom?”
“College?”
And that’s when he realizes he’s going to be having a really bad day.
-----
He definitely hadn't planned on visiting McKinley fucking High School on this visit, but when he offered to get Shelley a cab and she started fucking sobbing about the shame of pulling into the parking lot in a taxi-and he had to hand it to her, Quinn would've torn her apart back in their day-he finally relents and offers her a ride.
He makes her sit in the back seat.
As if the day couldn’t get any shittier, as he’s pulling at of the parking lot, he looks towards the building to see Mr. Schuester waving in his direction. Fantastic.
When he gets home, he stays in the car long after killing the engine, rapping his fingers against the steering wheel nervously. Puck’s done a lot of stupid, stupid things in his life, but even he can admit that this? This takes the fucking cake. He runs his hand over his face worriedly and tries to remember if anyone actually noticed him leaving the bar with Shelley-but to be honest, he doesn’t really remember paying attention to anything other than the filthy promises she was making in his ear. He grips the wheel until his knuckles turn white, trying to think of every breathing exercise Rachel ever tried to cram down his throat in the decade he’s known her.
It was a fuckin’ bar, right? If Shelley snuck in with a fake I.D., that was hardly his fault and really, it’s the bouncers fault for sleeping on the job.
The first thing he does when he gets in is check on Barbie. She's sprawled out on Sarah's old bed, snoring like a tractor and he kind wants to wake her up like he usually does when she's over on the weekend - pounce on her while yelling fire! - but he's feeling all kinds of dirty old man right now and he decides what he needs is a shower.
The shower doesn't really help; he may not smell like a barroom floor anymore but the skeeze hasn't quite washed off.
Afterwards, he sprawls out on his bed, spinning his cell phone between his fingers for a few minutes before finally flipping through his contacts to find Quinn’s number.
“Please tell me my daughter is still alive,” she grumbles as she picks up, and he envisions the sneer on her face already.
“She’s fine,” he snipes back, equally annoyed, “Look, whatever. David’s a lawyer, right?”
“Property law,” she huffs and he can practically hear her eye roll through the phone, “Why, what the hell did you do? You’re not in jail, are you?”
"What, no!" He doesn't mean to shout it and he can already hear the bed from across the hall creaking as Barbie starts stirring awake.
"Puck," Quinn snaps. "What is it? Should I get David?"
He loses his nerve when he sees the top of the kid’s head poking into his room. "It's nothing. Just wanted to say hi," he rambles. Quinn huffs on the other line and he knows she doesn't buy a word of his bullshit - she never has. He winks at Barbie who keeps leaning over, peaking in while trying to keep her body hidden.
“Puck, whatever it is you did, fix it. Whatever it is you’re planning, don’t do it. I mean it, Puckerman.”
His mouth opens to tell her off but then Barbie leans too far and topples over on to the floor sideways. He can’t help it, he laughs. “Gotta go, our kid just pulled a Hudson” and he hangs up.
-----
When Santana’s phone number flashes across his cell phone sometime after lunch, he considers ignoring it-that woman has brought him nothing but drama since he first saw her twirling around a pole and he’s really just ready for a break.
It’s on the third ring when he finally answers it because fuck him, he never could stay away.
“How was your night?” She coos as soon as the phone is against his ear and he can just hear the smirk behind her voice.
“It was fantastic, why,” he says, and he tries not to let on that she’s effectively rattled his cage, as per usual. “How’d you get home, find some poor asshole to trap for the night?”
“That redhead,” she says back, and there’s a long pause before she continues, “Your girl was awfully cute.”
“She was alright.”
"What happened?"
"The fuck do you mean what happened?" He hears her snort and rolls his eyes. "Figured you'd be the last person in the world who needed a diagram."
"So you showed the little blonde an average time?" He cringes at little and lets her pathetic attempt at an insult slide.
"Don't call her that," he mutters.
"Holy fucking shit, you don't like her, do you? Oh my fucking god."
“Fuck, no,” he spits, suddenly feeling the violent need for a cigarette. He glances at Barbie perched on the opposite end of the couch before pulling himself to his feet and heading towards the front door. “Listen, did we ever have problems getting in there? Y'know, before?"
"That fucking sty?” She scoffs for added effect. “Never."
Puck drops his voice as he pulls the front door shut behind him and he’s nearly whispering when he says, “Yeah well maybe they should start carding."
