Where We Start From . Glee Fic . #8: Shatter
Title: Where We Start From
Author: pprfaith/Faithunbreakable
Rating: Hard (really hard) R for sexual situations.
Pairings/Characters: Puckleberry Finn threesome. No, really, Puck/Rachel/Finn.
Warnings: Sexing, threesome, slash, some angsting and a lot of swearing.
Spoilers: Wildly AU after Sectionals.
Words: Just under 11,000.
Prompt Table: #8 - Shatter.
Summary: It’s summer and Quinn is gone for good and the three of them have no idea what they’re doing.
.
.
Where We Start From
.
It starts with an ending.
(Most things do.)
.
Rachel has no idea how it comes to this.
.
It starts on the day school lets out for summer, in the McKinley High parking lot where Quinn doesn’t look back as she climbs into her father’s car, which will take her to the airport.
She’s going to live with her sister in New York now. The baby is long gone, her figure is back, the stretch marks as gone as they will ever be and Quinn is leaving. Rachel, Finn and Puck watch until the car is gone from sight and then they just stand there some more, staring blankly ahead.
Rachel holds an envelope filled with pictures and goodbye letters and well wishes from the gleeks. Quinn took the envelope earlier, hugged them all, thanked them. Five minutes ago she pushed it into Rachel’s hands. “I can’t,” she said, looking to the ground, “I just… I need a new start, alright?”
Rachel nodded and promised to hold on to it until Quinn is ready to pick it up although they all know she never will be. (Puck and Finn would have called her on it, once upon a time, but the girls taught them a bit about shutting the fuck up, sometimes.) Quinn wasn’t meant for being a gleek, for being pregnant and unwanted and confused and real. Quinn was meant to be pretty and untouchable. Quinn wants to be pretty and untouchable.
She can never be that again in Lima, Ohio.
Rachel can’t dislike her for that. But she can hate the blonde girl, just a bit, for becoming her friend and then leaving.
.
Three hours after they cleared out Sectionals, Quinn finds her way to the parking lot waylaid by none other than Rachel Berry, who is the root of the whole Babygate shit storm, but not to blame for it. Quinn brought it on herself and she knows it. Her daddy taught her better than to lie. But she was scared. She thinks that counts for something.
“What?” She bites because she’s tired, alone and scared, so scared, still.
“I called my fathers,” Berry informs her, primly, eyes serious and lips pursed. It used to annoy Quinn to no end, that Rachel takes herself so, so serious. These days, with a baby growing in her belly and screwing with her chemistry she thinks Rachel might just take herself so serious because no-one else does at all.
“Fantastic,” she retorts and keeps walking. Her back hurts, her feet hurt, she’s tired and she has a craving for pickles and apple sauce and oh, let’s not forget that she is effectively homeless since the boyfriend she’s been mooching off for the past month now knows that her baby is not his baby and will probably never look at her again. And the boy whose baby this is also hasn’t so much as looked at her since she informed him, rather coldly, that she’d rather do this on her own than with him. (She’d like to blame that on her hormones but she doesn’t think anyone will buy it.)
Thing is, Quinn sucks at doing things on her own.
“They are currently at the Hudsons’, gathering your things.”
Nice, they’re helping Finn kick her out. Awesome. “You work fast, man hands,” she bites out because seriously, she didn’t think Berry was that hot for Finn. Or that ruthless. No, hold on, actually, the ruthless is a check.
Rachel nods, seeming satisfied. “I know. They should have everything set up by the time we get home.”
Wait. “What?”
The brunette blinks, takes a deep breath and starts babbling. “Well, I had assumed that since your subversion concerning the baby was discovered, through no small part thanks to me, for which I already apologized, Finn would not tolerate you living in his house anymore since he feels betrayed, used and stupid. I also assumed that Noah’s avoidance of you during everything that happened today off stage means that he is not inclined to offer you shelter either. The conclusion I drew from that is that you are, effectively, homeless as of this morning and since I am, in part, to blame for that state of affairs, I called my fathers and they agreed to offer up our guest room to you for however long you need it.” She nods as she finishes, as if confirming to herself that she said all she meant to say.
Quinn, who didn’t want to hear any of that, takes a second to catch up. Or five. Jesus, that lung capacity is not normal. Then…Rachel Loser Berry is offering her shelter? “Why?”
“I already told you, I am also to blame for your current predicament and I…”
She trails off when Quinn raises a hand to stop her (they’re both surprised she does) and simply repeats, “Why, Berry?”
“That’s what friends do,” Rachel answers and her voice is small and soft, the way it sometimes gets when the Broadway seeps out of her and she’s just a real, life-sized girl.
