fic: where it began (puck/rachel), t
Title: Where It Began 1/1
Ship: Puck/Rachel.
Rating/Warnings: T. A/U.
Summary: "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be like, inside? It's
your stupid party," he frowns, staring down at her dress. "Bat Mitzvah.
Whatever."
A/N: This is written for Paige/fire_fly_stare_ on her birthday. I hope it's awesome so far! Also I really hope you enjoy this and that it lives up to your expectations, lol. As a side note, I am not Jewish, so I apologize if I made any errors in regards to the Jewish faith or any sort of traditions I used in this story. I did my research as much as I could, but that's not always enough. No offense was intended, I swear.
The oldest memory Rachel Berry has of Noah Puckerman happened when she was five years old. She tripped in the sandbox at the JCC, cutting her ring finger just enough for it to bleed.
She stared at him curiously as he hissed a quiet, almost reverent yes upon spotting the tiny spec of blood on her finger. With widening eyes she watched as he ripped off a band-aid on his thumb, using his fingernail to scratch at the cut that had obviously been trying to heal itself. "Noah," she said warningly as he leaned toward her.
Puck gripped her finger in his. "Shut up and just lemme do this," he mumbled, rolling his eyes when she kicked his stomach in a way that was so completely pathetic he nearly stopped what he was doing on principle. Rachel watched open mouthed as Noah pressed his bloody finger against hers and rubbed them against each other.
He pulled his finger away then, grinning at her. She scowled at him, turning her gaze from his obnoxiously. He laughed when he caught her sneaking glances at him from the corner of her large, dancing brown eyes. "You're my blood brother now," he said smugly.
"I don't want to be," she snapped at him, glaring. "Girls can't be brothers, Noah!" He rolled his eyes at her, causing her to stomp her foot. She turned abruptly on her heel, preparing to make her exit to the swings when he tugged her back to him by the arm.
"You gotta try to be a brother or I can't play with you anymore," he said seriously, his voice urgent. "Girls have cooties, remember?"
Rachel clasped her hands and took a deep breath, staring at her palms as she clearly tried to compose herself so that she could respond as any lady would. Noah took a step back as one of the older boys walked past them, as if he were proving that he was taking the necessary measures so as not to get infected, and her eye twitched.
"I'm a little lady, Puckerman!" She snapped, hair swishing as she turned to glare at him. "I have girl parts!" She shrieked, ignoring the grimace on his face at the mention of her no-no places. She turned and was about to stomp away (a second attempt at exiting to the swings), before she rounded on him. "And you have to be my friend or your mom won't let you have dessert anymore," she reminded him, pleased.
Puck groaned, turning from her to walk away before she'd even finished her sentence. He hated when she was right, and besides, girls sucked. Why couldn't she have been born a boy, anyway?
##
He gets his first kiss at twelve. She's it.
It's Rosh Hashanah, and his mom has been on his ass again about a list of things that he's clearly not doing right. If he hears her yell about how he's broken 600 of the 613 commandments, he thinks maybe he could find it in himself to try out that murder one. You know, on her. She'd been yelling at him for forty-five minutes straight until she threw up her hands, shooed him away and said to go find Rachel.
For the record? He only found her because it was either that, or sit in the living room with Jacob Ben-Israel's hairy-nosed Bubbie. Creepy is a gene that runs in that family. Actually, they're a really good reason why it's not always good to force yourself to procreate.
Sure, his mom and Rabbi Greenburg and, like, God or whatever want him to have a ton of baby Puckermans. But did Mr. and Mrs. Jewfro really contribute a whole lot to the world? Puck's pretty sure that they kind of infected it with their creepy, pimped, loser gene.
He finds her sitting on the steps with her hands bunched up in her sweater. She looks just as bored as he is. He's spent the majority of the past few days trying to convince her that a kiss at midnight is even better luck on Rosh Hashanah than it is on the actual New Years' Eve. It hasn't worked yet, but he's really hopeful.
The minute he sits down next to her, he's at it again. "Did you know if you kiss someone on New Years, a genie will-"
"Why do you want to kiss me so bad, anyway?" She cuts him off, curious. Her head is turned sideways as she asks, and she looks a little like a puppy. Her eyes are all big and wide, too, which only adds to the... cute.
He scoffs, shrugging. "I don't."