Santana lets out a short laugh and he pulls the carton of cigarettes out of his pocket with a huff. "Why do you fucking care ab-- HOLY SHIT. YOU DIDN'T."
He nearly breaks a cigarette in his hand as she fucking chokes on her laughter. “Yeah, laugh it up, Santana, because this is real funny.”
“What was her fucking pick-up line, Puck? Did she offer to share her play-dough?” And he practically rolls his eyes as he brings the cigarette to his lips because really? How many adult men did she fuck while they were in high school?
“I didn’t fucking know until a few hours ago, ok!”
She's not even talking anymore, just cackling on the other end so he doesn't feel too bad (frankly, bitch deserves it) when he tells her to go fuck herself and hangs up. He stomps back into the house and finds Barbie hanging upside down from the back of the couch, humming to herself.
"Get dressed, we're going out."
-----
He spent his high school days in Lima either haunting the mall or parked at the football field; he figures being 27 and with kid, that last one's probably not the best idea, so he ends up driving around for forty-five minutes before finally deciding to pull into the mall's parking lot.
Because of the severe lack of better things to do in this fucking town, it’s really the only place to go to on a lazy afternoon. So, he shouldn't really be surprised when he turns a corner near the food court and runs smack into Rachel’s dads.
His day just keeps getting better.
It doesn't take long for him to realize these two have no idea about the shit that went down with him and Berry.
They buy him and Barbie ice cream - seriously, they're sitting in the fucking food court and he's halfway through his chocolate-vanilla twist, just waiting for Barbie's double scoop to fall over and cause a shit-fit - and they're bitching him out about visiting without warning.
“Noah, you should have called!”
“Noah, why didn’t Cupcake come with you?”
“Daddy, I gotta pee.”
The ice cream isn't worth this shit.
"Oh you really must come over for dinner tonight,” Brian gushes and he places his hand on top of Gregory’s with a sickly-sweet smile. “We’re making pot roast; it’s in the Crock Pot now!”
Puck’s about to make up some half-assed excuse when Barbie opens her fuckin’ mouth to say, “I LOVE POT ROAST!” with a grin that takes over half her face.
“It’s settled, then! Tonight, 7 pm! Oh, and don’t worry about bringing anything, we have everything covered!”
He scoffs as Barbie looks up at him, obviously pleased with herself; as if he could be assed to bring anything to their house anyways.
Whatever, a meal's a meal. And frankly, pot roast sounds a lot better than his mom's "You're a grown man, cook for yourself - Barbara, sweetie, what are you in the mood for?" But even he knows shit's going to be hella awkward considering the way their daughter ruined his fucking life. Repeatedly.
He contemplates telling them, just letting it all out and turning them against her when they find out what a harpy they raised.
But.
Maybe there’s a reason she didn’t tell them. She’s was always calling them, telling them everything about work, crying to them when they had a fight - seriously, shit wasn't normal.
But if she hasn't told them about the fight or moving out or fucking Richard or any of it, then maybe it means she's not so sure about this whole thing, either
He and Barbie are going to have to play this smart.
Once they go their separate ways, he decides it's seriously time to get the hell out of dodge before he runs into any other ghosts of Lima past--he has a daunting feeling that the Fabrays may be next on his list of People He Really Doesn't Want To Encounter On This Trip--and has to nearly bribe Barbie past the toy store and out to the parking lot.
Barbie's barely settled in the car before he turns around in his seat to face her. "Baby," He says seriously, "We gotta talk."
She blinks at him a few times before huffing, "What?"
"About Rachel."
"What about Rachel?"
Puck makes his jokes about her paternity when she walks into doors and falls over her own feet, but Barbie isn’t stupid. And she’d have to be an idiot not to notice the way Rachel’s been notably absent for her weekends over. He’s got a feeling she’s doing it on purpose-she can be so Quinn sometimes-and trying to make him acknowledge what he’s refused to so far.
"Rachel's not living with me anymore." He doesn't know what he expects, really - tears or laughter or even maybe anger - but what he gets throws him for a loop.
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
“Because we broke up.”
“You guys always break up,” she says and she sounds distinctly bored with the entire thing. “What else is new?”
“This time it’s different.” It’s the first time he’s acknowledged this out loud, and he regrets it almost immediately after saying it.
“Because you’re dating that other girl?”