We’re not friends, Quinn howls inside her head because even after all that’s happened, she’s still the Cheerio Captain, deep down. But she remembers who closed ranks around her the first time she walked through the halls in street clothes, her bump showing. And it wasn’t the popular kids.
“Thank you,” she whispers, because sometimes she’s only life-sized, too.
If the roles were reversed. She’s glad they’re not and accepts the hand Rachel holds out silently. Maybe they are friends. Maybe that’s not a bad thing.
.
Quinn spends the weekend sobbing herself to sleep in the Berrys’ baby blue guest bedroom, eating little and talking less. Rachel keeps coming and going, collecting untouched trays of food and bringing new ones, telling lame jokes, yammering on and on and on about things neither of them care about, just to fill the silence.
The doorbell rings half a dozen times and Quinn can always make out Puck’s deep growl as he asks to see her, how is she, how’s the baby. Rachel’s answers are honest and to the point, not angry but immensely disappointed. Quinn remembers, when she’s not drowning in her own self-pity, that Rachel and Puck are sort of friends. Or were. She guesses that’s over now because Puck lied for her. He always leaves again without even entering the house and Rachel comes and quietly tells her guest what just happened. “He’s worried,” she always tags onto the end.
On Sunday evening Quinn falls asleep with her head in Rachel’s lap, gentle fingers carding through her hair the way her mom’s used to. Her eyes are dry.
.
On Monday she has breakfast in the kitchen, thanks the Berrys for having her and agrees to talk to the father of her child. Rachel calls him and he’s there half an hour later, hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet, not meeting the gazes of Rachel’s fathers, who look on, surprisingly free of judgment.
“How are you?”
Quinn nods. “I’m… we’re okay.”
“Do you… is there anything I can do? Food runs?”
He always does hide behind his smart ass remarks and big guns. (They are awesome guns.) “No.”
“Okay then. Can I…,” more shuffling. “Can I stay for a bit? Just, you know, hang out?”
Quinn isn’t the only one who’s alone all of a sudden. Puck lost Finn, too.
“Sure.”
Rachel brings them snacks but doesn’t stay to chat.
.
On Tuesday Quinn returns to school with Rachel by her side and Puck trailing behind, a hunched shadow of the bright boy (man) he usually is. Rachel doesn’t talk much, which has the entire school on edge. Berry? Shutting up? They expect meteor showers and fire storms.
At the end of the day Quinn lays her hand on Rachel’s arm in the car and says, “I made him swear he wouldn’t tell anyone.”
The other girl looks at her out of the corner of her eye as she takes a right turn and nods curtly. But something in her shoulders relaxes and Quinn thinks that, if she were still the girl she was five months ago, she might be trying to murder Rachel Berry for liking Puck, who belongs to Quinn. Not because she wants him, but because he wants her.
Finn and Puck, they have both always been Quinn’s. The likes of Rachel Berry had no right to even look at them.
Funny how things change.
By the time weekend rolls around again, Rachel sticks around when Puck comes over to visit and their bickering makes Quinn laugh tears.
(Sometimes they’re good tears.)
.
The three of them become a strange unit, tied together by the baby growing in Quinn’s middle, but they’re limping and lopsided and they all know why.
Finn is a tall, glowering pit of anger in the halls, slinking around them like they don’t exist. Rachel, too, surprisingly.
Quinn asks her why one day at lunch and the other girl shrugs. “I assume it is a mixture of resentment for me being the proverbial messenger to be shot and then extending my hand to you in friendship, when he was obviously the wronged party, not you. My continued association with Noah, who most of the school sees as the guilty party in this situation is also not helpful in returning me to Finn’s good graces.”
“Then why do you?” Puck asks, slamming his lunch tray down next to her and slipping into the bench, bumping shoulders with her like he wasn’t throwing slushies at her six months ago. Hell, three months ago. He steals half of her sandwich and she doesn’t even blink, simply pulling out the spare she always prepares these days, well aware that cafeteria food can’t sustain the Puckerone. (His words, not hers.)
“Finn has the entirety of the student body and most of the teachers on his side. Quinn, who is pregnant, homeless and without support, has no-one.”
“So I’m your good deed for the decade?” Quinn asks, poking a stick of carrot into the yoghurt dip one Mr. Berry prepared for her because school grub makes her sick like a dog. A pregnant, hormonal dog.
Rachel nods. “I am certain that this will at one point make a great story to emphasize my altruistic and humanitarian virtues which can only help to boost my fame. Also, I am a nice person. I am not you.”