"Well then why should I even agree to it?" she mutters, and he has to pause for a minute because that's the first time her answer sounded anything like she was agreeing. All he hears for a second is I have really pretty lips, and you should totally stick your tongue between them. "Kisses are supposed to be special. You're supposed to be in love."
Puck stares at her lips as he thinks about what to say to that. "One, that's not true. Have you seen Maury?" He asks seriously, and she frowns. "And B, I… you're okay."
He glances at her from the corner of his eye as he pretends to watch his sister chase Jacob away from the cookies Rachel has her guarding. (The three of them had spent hours making them two days before, because Rachel's got some weird belief that every occasion deserves cookies. He just likes sugar. Rachel's cool too or whatever, but Puck and sugar are like this. Total buds.)
She's smiling. That's good news, he thinks. "You're okay, too, Noah," she says. "But if you wanted to kiss me, you should have just asked instead of trying to trick me into it."
He doesn't waste time telling her that he doesn't want to again. That's a boldface lie, anyway. "Rachel," he starts, and her gaze flutters up to meet his. "Can I kiss you?"
"Promise you won't tell your mother," she demands.
(Is she kidding?)
"Swear on my life," he says, nodding seriously as he crosses his heart. "No way in hell." She flinches at his use of the word 'hell', but scoots toward him. "For real?" he asks. "You're not kidding?"
She grins a little, biting her lip as she shakes her head 'no.'
He's not sure what he's supposed to do here. Does he just - lay one on her? Is there like, some sort of pre-show that he doesn't know about? His hand reaches out and brushes the hair from his face, and he doesn't realize it's even his own hand until he feels the softness of her cheek.
"Best holiday ever," he mumbles as he leans in. When his lips touch hers, it's soft and gentle, and even though he's heard that your first kiss is never your best, he's pretty sure he's never felt anything as awesome as this; Rachel's mouth brushing lightly against his, soft and warm like a tiny little pillowcase.
He lets his tongue dart out just once, and he finds out that her lips taste like vanilla lip balm. He's seen her put it on a dozen times, even used it once or twice, but now it's mixed with something else, too. The taste of her, and lip balm has never been so appealing. He smiles against her lips as she pulls them away.
"You taste good," he tells her before he can stop himself. The blush on her face makes up for any embarrassment he had over that, though. He's always liked getting a reaction from her.
She mumbles a quiet 'thank you' and they never speak of it again.
##
"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be like, inside? It's your stupid party," he frowns, staring down at her dress. "Bat Mitzvah. Whatever."
Rachel glances up from her spot on the stone steps outside and peers at Noah. He's fourteen, and all the books she's ever read say he should look gangly and much less attractive than he will in a few years. Rachel's slowly learning she can't trust books as much as she thought, because she can't seem to find one thing about him that's not aesthetically pleasing, even that horrible smirk he's started to wear. The one that took the place of his light-hearted smile the day he woke up to find his father gone.
She turns her gaze down at her lap. "Nobody came," she mumbles, and the sound does something funny to his hand, because for a second he almost did something. Held hers, or brushed the curtain of hair from her face, maybe, and that's something he's never even imagined doing.
"Uh, thanks," he says, raising a pointed eyebrow. He plops down next to her. "I did. And you should prolly try to appreciate what you get, because what you got was pretty awesome."
Her lips quirk up just barely, and she sighs. "Noah, you only came because your mother wants me to bear your children."
He's not sure how comfortable he is with how she says that all matter-of-fact, like it's just something she's just learned to accept. He shrugs it off, though, because she still looks pathetic and pouty and sort of cute, if you're into crazy girls with too many thoughts and not enough tit.
"Actually, I came for the cookies," he comments. She stares at him. "Also 'cause mom said she'd clean my mouth out if I didn't. Isn't that supposed to be just for swearing?" he wonders, and she giggles. He turns to her, serious. "It's not funny, actually, 'cause she was totally fucking serious. She's got some hard lady wood for you, Berry. Don't let her near your drink," he advises, nodding his head to where her glass of sprite punch sits.
"That's a terrible thing to say," she smiles. "Your mother is lovely, Noah."
He chuckles and leans his head back against the wall. "My lovely mother is dead set on me and you touching junk, Rachel," Puck states bluntly. Rachel looks anything but shocked. (Honestly, that's a little worrying.)