He waves his hand while the other keeps the steering wheel steady. "Look, stop changing the subject. Point is, Rachel and I are through."
"Forever?" The bored tone is gone, and her voice is small and cautious.
"I don't know. Probably."
There’s a long silent moment before Barbie sighs deeply and kicks at the seat in front of her idly. “Is it cause you love that other girl more?”
The question is definitely not one he was expecting, but he hurriedly blurts out, “Barbie, no, I don’t.”
“Do you still love Rachel? Does she still love you?”
"It's complicated."
He feels like an asshole saying it - god knows it didn't offer him any sort of comfort when his mom used it on him - but frankly, he really doesn’t want to get into this right now. Or ever.
He considers the upcoming dinner with the Berrys very carefully before continuing. “Barbie, listen. Rachel’s dads don’t know that we’ve broken up, okay? So, we probably shouldn’t bring that up at dinner tonight, it’s a very sensitive subject.”
“So you want me to lie.”
“Yes. Lie like you have never lied before.”
-----
If there's one thing he's learned in the years he's been involved with Rachel, it's that she definitely didn't get her cooking skills--or lack thereof--from her fathers. Puck is really hoping to just spend the evening focusing his attentions on the pot roast, but he's in the first bite when Gregory clasps his hands together and gushes, "So tell us everything, how have you been? How's work? How's Stacy?"
"Who?" But Brian's already cutting in with questions about Finn and Brittany's baby on the way.
"When are you and Rachel going to give this lovely little lady a sibling, Noah?"
The question causes both him and Barbie to stop and stare at him, wearing the same mixture of surprise and horror. “What,” she says dully, obviously not impressed with the idea, and Puck speaks over her quickly before she can launch into the tirade he knows is coming.
“We’re not really thinking about that,” he says as levelly as possible and ignores Barbie’s heave of relief from his left. “Careers and all.”
"You say that now, Noah, but I give you two a year before Rachel's knitting little booties..." Brian trails off, smiling into his glass of wine, probably thinking of the baby he and Rach are never gonna have.
Puck should probably tell him if Rachel gets knocked up, it’ll be Douche Richard doing the honors.
He’s kind of lost his appetite.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” he mutters as he takes a deep drink of his wine, allowing for a lull in conversation. It’s not an uncomfortable silence in the least, but after a minute, Barbie takes it upon herself to set her fork down neatly on her plate and clear her throat.
“That’s because they’re so in love,” she declares in a loud, practiced voice. “So in love. Boy, are they in love. I think they'll get married soon.”
Three pairs of eyes focus on her like laser, one of them in a desperate panic.
"Actually, they are. Getting married. Because they're in love."
Barbie had taken his pleas to lie her little ass off to heart, apparently. He’d be proud if he wasn't planning on putting her up for adoption.
The silence is at the table is tangible and finally, Brian is the one to break it with a fucking squeal as he claps his hands together once. “Noah!” He raves, “Why didn’t you two tell us! Oh, you’re both so bad! Gregory, get the phone, we should call our Rachel and congratulate her!”
Puck feels his heart stop in his throat. Rachel is going to kill him.
Luckily, Gregory seems to be the only fucking voice of reason at the table, and he leans over to clasp his hand over Brians. “Bry, I’m sure there’s a reason they didn’t tell us on their own yet. Remember how long we waited to tell your parents? Why don’t we wait for Rachel to tell us, herself. We don’t want to steal her thunder.”
Puck breathes a heavy sigh of relief and shoots Babs a dirty look, but she'd too busy looking pleased about herself that she doesn't even notice.
"When's the big date, Noah?"
"Uh…"
Barbie comes to his fucking rescue and pipes up, the thump of her legs swinging under the table punctuating her words. "In 2 months."
Fucking hell. Last time they hung out she could barely grasp the concept of days and weeks.
The gasps that come from Brian and Gregory are downright scandalized and within seconds they’re talking all over each other, a noisy mess of oh my god and why didn’t you tell us and so much to do in two months before he finally attempts to talk over them loudly.
“No, no,” he stumbles, “Definitely not in two months. We’re not… sure yet.” He trails off lamely and Barbie shoots him a nasty look at his deviation from her script.
The words are barely out of his mouth before they’re gushing again about what can we do to help and where will it be located and he’s content to just sit there and let them discuss this amongst themselves until he distinctly hears Brian ask, “Oh my gosh, Noah, does your mother know? Oh we should invite her over!”