It’s funny, how, for all her verbosity (and Quinn learned that word from Rachel, so sue her), sometimes the annoying brunette just sinks her teeth right into the heart of an issue and rips it wide open with a single move and a few deadly words.
Rachel is not Quinn.
End of discussion.
.
It gets ridiculous three weeks later when Mr. Schue pairs the two boys together in an effort to make them get over their differences and they sit at opposite ends of the choir room and make Artie ferry messages riddled with insults from one to the other.
The girls exchange looks and nods and then Quinn grabs Puck and Rachel grabs Finn and they drag them, kicking and protesting, into an empty classroom on the third floor (to make escape through a window impossible.) They stand guard at the door and inform the boys that they are not leaving before they are on speaking terms again, thank you very much.
Puck curses and Finn kicks a desk hard enough to hurt himself and Rachel says, “You have been best friends since first grade. Don’t be more stupid than you are.”
The whole school spends the rest of the semester wondering what exactly happens in the forty-five minutes during which the former Ice Queen and the resident Loser Queen stand guard at the door, listening hard to the muffled words in the room behind them. Finn and Puck, the only people who know, refuse to talk about it. But they come out shoulder to shoulder, month-old tension gone from their frames.
They’re not best buddies again, but they’re getting there.
.
(What happens is this:
Puck tells Finn that the only reason he ever wanted Quinn was because she was taking Finn away from him and Finn is his boy. Which is totally fucked because the last time the Puckerone talked about his feelings, he was like, ten or something. But he does it, because this is Finn.
Finn, who shifts on his feet uncomfortably and says nothing because they never talk about it like this. What they sometimes do with each other since they were thirteen has no words and needs no words. They’re friends. They’re bros.
So what if they both know how to get the other off in under two minutes? What if Finn totally loves the way Puck tastes after he’s had a few too many beers? It’s just guy stuff, just fooling around. Just shit they do when there’s nothing else to do.
“You were jealous,” Finn summarizes.
“Yeah. Fuck. And then… she made me swear man.”
Puck has never been able to break a promise, no matter how fucked. Especially not if the promise was to a woman he cared about and he cares about Quinn, even if he hates her, too.
“Shit,” Finn says.
“Yeah.” And then, “She’s yours, too, you know?”
“Quinn?”
“The baby. She… Quinn wanted you to be the father because she loves you, man. You’d make a way better dad than me.”
“How? I don’t have the first clue about fathers.”
Puck laughs. (Finn never notices before that it’s not a very real laugh at all.) “And you think I do?”
It’s what made them stick together in the first place. Puck and Finn, the two fatherless boys. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much that they won’t get to keep Drizzle.
And that’s that.)
.
After that the Berry household is never empty. Quinn doesn’t like going out much and so they come to her. Puck brings games and music, Finn brings stories and himself, Rachel brings food and gossip and opinions. Sometimes it’s only two of them, sometimes three, sometimes four.
But Quinn is always at the center of them and they work around their problems for her, for the baby. The sexual tension between Puck and Rachel is sometimes palpable but they do nothing. The gooey eyes Finn makes at Rachel are annoying, but he never makes a move. Puck and Finn still grate at each other at times, but they never back off.
They build a cocoon around Quinn and her unborn daughter and she finds herself thinking of the baby girl as theirs. Drizzle will have two fathers and two mothers, if only for the few short minutes before someone else becomes her family and changes her name.
They all meet all potential adoptive parents and tag-team them. If they ask stupid questions about why there are four parents and what this silly business is about, they end the interview right there. If they accept the four tangled teenagers sitting on the couch opposite them, they make it to the next round.
They never talk about why that is. It just is.
And Quinn is at the center of it all.
.
(But it’s Rachel who holds all three of them the night Drizzle is born, letting them sob into her shoulder, singing them lullabies they’ll never sing to that little girl.)
.
Until the day school lets out for summer and Quinn gets into a car that will take her far, far away. They built this cozy little foursome, this web of resentment and friendship and past and present and future around her like a dome resting on a single pillar.
With that pillar gone, it all comes crashing down and they stand there, the three of them, feeling like someone pulled their middle out because for the better part of a year, they revolved around Quinn.
And now she’s gone and they are without gravity. It feels funny. Friend, girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, ex-enemy, sister, lover. Friend. Always friend. Except… they’re drifting and Rachel sways slightly between the two boys, clutching the envelope close.
Puck steadies her without thinking and Finn looks at them and they look at each other and they haven’t got the first idea what to do with each other.
That’s how it starts.
.
.