"She likes to strategize," he confides. "I swear she's got a playbook hidden in her panty drawer."
She raises an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. "It's the only place she knows I'm too terrified to look."
Rachel laughs, glancing up at the sunset. Leaning back, she closes her eyes. "Thank you for that, Noah."
He doesn't respond because he's not too crazy about the fact that he just intentionally distracted her from feeling like a loser. One that, honestly - no offense 'cause she's kind of really cool - she is.
He hears his mother cackle from the open window, and holds in the shiver. "You wanna get out of here?" He asks, and when she doesn't answer quick enough (just stares at him, really) he continues. "It's not like this is the time of your life, Rachel. Can't get much worse."
She trails after him, seating herself in his mother's car, and even though she knows he shouldn't be driving, she gets in anyway. This boy has always been able to get her to make the worst decisions, but following him has never seemed like a bad one.
#
They're freshman when the pressure becomes too much. His mom never lays off of him about how he's going to marry Rachel, have babies with Rachel, how he's lucky a girl like Rachel would even give him the time of day, and he'd better not mess it up.
Honestly? He's sick of it. He likes Rachel, actually. She's really awesome. He's just sick of his mom failing to see how awesome he is, Rachel or not. It's been fifteen years and she still hasn't caught on, though.
He gives up on that ever happening with a cold beverage to a pretty face, disappointed eyes and a quivering lip.
Maybe if he'd thought past his irritation towards his mother, he would have had time to think about other things. Like how despite the fact that his mom views him as worthless without her, Rachel's the one person who ever thought he had a shot at achieving anything.
The minute she turns away, he knows his mother is right. He's fucked everything up again. It's all he's capable of. But even worse is the thought that he's pretty sure with one bad decision he ruined the best friendship he'd ever had.
By lunch, he's sitting with a few other guys that he met though football practice. It's probably stupid, and maybe it doesn't make a lot of sense, but he already misses her.
#
They're sixteen, and they've been through more than he's comfortable thinking about. Babies and slushies and injuries and holidays and kisses that he tries really hard not to miss.
Normally he'd try not to notice, but she looked like a mess today. And she'd walked out on a performance, in costume. A performance where she had a duet with Finn, even. So he's pretty sure today's not a good day for her.
He makes sure Quinn has a ride back to his place (he's not a total douche, he can't just leave her stranded), and then he's in his truck and on his way to Rachel's.
She's sitting on her bed when Noah sets a water bottle on the night stand next to her before seating himself behind her.
He drapes his arms around her shoulders, her back against his chest, his legs tangled slightly with her own. He doesn't look at her as she picks it up, but she catches his lips quirk as she takes a sip, and she thinks that she just might cry.
It's strange, sometimes how easy it is to forget just how much this boy knows about her. She spends so much of her time trying to prove to people who she is (Rachel Berry, future Broadway star), and she forgets what a relief it is that there's one person out there, at least, that will always see something much different.
He doesn't say anything, and neither does she. He doesn't need to, and maybe she doesn't even want him to. He's there, and that's more than she could ever hope for. It's more than she's ever gotten from anyone else, in any case.
#
Noah asks her out two months before graduation. She says yes, but makes him swear they'll wait to tell his mom.
He smiles as he kisses her.
#
The I Love You happens kind of unexpectedly.
They're home for winter break, and they stay at a hotel just outside of Lima because he's over the age where he actually has to deal with his mother's shit, and she's at a point in her life where she only ever wants to be with him. (She doesn't know it yet, but that feeling's not going to go away.)
They got in real late the night before, and they're both exhausted. He makes her watch football as she sits in his lap on the large chair that came with their room. Her head is on his shoulder and she's fiddling with the stings of his pajama pants, and were he not about to die from exhaustion he'd at least attempt to go there.
"Idiot," she mutters, noticing 'his' team mess up a play. "Even I could do that."
He laughs because she's totally serious, and he's actually 90% sure that she's totally right. "I'm serious, Noah. Why are they paying him to play when he's so awful?"
He grins and shakes his head as he takes a sip of his Leinenkugel. "This is why I love you," he says, eyes on the TV as they try to pull of their next play.
Any insecurities she could have had about the truth to that statement are squashed when it comes out so nonchalantly that he doesn't even realize he's said it.