Oh, hell no.
Puck’s definitely no Rachel Berry when it comes to acting, but he has to admit he pulls it off pretty well when he turns to Barbie and gapes, “Babs, baby, are you ok?”
“Um. What?”
“Are you sure you’re not sick?”
“Oh. OH.” She covers her mouth delicately and coughs twice into the palm of her hand before continuing, “Dad, can we go home. I don’t feel well.”
The Berrys are reluctant to cut such a joyous occasion short but they all agree Barbara should get to bed and sleep off whatever bug she might be picking up - Puck starts swearing he heard some passenger on the plane going on about Ebola and just shoves the girl into her jacket when Brian looks at him in shock - and they hand over a tin of Barbie's favorite cookies to take home.
As he pulls out of the driveway, he can see them through the living room window, buzzing around because of the news.
"Did I do good, Daddy?" She actually looks proud of herself and he kind of feels shitty for having put her in this position anyway.
Still. He's going to be paying for this. In a big way.
"Not really."
But she just shrugs her shoulders and starts scarfing down the cookies. She kicks him in the shin when he takes them away from her but fuck, she owes him.
-----
As soon as he gets home, he holes away in his room for some much deserved peace and quiet while Barbie toddles off to bother his mother after receiving his stern warning not to say a word about what happened today.
Once alone, he half considers digging through his shit to see if he can’t find an old Hustler lying around, but he’s almost positive his mom scoured and disinfected the place the minute he moved to New York. Instead, he flops onto his bed and twirls the phone between his fingers and wonders if he can convince Santana to engage in a little good old-fashioned sexting.
Just as he's about to scroll down to her name on his contact list, his phone buzzes in his hands and he almost drops it in surprise. It's a text from Finn and he almost weeps at the chance to talk to somebody normal again.
(9:12 pm) LOL WTF GETTING MARRIED??
Shit.
He’s in the middle of typing up a reply-DUDE, NOT MY IDEA-when his phone starts blaring Welcome to the Jungle; Finn’s ringtone. (Puck takes a malicious pleasure at how much Finn hates it.)
When he answers the phone, his friend doesn’t even give him the chance to explain, instead laughing loud and hard into his ear.
“Married!” he hoots, and Puck wishes he were in New York if only to give the asshole an elbow to the gut.
“It wasn’t my fuckin’ idea.”
"No shit, fucker," he answers jovially. Leave it to Finn to take pleasure in this. "You know who else's idea it wasn't? RACHEL's. Not gonna lie, dude, she's not taking this well."
"She knows?" he bellows into the phone.
"She knows. And she's pissed,” Puck mutters a soft ‘fuck’ under his breath as Finn presses on, obviously pleased with this entire situation. “She was here when her fathers called to congratulate her. She’s been screaming for the last twenty minutes, I haven’t seen her this mad in a long time, man. It’s kinda hot.”
He scoffs hard into the phone, fully aware that Finn’s last comment was for the sole purpose of annoying him. “What’s she saying?”
“I don’t know, you know how she uses big words when she gets pissed off. I definitely heard the word castration, though, so you may wanna look out.”
"Barbie did it. It's Barbie's fault," he babbles.
"Bro, you use that excuse all the fucking time. Nobody believes it anymore," Finn scoffs. "Remember those burn marks Quinn found on her couch because you decided to see what happen if you sprayed Lysol through a candle flame? Remember that virus that fucked up Rach's laptop after you downloaded all that porn on it? Who got all the heat for that?"
“Yeah but I mean it this time!” He’s about to go into all the specifics-the mall and her fathers and Barbie’s enthusiastic approach to lying-when he hears an angry murmuring of Rachel’s voice; he’d know that sound-that so-pissed-I-can-hardly-speak sound-anywhere.
“Hey, I gotta go,” Finn says gleefully and Puck’s about to call him a traitor when he hears Rachel snarling in the background, “Is that him? I’m going to kill him. Is that him?” and the sound makes Finn laugh harder. He hears her shriek something that sounds like stop laughing at me! before the call ends.
He falls back, cursing when his head smacks against the headboard. The sheets are clean; his mom did a load of laundry today and he's kinda of glad he doesn't have anything to remind him of Jailbait Shelley. Then again, he'd much rather deal with that train wreck than the total shit-fest of a day he's been having.