The first official day of summer, Finn buys soda, chips and a Disney movie and finds himself on Puck’s doorstep. It’s not even a conscious decision, it’s just how it’s always been. How they’ve started the summer since they were seven. Finn gets snacks and Puck offers the house because he needs to look after his little sister and can’t leave. They park Sarah on the couch with the movie and make their way upstairs into Puck’s room where they spend the day shooting the breeze, planning the summer, playing games.
The thought that this summer might be different because Puck impregnated Finn’s girlfriend and then kept it secret for five full months doesn’t even occur. Puck’s that deeply ingrained in Finn.
And from the way Puck opens the door like he expected no-one else, it’s kind of obvious that Finn is that deeply ingrained in Puck, too.
It’s only around noon when they run out of shit to talk about and fall silent that they suddenly look at each other and wonder when this happened, when they started being okay with each other again.
Then Sarah bounces into the room and demands food and the moment’s over.
.
On the second day of summer they drive Sarah to her friend Natalie and leave her there with the promise to take the girls to see a movie the next day. Nat’s mother happily agrees since the agreement is not new and those two boys have always returned her daughter safely.
She may be one of the only people in Lima that believe in Puck.
They go to Finn’s house and lie around in the living room, eating leftover pizza and watching porn. It’s bad porn, the kind that’s so utterly ridiculous it makes you want to laugh even as it undeniably turns you on.
Finn’s hand is the first to wander and it settles on Puck’s stomach and from there, goes lower. They jerk each other off, sloppily and lazily, eyes fixed on the screen. Finn’s early-shooter problem ceases to be a problem because Puck doesn’t expect shit from him and never has. This? This is like kicking around a ball and playing Halo.
Afterwards Puck passes the Kleenex box and Finn wrinkles his nose a bit at the mess they made and thinks, with about half his brain, that Rachel would call them disgusting boys with stress on the second part. (Her hands would be on her hips, her left foot tapping and she’d look totally hot.)
They agree that they’re thirsty and wander into the kitchen, not bothering to turn the DVD off. Puck gets them both a glass of water and they lean against opposite counters, their feet bumping between them, just looking at each other.
After a minute Puck sets down his glass and gets in Finn’s face, kissing him. Finn holds still, lets him, tries to work with it and knows it falls flat.
Puck pulls away, runs a hand over his ‘hawk and says, “Fuck, man. Fuck.”
Finn nods, shrugs. Says, “Kurt is taking Artie shopping this week. He says he’ll turn him into a chick-magnet.”
Puck laughs. “Should be interesting.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Mhm. Probably because of Tina.”
“What about her?” Finn asks, blinking, taking a sip of his water.
“Dude, she’s totally screwing Chang. It’s an Asian-Other-Asian love fest.”
Finn spews water and Puck makes him clean his shit up. In the living room, a bottle blonde with fake boobs moans way too loudly to be credible.
.
Let’s face it, they’re bored.
It might have something to do with that personal growth shit Rachel keeps going on about, or it might be that they suddenly have a shitload of free time. They’re used to balancing school, glee, football, Quinn time, jobs and helping their mothers around the house. All of a sudden, that’s all gone, except the family stuff.
Finn only ever worked to help Quinn and Puck’s pool cleaning business went down the drain with his libido. He didn’t ever really know shit about pools and the cougars didn’t really hire him for that anyway. Finn snorts and calls him a manwhore when he hears that.
Puck punches him in the thigh and chews on his neck until he whimpers. Just to make a point, you understand.
But that’s not really why they’re bored. They wasted countless days of their youth (wow, Rachel totally rubbed off on them) just like this. There’s something else missing.
They both have no clue what that is until Finn suggests, “Let’s see what Rachel’s doing,” and they jump on the idea like it’s the best thing since Santana’s rack.
And Santana’s rack is fucking fabulous.
.
One of her fathers lets them in and tells them to go right through, Rachel’s in the backyard. Just like that. Either those men are so gay they’ve completely forgotten what teenaged boys do with teenaged girls, or they actually, like, trust her. Which is… wow. Awkward, considering all the shit the two of them have pulled. But probably justified because Rachel is like, good.
She’s lying on a blanket in the middle of the yard and her bikini is totally tiny and Puck thinks fucking hot and a single look at Finn tells him that yeah, his boy is right there with him. They grin at each other, shrug and wordlessly walk up, plopping down on either side of her at exactly the same time, scaring the shit out of her. She yelps, jumps and when she realizes who they are, she smacks them both in the chest with her flat palms. It stings and they laugh louder.