"You what?" she asks.
He turns his head from the game (actually a pretty good one, so she's lucky he's even acknowledging that she's talking right now) to her. "I wh- oh fuck," he mumbles, when the words register. Then, in attempt to not fuck up one of the biggest things he'll ever say to this woman, "Is this news?"
"You've never said it before," she shrugs, smiling all the while. He grins at her. "Say it again?" she requests.
"I love you," he tells her, and when she smiles all cute he presses a kiss to her forehead. "Loved you for a while."
She smiles, eyes closed as she leans her forehead against his. Then, pulling back. "How long is a while?"
"A really long time," he mumbles, kissing her again. "It's pathetic."
"Is it pathetic that I've loved you since I was five years old?" she asks quietly. He grins and shakes his head. "Does that make you uncomfortable?"
"No, baby," he says, wrapping his arms around her. "What I'm feeling is more like relief."
#
Puck thinks that his mom might be some sort of prophet. Turns out that nearly everything she ever wished for him (and them) comes true.
He marries Rachel when they're twenty-two years old on a beach in Cancun, Mexico. His mother cries but he's not there to see it, because Rachel had suggested they elope. After realizing it wasn't a dream, Puck was totally on board.
(Rachel was positive that would be the only way he'd actually enjoy the ceremony - if they were alone, with no chance of running into his teary eyed, snotty-nosed mother. She was probably a little right.)
They don't spend the traditional week apart. That was Puck's only request for the entire thing. He doesn't remember a time when being away from Rachel for that long led to any good, and he's pretty sure spending a week missing her will make him really fucking impatient during the ceremony.
She smiles at him the entire time, and he barely registers his own voice when he's allowed to speak. He smashes a glass under his foot as she shrieks, giggling slightly at the sound. And then she's pronounced his, and he's hers, and everything else just kind of stops mattering.
When they make it to their suite, his right hand tangles in her left, fingers brushing over the ring on her finger. He slips it from her finger and traces a small invisible line as he smiles somewhat proudly, before he kisses her and presses her gently into the bed.
He smirks and calls her Mrs. Puckerman, and he's sure he's never seen her smile so bright in his life.
- fin -
Ship: Puck/Rachel.
Rating/Warnings: T. A/U.
Summary: "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be like, inside? It's
your stupid party," he frowns, staring down at her dress. "Bat Mitzvah.
Whatever."
A/N: This is written for Paige/fire_fly_stare_ on her birthday. I hope it's awesome so far! Also I really hope you enjoy this and that it lives up to your expectations, lol. As a side note, I am not Jewish, so I apologize if I made any errors in regards to the Jewish faith or any sort of traditions I used in this story. I did my research as much as I could, but that's not always enough. No offense was intended, I swear.
The oldest memory Rachel Berry has of Noah Puckerman happened when she was five years old. She tripped in the sandbox at the JCC, cutting her ring finger just enough for it to bleed.
She stared at him curiously as he hissed a quiet, almost reverent yes upon spotting the tiny spec of blood on her finger. With widening eyes she watched as he ripped off a band-aid on his thumb, using his fingernail to scratch at the cut that had obviously been trying to heal itself. "Noah," she said warningly as he leaned toward her.
Puck gripped her finger in his. "Shut up and just lemme do this," he mumbled, rolling his eyes when she kicked his stomach in a way that was so completely pathetic he nearly stopped what he was doing on principle. Rachel watched open mouthed as Noah pressed his bloody finger against hers and rubbed them against each other.
He pulled his finger away then, grinning at her. She scowled at him, turning her gaze from his obnoxiously. He laughed when he caught her sneaking glances at him from the corner of her large, dancing brown eyes. "You're my blood brother now," he said smugly.
"I don't want to be," she snapped at him, glaring. "Girls can't be brothers, Noah!" He rolled his eyes at her, causing her to stomp her foot. She turned abruptly on her heel, preparing to make her exit to the swings when he tugged her back to him by the arm.
"You gotta try to be a brother or I can't play with you anymore," he said seriously, his voice urgent. "Girls have cooties, remember?"
Rachel clasped her hands and took a deep breath, staring at her palms as she clearly tried to compose herself so that she could respond as any lady would. Noah took a step back as one of the older boys walked past them, as if he were proving that he was taking the necessary measures so as not to get infected, and her eye twitched.