He glares at his phone for a beat and then quickly picks it up, punching in the familiar code.
“Heyyyy, baby.” Rachel’s slurred voice comes through the phone, low and sultry. “I’m still at the bar, Quinn’s… I don’t know, I lost Quinn.” This makes her giggle softly and she goes quiet for a good couple of seconds. “It’s ok though, I could use the time alone. I’ve been thinking of you, god… I need you.”
Even after multiple listens, the effect on him is still immediate. “I was thinking about that time in Finn’s walk-in closet, at Brittany’s birthday? Do you remember that? Mmm, I can’t wait to get home, I’m going to wake you up and ride you so hard. Baby, I want you inside of me so bad.” There’s a buzzing in the background, the sound of Quinn’s voice asking Rachel if she wanted to dance.
“Hey, Noah. Noah, I have to go. Wait, Quinn, fuckin’ wait. I love you, so much, and I’m gonna fuck you so hard when I get home, okay? Okay. So be ready.” He hears Quinn’s laughter, a soft chuckle and a murmur of God, you’re plastered before the line goes dead.
He doesn't last long, he never does when he remembers of that night (she made good on all of her promises and then some), and after he's cleaned himself up, he lies on the bed spread-eagle still wide awake. He should be tired, and he's fucking dying for this day to be over with, but he can't seem to fall asleep.
With a heavy sigh, he picks his phone back up and glares at it before punching something in and bringing it to his ear.
The sounds of steady breathing play over the line and he closes his eyes.
-----
On his last day in Lima, he wakes to Barbie banging at the door, screaming some nonsense about pancakes for breakfast. He notices his cell phone blinking at him on the nightstand beside his bed, a new voicemail message. When he flips it open, he sees it’s from Rachel, and he actually laughs at himself. She’s nuts if she thinks he’s going to listen to her bitching and moaning this early in the morning.
Breakfast with his mom and Barbie is mad awkward. Barbie keeps bringing up weddings, waiting for Puck to give her some silent cue so she can launch into her bullshit story about him and Rach and his mom keeps bringing up her friends' sons, all doctors and lawyers who would be just perfect for Rachel.
He spends the next two hours following Barbie around like-well, like Rachel, if he’s being honest-riding her ass as she packs her suitcase. It takes twice as long as it should because Barbie keeps getting distracted at the stupidest things and four times she claims to be done before remembering something she’s left downstairs.
Finally, when she’s done, he’s able to do his own shit while his mother hovers over him, clicking her tongue at his procrastination-“You really should have had this done last night, Noah”-and reminding him constantly that his flight leaves in three hours, Noah, really.
She only leaves him alone when the phone rings and she grabs the portable in the hallway.
"Oh, Sarah, sweetheart! You almost missed you brot-- What? Is what true?"
God knows what fucking mess his little sister found herself in at U of O but there's no way he's going to be the one to deal with it. He grabs his suitcase and starts rolling it passed his mom as she asks Sarah to calm down on the other end.
"Who's Shelley Lomner?"
He almost drops his suitcase in shock. "Barbie, fuck, we gotta go!"
-----
He told Sophia he’d call her when he got back to his apartment, but that was a big fuckin’ lie. After dropping Barbie back at Quinn’s place, he floors it back to his apartment to sit in the blessed silence for the first time in a week. No mother or kid or stripper or jailbait to bother him; just the television and his pack of cigarettes. She’d texted him at least twice a day, all week long, with X’s and O’s and I miss you’s.
(When he’d go out of town for work when he was with Rachel, she’d spam his cell phone with shit like Finn’s coming over to ease my loneliness or Hey, Will, Noah is out of town. Oops wrong number before sending him a slew of filthy pictures. She often did it when she knew he’d be in a meeting.)
He knows Sophia would definitely give him some Welcome Home Sex but fuck, he’s sorta had it with women this week so finally after killing three cigarettes in a row, he dials Finn’s number.
They meet at their favorite bar - their regular waitress has the biggest lady boner for Finn and he keeps feeling bad and wanting to tell her he's married but Puck's come to like the free beer and nachos so he kicks his buddy in the shins whenever he gets that noble look in his eye.
"How was Lima?"
"Fuck, bro," Puck groans. "All it did was remind me why I left."