On the porch, her fathers stand and watch and they seem happy. At ease. Puck wonders if that’s what it’s like when parents look at their kid and don’t see a complete fuck up. Finn tells Rachel that they were bored and just wanted to visit, see how she is. No-one says out loud that they know she must be feeling a bit lonely, now that Quinn is gone. (They all know it anyway.)
But this thing, this getting to know each other without Quinn around might not be all bad because Finn says Puck brought his guitar and he gets it and Rachel pulls out a few pots and bowls from the kitchen and Finn sets up a makeshift drum set and they just starts jamming in her backyard and it rocks.
Her fathers clap and after the third song or so, the neighbors stars cat-calling over the fence, asking is they take requests. They do an awesome Hotel California and they totally spin I Love Rock’n’Roll.
It’s awesome and totally not boring.
.
It becomes the new routine. Finn still brings snacks and Puck still supplies the place, but Rachel brings entertainment and she has way better ways of keeping Sarah occupied than the boys ever had.
They hang out in Puck’s room, or in the backyard. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they play games, sometimes they surf the internet together and read high school blogs and laugh. Sometimes they make music. Sarah always finds them when they do and sits on the floor, face in her hands, watching them.
One night, after Finn offers to drive Rachel home after pizza and a movie, Sarah sneaks into the kitchen way past her bedtime and makes Puck lift her on the counter. Their mother hangs in the doorway, waiting. Sarah told her she needs to tell Noah something and her expression was solemn. (She learned that word from Rachel and uses it too much.)
“I like when you make music with Rachel and Finn,” she tells him in her secret-voice. “It sounds so pretty.”
He thinks that might mean something and then looks funny at his glass of coke because, seriously, did someone slip him something? When the hell did he grow a vagina?
.
They have a plan. It’s a five step plan and they wrote it down. Rachel really is fucking rubbing off on them, Puck says, and puts enough innuendo in the remark that Finn actually cringes and smacks him upside the ‘hawk.
Step one: Kidnap Berry.
It’s easy enough because all they have to do is show up at her place and tell her to get her shit, they’re going somewhere. They promise her fathers to get her home in one piece and that’s all the two Mr. Berry demand, because they trust Rachel.
She bucks for a moment but agrees because, ultimately, she trusts them not to murder her and bury her body in a shallow grave.
Step two: Stop at the nearest 7/11 and whip out the fake ID. It’s Puck’s because Finn has one, too, but his milk and sugar face isn’t going to get them any beer. At. All.
Finn waits with Rachel in the car so she can’t make a scene and get them all into trouble by probably screaming through the store that they’re minors. (Only Rachel never really screams. She… belts things out.)
When Puck returns with two six packs and a bag of sour cream and onion chips (her favorite), she gapes and asks them what they think they are doing.
“We’re getting you drunk, Rach,” Finn tells her.
Puck flinches and waits for her to start laying into them. Instead she just asks, “Why?”
(He thinks she learned that from Quinn, who learned it from Drizzle via some pre-natal telepathy bullshit connection or something. She never did it before the baby. But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t even think that. Quinn’s been gone almost three weeks and his daughter - their daughter - longer than that.)
“Because we’re pretty sure it’s going to be awesome,” Finn answers and even though he’s a totally idiot a lot of the time, he does hit the nail on the head every now and then. Simple does it, apparently.
Step three: Find a place.
Predictably (or not) they end up back in the place where everything starts and ends for teenagers. High school. They climb over the fence (and both the boys totally peek up her skirt as they gallantly make her go first) and sit on the bleachers, teaching their girl how to drink beer from a can.
Step four: Get her to drink that first beer.
See above for details. She almost spills most of the first can because she doesn’t open it right and it sort of… goes all over the place. Finn takes it from her, empties the can in one gulp and then licks his sticky fingers clean. Her eyes do not linger.
(They totally do.)
They instruct her very carefully on the second can and she only hesitates for a moment before downing it. (“Do not push me, Noah, I am merely trying to commit this moment to memory as it is one of the fifty-three firsts I have marked as memorable moments of my life that must be savored at all costs. I want to remember this tomorrow.” It totally figures that she has a bucket list with a very fancy and complicated name.)
Step five: Keep ‘em coming.
Rachel Berry is a loud and horny drunk and she cannot hold her liquor. At all. This is the easiest they’ve ever gotten anyone drunk and that includes Quinn and the wine coolers, which they do not talk about.
They have to add a sixth step to their plan, which is, of course, something that totally slipped their minds. Namely: Aftermath.
How the hell are they supposed to get a giggly, swaying and singing Rachel past her fathers and into her bed without bringing down hell on their heads?
The answer? Not at all.