"I'm a little lady, Puckerman!" She snapped, hair swishing as she turned to glare at him. "I have girl parts!" She shrieked, ignoring the grimace on his face at the mention of her no-no places. She turned and was about to stomp away (a second attempt at exiting to the swings), before she rounded on him. "And you have to be my friend or your mom won't let you have dessert anymore," she reminded him, pleased.
Puck groaned, turning from her to walk away before she'd even finished her sentence. He hated when she was right, and besides, girls sucked. Why couldn't she have been born a boy, anyway?
##
He gets his first kiss at twelve. She's it.
It's Rosh Hashanah, and his mom has been on his ass again about a list of things that he's clearly not doing right. If he hears her yell about how he's broken 600 of the 613 commandments, he thinks maybe he could find it in himself to try out that murder one. You know, on her. She'd been yelling at him for forty-five minutes straight until she threw up her hands, shooed him away and said to go find Rachel.
For the record? He only found her because it was either that, or sit in the living room with Jacob Ben-Israel's hairy-nosed Bubbie. Creepy is a gene that runs in that family. Actually, they're a really good reason why it's not always good to force yourself to procreate.
Sure, his mom and Rabbi Greenburg and, like, God or whatever want him to have a ton of baby Puckermans. But did Mr. and Mrs. Jewfro really contribute a whole lot to the world? Puck's pretty sure that they kind of infected it with their creepy, pimped, loser gene.
He finds her sitting on the steps with her hands bunched up in her sweater. She looks just as bored as he is. He's spent the majority of the past few days trying to convince her that a kiss at midnight is even better luck on Rosh Hashanah than it is on the actual New Years' Eve. It hasn't worked yet, but he's really hopeful.
The minute he sits down next to her, he's at it again. "Did you know if you kiss someone on New Years, a genie will-"
"Why do you want to kiss me so bad, anyway?" She cuts him off, curious. Her head is turned sideways as she asks, and she looks a little like a puppy. Her eyes are all big and wide, too, which only adds to the... cute.
He scoffs, shrugging. "I don't."
"Well then why should I even agree to it?" she mutters, and he has to pause for a minute because that's the first time her answer sounded anything like she was agreeing. All he hears for a second is I have really pretty lips, and you should totally stick your tongue between them. "Kisses are supposed to be special. You're supposed to be in love."
Puck stares at her lips as he thinks about what to say to that. "One, that's not true. Have you seen Maury?" He asks seriously, and she frowns. "And B, I… you're okay."
He glances at her from the corner of his eye as he pretends to watch his sister chase Jacob away from the cookies Rachel has her guarding. (The three of them had spent hours making them two days before, because Rachel's got some weird belief that every occasion deserves cookies. He just likes sugar. Rachel's cool too or whatever, but Puck and sugar are like this. Total buds.)
She's smiling. That's good news, he thinks. "You're okay, too, Noah," she says. "But if you wanted to kiss me, you should have just asked instead of trying to trick me into it."
He doesn't waste time telling her that he doesn't want to again. That's a boldface lie, anyway. "Rachel," he starts, and her gaze flutters up to meet his. "Can I kiss you?"
"Promise you won't tell your mother," she demands.
(Is she kidding?)
"Swear on my life," he says, nodding seriously as he crosses his heart. "No way in hell." She flinches at his use of the word 'hell', but scoots toward him. "For real?" he asks. "You're not kidding?"
She grins a little, biting her lip as she shakes her head 'no.'
He's not sure what he's supposed to do here. Does he just - lay one on her? Is there like, some sort of pre-show that he doesn't know about? His hand reaches out and brushes the hair from his face, and he doesn't realize it's even his own hand until he feels the softness of her cheek.
"Best holiday ever," he mumbles as he leans in. When his lips touch hers, it's soft and gentle, and even though he's heard that your first kiss is never your best, he's pretty sure he's never felt anything as awesome as this; Rachel's mouth brushing lightly against his, soft and warm like a tiny little pillowcase.
He lets his tongue dart out just once, and he finds out that her lips taste like vanilla lip balm. He's seen her put it on a dozen times, even used it once or twice, but now it's mixed with something else, too. The taste of her, and lip balm has never been so appealing. He smiles against her lips as she pulls them away.