Finn toys with some empty peanut shells, flicking them one by one of the table with a small smile on his face. "Right, nothing in Lima that we don't have here."
Puck snorts, taking a deep gulp of his beer. "Tell me about it."
"I mean, New York City's just crawling with teenage girls."
He chokes on his beer, and the gasping and hacking makes Finn’s smile grow considerably. “How do people keep finding out about this shit!” He bellows, ignoring the looks he gets from the other customers.
“Santana called last night, to wish us congratulations on the baby.” Finn stretches and leans back in the booth, fixing him with a curious stare, and Puck wants nothing more than to wipe the smug smirk right off his face. “She and Brittany got to talking. I thought you were seeing some girl, dude, I had no idea you were so hard up.”
"I was. I am. That was..." he waves his bottle, trying to come up with the proper words, "a bad night."
Finn shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up his best friend. "Puck, this is a new low."
"I didn’t know ok? I didn't know."
It seems enough to shut Finn up, because he doesn’t reply and instead focuses on picking the label off of his bottle. “Yeah,” he says slowly after a long beat, “We all make mistakes, I guess.”
“Ok, and it’s not my fault that they didn’t card her, right? Right? I mean, you have to be eighteen to even get in there, how the fuck was I supposed to know! If anything, I’m the fuckin’ victim!” He stabs the table for emphasis, but Finn’s long gone, staring at the bottle in his hands morosely. “Dude, what the fucks your problem? You’re not going to like, cry over this, are you? You don’t even know the chick! And I’ll have you know, she wasn’t a virgin.”
"Yeah," Finn mumbles quietly, clearly not listening to a word Puck's saying.
"You're not -- You're not gonna tell Berry are you?" It's not like he cares if she knows or that she has any say where he's putting his dick these days but he wouldn't put it passed her to call the fucking cops on his ass. He's too pretty for jail. "Finn! Tell me you're not gonna say anything!"
"I slept with Quinn."
Puck rolls his yes. "Congratulations, so did I. Back to this Berry shit..."
"Last week." Finn abandons the label he's been tearing to shreds and looks Puck in straight in the eyes. "I slept with her last week."
Puck wants to laugh in his face at the words but the look Finn gives him stops him before he can even start. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“She stopped by after she dropped Barbie off at your place,” Finn takes a breath and hesitates briefly, and Puck has to contain himself from kicking him under the table to continue. “She was bringing by some baby shit and…” he trails off and throws his hands up in defeat.
“But Brittany’s pregnant,” Puck says dumbly, and Finn glares at him in response.
“You think I don’t know that?”
Whatever, Finn’s his best friend and he’s sure the dude wants to feel feelings over this entire thing, but Puck just cuts right to the important shit. He takes a thoughtful sip of his beer before asking dully, “Well, was it worth it?”
From the broken look on his friend's face he can tell his answer is a resounding yes, but he's never going to admit it.
"Finn Hudson, you dog." He watches as Finn hunches down low into his seat, looking like a puppy who pissed all over the new carpet. "Look, relax. It happens."
"To you, maybe."
Puck doesn't care that his friend is obviously feeling like shit; that wasn't cool.”Hey, asshole, I haven’t fucked around on Rachel in years, so don’t even.”
The awkward silence that follows must let Finn know he’s crossed a line, because a second later he clears his throat and mutters a soft, “Sorry, man,” before tapping his beer bottle against the table. “I just-”
He shakes his head before starting again and then stopping himself from saying whatever it was he was going to; it’s not until Puck reaches for his wallet that they finally look at each other and Finn blows a heavy breath of air out between his lips.
“Whatever, man,” Puck grumbles and he tosses some bills onto the table between them. “Let’s just get out of here, I need some fuckin’ sleep.”
When he gets back to the apartment, he can't even muster the energy to make it to the bedroom. He falls face-forward on the couch and tries to mull over the conversation he just had with Finn. He wishes he could give a shit. He knows he should. Britt's fucking pregnant and Barbie's probably all kinds of messed up already with the way her parents have been swapping partners for years.
But despite the fact that Finn just admitted to fucking the mother of his child, he just can't bring himself to care all that much.
His phone's buzzing with a new message from Sophia, he's sure his inbox has been spammed by Sarah and he has no fucking idea how he's going to face Quinn the next time he sees her.
All he can really think about is how everything is going to shit for everyone and he doesn’t really care anymore.
----