Puck orders Finn to take Rachel down to the field where she a) can do those dance steps she’s been doing without falling off the bleachers and b) will be out of earshot when he calls her fathers. It’s his job because Finn can’t lie worth shit. It’s like honesty just pours off of him or something and it goes sour as soon as he tries to bullshit someone and it stinks. Or maybe it’s the way he shuffles around and doesn’t look you in the eye.
Anyway, Puck takes Rachel’s phone and calls her dads, telling them that they’re at his place and she fell asleep. No, they don’t have the heart to wake her up. Is it okay if she stays? They’ll bring her around tomorrow. He hangs up just in time because a second later Rachel bursts into song and that voice? Carries like nothing you’ve ever heard.
It’s not one of her usual show tunes but some poppy emo shit that Quinn loves. (Loved.) “One of these days the sky’s gonna break and everything will escape,” she sings, arms spread wide, spinning in place. Finn is trying to reign her in but of course the pussy totally fails and Puck jogs over to help him. She giggles and twists out of his way every time he makes a grab for her until he finally gets tired of it and launches himself at her, full tackle.
She stops singing in surprise, the air pushed out of her as she lands on her back under him. He has his arms around her and their legs are tangled in bad (good) places. She blinks up at him with those doe eyes, wide and dewy, totally smashed, and brings one hand up to trail a finger from his eye to his jawline, miming a tear or whatever else the fuck is going on in her drunken head.
She starts singing again, picking up where she left of, “We were made to never fall away, never fall away.” Her voice is low and sweet, different from anything he’s ever heard. “One of these days letters are gonna fall from the sky, telling us all to go free…”
She trails off into low humming, her hand playing around his ear, scraping along his short hair. It turns him on like hell but she keeps humming and that’s Quinn’s song, the song she always listened to when she was sad and she was sad a lot while she was pregnant and then, shit, he’s crying like Rachel wordlessly prophesied and he hates it.
He buries his face in her neck, inhaling her scent, pretending he’s not sobbing. There’s a dull thud as Finn drops onto the grass next to them and asks, low and serious, “Where do you think she is now?”
Puck shakes his head into Rachel’s shoulder and she wraps her arms and legs around him and just holds him there, still humming, humming for him because he doesn’t know where his daughter is and he never will. She’s gone.
It feels like she’s dead.
Finn’s paw lands, clumsy and big, on the center of his back, hot and heavy and there. Rachel rolls them into Finn and it turns into a big mess of limbs and Puck is too fucked up to complain about the feelings and shit.
“I miss them,” Rachel whispers, and she sounds more lucid than she did ten minutes ago.
“Yeah,” Finn agrees. “It’s not fair.”
(It’s not fair that Quinn could just turn around and walk away, not fair that Drizzle isn’t Drizzle anymore at all, not fair that she’ll never know that there are four completely overwhelmed teenagers who love her with all their heart, that she has a daddy who would have done anything for her and shit. Shit, shit, shit.)
Puck screams into Rachel’s skin and all she does it hold him tighter as she shakes.
They fall asleep like this.
.
Predictably, they don’t get away with their little field trip. Considering their collective luck over the past year, that shouldn’t surprise them as much as it does.
(They don’t know that it’s simply a big honking coincidence that the Berrys run into Puck’s mom when they’re out getting breakfast and thank her for having Rachel, to which Ms. Puckerman replies that she hasn’t seen her son in a while and they’re probably sleeping at Finn’s place. They call his mother, but she hasn’t seen them either.
That’s when they all start panicking just a little bit because their kids are mostly grown and not (very) stupid, but the last anyone heard of them was before midnight the night before and that’s… long ago.)
A phone ringing in the vicinity of her head wakes Rachel and she squirms in confusion until it registers that the heavy weight across her stomach is Noah’s and Finn’s combined arms. She sits up and looks behind her and swallows a giggle because they’re totally spooning and if they were awake right now, they’d probably kill her simply to ensure she’d never tell. She starts reaching for her own phone to take a picture, but Noah took it last night and she doesn’t know where he put it. (The bleachers.)
The ringing keeps up and she kind of admires those two boys for their marvelous ability to sleep through just about anything. She bends over them and listens until she locates the phone in Finn’s back pocket and pulls it out. He grunts and twists a bit into Noah, who grumbles.
(She has them completely figured out, but she doesn’t tell them that.)
Her head feels fuzzy and too full and she prescribes it a name (hangover), taking a second to take it in, before she checks the screen and sees ‘mom’ flashing there. Oh dear. She presses the button and raises the phone to her ear.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson,” she greets, trying to muster some of her usual cheer. She didn’t know it was possible for her own voice to grate on her like this.