"You taste good," he tells her before he can stop himself. The blush on her face makes up for any embarrassment he had over that, though. He's always liked getting a reaction from her.
She mumbles a quiet 'thank you' and they never speak of it again.
##
"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be like, inside? It's your stupid party," he frowns, staring down at her dress. "Bat Mitzvah. Whatever."
Rachel glances up from her spot on the stone steps outside and peers at Noah. He's fourteen, and all the books she's ever read say he should look gangly and much less attractive than he will in a few years. Rachel's slowly learning she can't trust books as much as she thought, because she can't seem to find one thing about him that's not aesthetically pleasing, even that horrible smirk he's started to wear. The one that took the place of his light-hearted smile the day he woke up to find his father gone.
She turns her gaze down at her lap. "Nobody came," she mumbles, and the sound does something funny to his hand, because for a second he almost did something. Held hers, or brushed the curtain of hair from her face, maybe, and that's something he's never even imagined doing.
"Uh, thanks," he says, raising a pointed eyebrow. He plops down next to her. "I did. And you should prolly try to appreciate what you get, because what you got was pretty awesome."
Her lips quirk up just barely, and she sighs. "Noah, you only came because your mother wants me to bear your children."
He's not sure how comfortable he is with how she says that all matter-of-fact, like it's just something she's just learned to accept. He shrugs it off, though, because she still looks pathetic and pouty and sort of cute, if you're into crazy girls with too many thoughts and not enough tit.
"Actually, I came for the cookies," he comments. She stares at him. "Also 'cause mom said she'd clean my mouth out if I didn't. Isn't that supposed to be just for swearing?" he wonders, and she giggles. He turns to her, serious. "It's not funny, actually, 'cause she was totally fucking serious. She's got some hard lady wood for you, Berry. Don't let her near your drink," he advises, nodding his head to where her glass of sprite punch sits.
"That's a terrible thing to say," she smiles. "Your mother is lovely, Noah."
He chuckles and leans his head back against the wall. "My lovely mother is dead set on me and you touching junk, Rachel," Puck states bluntly. Rachel looks anything but shocked. (Honestly, that's a little worrying.)
"She likes to strategize," he confides. "I swear she's got a playbook hidden in her panty drawer."
She raises an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. "It's the only place she knows I'm too terrified to look."
Rachel laughs, glancing up at the sunset. Leaning back, she closes her eyes. "Thank you for that, Noah."
He doesn't respond because he's not too crazy about the fact that he just intentionally distracted her from feeling like a loser. One that, honestly - no offense 'cause she's kind of really cool - she is.
He hears his mother cackle from the open window, and holds in the shiver. "You wanna get out of here?" He asks, and when she doesn't answer quick enough (just stares at him, really) he continues. "It's not like this is the time of your life, Rachel. Can't get much worse."
She trails after him, seating herself in his mother's car, and even though she knows he shouldn't be driving, she gets in anyway. This boy has always been able to get her to make the worst decisions, but following him has never seemed like a bad one.
#
They're freshman when the pressure becomes too much. His mom never lays off of him about how he's going to marry Rachel, have babies with Rachel, how he's lucky a girl like Rachel would even give him the time of day, and he'd better not mess it up.
Honestly? He's sick of it. He likes Rachel, actually. She's really awesome. He's just sick of his mom failing to see how awesome he is, Rachel or not. It's been fifteen years and she still hasn't caught on, though.
He gives up on that ever happening with a cold beverage to a pretty face, disappointed eyes and a quivering lip.
Maybe if he'd thought past his irritation towards his mother, he would have had time to think about other things. Like how despite the fact that his mom views him as worthless without her, Rachel's the one person who ever thought he had a shot at achieving anything.
The minute she turns away, he knows his mother is right. He's fucked everything up again. It's all he's capable of. But even worse is the thought that he's pretty sure with one bad decision he ruined the best friendship he'd ever had.
By lunch, he's sitting with a few other guys that he met though football practice. It's probably stupid, and maybe it doesn't make a lot of sense, but he already misses her.
#
They're sixteen, and they've been through more than he's comfortable thinking about. Babies and slushies and injuries and holidays and kisses that he tries really hard not to miss.
Normally he'd try not to notice, but she looked like a mess today. And she'd walked out on a performance, in costume. A performance where she had a duet with Finn, even. So he's pretty sure today's not a good day for her.
He makes sure Quinn has a ride back to his place (he's not a total douche, he can't just leave her stranded), and then he's in his truck and on his way to Rachel's.
She's sitting on her bed when Noah sets a water bottle on the night stand next to her before seating himself behind her.
He drapes his arms around her shoulders, her back against his chest, his legs tangled slightly with her own. He doesn't look at her as she picks it up, but she catches his lips quirk as she takes a sip, and she thinks that she just might cry.
It's strange, sometimes how easy it is to forget just how much this boy knows about her. She spends so much of her time trying to prove to people who she is (Rachel Berry, future Broadway star), and she forgets what a relief it is that there's one person out there, at least, that will always see something much different.
He doesn't say anything, and neither does she. He doesn't need to, and maybe she doesn't even want him to. He's there, and that's more than she could ever hope for. It's more than she's ever gotten from anyone else, in any case.
#
Noah asks her out two months before graduation. She says yes, but makes him swear they'll wait to tell his mom.
He smiles as he kisses her.
#
The I Love You happens kind of unexpectedly.
They're home for winter break, and they stay at a hotel just outside of Lima because he's over the age where he actually has to deal with his mother's shit, and she's at a point in her life where she only ever wants to be with him. (She doesn't know it yet, but that feeling's not going to go away.)
They got in real late the night before, and they're both exhausted. He makes her watch football as she sits in his lap on the large chair that came with their room. Her head is on his shoulder and she's fiddling with the stings of his pajama pants, and were he not about to die from exhaustion he'd at least attempt to go there.
"Idiot," she mutters, noticing 'his' team mess up a play. "Even I could do that."
He laughs because she's totally serious, and he's actually 90% sure that she's totally right. "I'm serious, Noah. Why are they paying him to play when he's so awful?"
He grins and shakes his head as he takes a sip of his Leinenkugel. "This is why I love you," he says, eyes on the TV as they try to pull of their next play.
Any insecurities she could have had about the truth to that statement are squashed when it comes out so nonchalantly that he doesn't even realize he's said it.
"You what?" she asks.
He turns his head from the game (actually a pretty good one, so she's lucky he's even acknowledging that she's talking right now) to her. "I wh- oh fuck," he mumbles, when the words register. Then, in attempt to not fuck up one of the biggest things he'll ever say to this woman, "Is this news?"
"You've never said it before," she shrugs, smiling all the while. He grins at her. "Say it again?" she requests.
"I love you," he tells her, and when she smiles all cute he presses a kiss to her forehead. "Loved you for a while."
She smiles, eyes closed as she leans her forehead against his. Then, pulling back. "How long is a while?"
"A really long time," he mumbles, kissing her again. "It's pathetic."
"Is it pathetic that I've loved you since I was five years old?" she asks quietly. He grins and shakes his head. "Does that make you uncomfortable?"
"No, baby," he says, wrapping his arms around her. "What I'm feeling is more like relief."
#
Puck thinks that his mom might be some sort of prophet. Turns out that nearly everything she ever wished for him (and them) comes true.
He marries Rachel when they're twenty-two years old on a beach in Cancun, Mexico. His mother cries but he's not there to see it, because Rachel had suggested they elope. After realizing it wasn't a dream, Puck was totally on board.
(Rachel was positive that would be the only way he'd actually enjoy the ceremony - if they were alone, with no chance of running into his teary eyed, snotty-nosed mother. She was probably a little right.)
They don't spend the traditional week apart. That was Puck's only request for the entire thing. He doesn't remember a time when being away from Rachel for that long led to any good, and he's pretty sure spending a week missing her will make him really fucking impatient during the ceremony.
She smiles at him the entire time, and he barely registers his own voice when he's allowed to speak. He smashes a glass under his foot as she shrieks, giggling slightly at the sound. And then she's pronounced his, and he's hers, and everything else just kind of stops mattering.
When they make it to their suite, his right hand tangles in her left, fingers brushing over the ring on her finger. He slips it from her finger and traces a small invisible line as he smiles somewhat proudly, before he kisses her and presses her gently into the bed.
He smirks and calls her Mrs. Puckerman, and he's sure he's never seen her smile so bright in his life.
- fin -