“Good morning?” Mrs. Hudson echoes, sounding darkly amused. Not good. “Honey, it’s almost noon and none of us know where you are so we would appreciate it if the three of you would get to the Puckermans’. Now. And tell Finn he is grounded.”
This? One of the reasons Rachel should have told the boys no when they told her their plan for the night. Actually, she should have told them no the first time they came to hang out with her. They aren’t friends. She got slushied by them and kissed them both and loves them a bit and they hate her still because she’s Crazy Rachel Berry and they’re not… they worked together for Quinn’s sake.
She isn’t even sure why they stick around.
(That’s not true.)
She nods into the phone and looks down to see two pairs of bleary eyes focused on her. Apparently they ignore any sort of alarm better than voices. Good to know. She glares at Finn for leaving her to deal with his worried mother. “We’ll be there in a while. Just… We didn’t do anything bad, I promise. We merely fell asleep before either of us remembered to inform you of our whereabouts.”
She hangs up and wordlessly hands Finn back his phone. They heard. She doesn’t have to tell them. “Wishing you’d never hung out with us?” Noah asks as he runs a hand over his silly hairdo and face, trying to rub away the evidence of his crying.
She cocks her head to the side, taking in his bloodshot eyes and Finn’s puppy dog smile. Her head is pounding.
“No,” she says.
There is grass in her hair.
.
They stand in front of their disappointed and disapproving parents like tin soldiers, all pretty in a row. Puck’s mom looks more tired than anything, exhausted from her son’s constant fuck ups. Finn’s mother is angry and worried, but the worry wins out and that’s worse. Rachel’s fathers just look at her, waiting.
Neither of the three says anything because they had to stop and get some gum on the way home and seriously, what are they supposed to say? (“We got Rachel drunk and then we got drunk and she sang a song and we cried because somewhere, out there, there’s a baby that should be here, fuck it all!”)
Yeah.
“This is just not okay,” Mrs. Hudson finishes a long winded lecture that no-one except Rachel listened to and Puck can’t help himself. He opens his mouth, takes a deep breath and then visibly reigns himself in, fisting his jeans, clenching his jaw. He spins on his heel and thunders up the stairs with a tightly coiled rage that hangs in the room long after he leaves.
They all watch him go and then Rachel clasps her hands in front of her stomach and says, “I think the problem, Mrs. Hudson, is that we are not okay. You have all told us repeatedly, separately and together how proud you are of us for stepping up and doing our best to help Quinn and get a grip on the situation that arose with the baby. However, somewhere along the way you seem to have forgotten that no matter how well we pulled together and how good we seem to be handling an admittedly extremely stressful and emotional situation, we are still only teenagers. The adoption of baby Drizzle and Quinn’s subsequent departure have left us all reeling, trying to deal with her absence and that-,” she sniffles a little, straightens and puts on the Rachel Berry Stage Face, which includes a wide smile that is utterly fake and grotesque because there are tears standing in her eyes.
“It hurts,” she finally finishes, sounding small and young. She nods once to herself, spins on her heel and follows Noah, leaving behind only Finn.
He hooks a finger over his shoulder at her and offers, “What she said.”
.
(While they take turns in the bathroom, their parents sit in the living room in stunned silence, watching the stairs. The three teenagers that walked up there a minute ago are hurt strangers and they all wait, deep down, wait for their own children, those happy, innocent, gap-toothed children, to come back down the stairs.
They wait for things to be okay again, knowing they won’t ever be.
(They haven’t been since Quinn said, “I’m keeping it.”
Since Puck said, “I won’t let you do this alone.”
Since Rachel said, “That’s what friends do.”
Since Finn said, “I just… you know.”)
It hurts when children grow up.)
.
.
(They don’t know what they’re doing. Haven’t got the slightest idea, in fact.)
.
They spend their days together, doing anything and everything, avoiding their friends and families. They spend their nights curling together far closer and tighter than three teenagers ever should.
They talk. They sing.
When Rachel has one of her many classes (not as many as last summer or any summer before) Finn and Puck find a quiet place and grope and twist and pull and bite and it’s angrier and edgier than it ever was before and they can’t pretend anymore that it doesn’t mean anything.
(They jump apart like scalded cats when Rachel calls and don’t so much as graze shoulders for the next twenty-four hours.)
It means something.
They just have no idea what.
.
Santana throws a party and they go. Puck’s angrier than he ever was, grating against anything and everything like broken glass and he finds a bottle of booze and a willing girl fast enough, dragging both away into a far corner and closing his eyes tightly. (She was apparently living under a rock, or maybe in Michigan, when Babygate broke and doesn’t know that he’s pond scum outside of glee.)
Rachel stands next to the patio doors, looking as out of place as she feels, hands clasped behind her back, posture perfect, as always. Finn is fooling around on the dance floor with Matt and Mike, trying new moves and amusing half the guests with his epileptic twitching.
Rachel watches and knows that he’s too big, too lanky to ever be a dancer. Compact movement needs a compact body, coiled energy. There is simply too much of Finn to ever be graceful. (But she wanted him to be, so badly. Feels forever ago now, those star-struck days of puppy love for a boy who belonged to another girl.)
Somewhere up on the second floor a door slams and when she turns to look for Noah, his corner is empty. Kurt is next to her suddenly, opening his mouth and she knows without waiting for it, that he’s about to insult her outfit. (Skirt, t-shirt, flats. No blouse, no ruffles. It doesn’t matter to Kurt. Kurt doesn’t like what’s inside the clothes.)
So she takes a breath and puts on her best panic face, asking, “Is that beer on those pants, Kurt?”
He goes wide-eyed and pale, twisting desperately, trying to find the stain that doesn’t exist before running off, yelling about interventions and where the hell is Mercedes?
(That was mean. Puck taught her how to be that.)
Finn stops his dancing long enough to follow Kurt’s trail of screaming outrage in reverse, eyes landing on her in her brightly lit corner. His gaze flickers around, looking for Noah and not finding him. He slaps his friends on the shoulder and makes his way over to her, managing to grab two bottles of beer on the way.
He hands her one and they clink them together, smiling. He downs half of it, Rachel sips. She doesn’t like the taste, but the results are nice. (Puck taught her that, too, on the bleachers.)
“You just totally sent Kurt packing, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” There are moments for verbosity. And there are moments for quiet gloating.
“You’re mean, Rach. Totally mean,” he laughs. She shrugs, demure, blushing a bit.
“I feel a bit bad, but I know that he was about to insult my wardrobe choice based solely on the fact that it is me who made said choice. He just…”
“Doesn’t like you?” Finn suggests, his goofy expression fading.
“I thought we could be friends, you know? In glee?”
But they’re not. They stick together against outsiders, but inside their little group, it’s still war. Kurt and Mercedes against Rachel. Puck against everyone, Santana against the other girls. Mostly, it feels like everyone against Rachel.
“I’m sorry, Rach,” Finn shrugs, solemn and big-eyed.
She beams at him. Stage smile #7. “It’s okay. We’re friends, though, right?”
He nods, goof back. “Yeah. I mean, me and Puck, we’re totally your friends.”
(“Puck and me, Finn. Please watch your grammar.” She doesn’t say it.)
Correction. “Puck and I are not friends.”
“What? Why?”
“We weren’t before.” She smiles again and he doesn’t get it. He wasn’t there for that particular bleacher-moment.
Finn frowns, takes a sip of his beer and then declares, “I don’t get it.”
She pats his arm. “Let’s see where he went, yeah?”
He nods and she leads him out into the garden, where she knows Noah is not.
.
There is an empty gazebo in the back of the giant yard, where the lights and the sounds of the party barely penetrate and Finn’s hands on her hips feel like they did a year ago when she still had that school girl crush on him. A picnic on a stage. God, she thinks, could you be any more symbolic, Berry?
(He kisses better though.)
They make out for a while, hastily, hurried, like they’re afraid of something. (They all are.)
Then she pushes him away suddenly, her hands on his heaving chest, resting her forehead against his shoulder. He smells of sweat, beer and Finn. She says his name and he shrugs, uncomfortable. It’s hot and his shirt and hair are plastered to him. He looks a bit like a lanky, drowned puppy.
“I don’t think…”
He steps away from her, nodding. “You’re right. We should split. We’re gonna find Puck faster that way.”
.
He was going to screw that chick whose name he can’t quite remember. Really. He was. She had a tongue like a frog, a bod made to be sexed and they were both pleasantly buzzed on San’s father’s expensive scotch.
A roll in the sack with that bitch was a sure thing. Right up until she fell asleep when he was trying to get to second base. Fucking. Hell. Just his luck that she’s one of those chicks that go from a nice buzz directly to comatose.
He grabbed her phone, called her bff who was downstairs somewhere (her name was Cherry and he knows her name because he totally did her before Babygate) and told her to get her punked out friend some place where she won’t choke on her own vomit. Predictably, Cherry bitched at him like the psycho she is as she dragged drunk!chick out of the room.
He waved.
Now he’s lying in the middle of a mussed up bed with only a mostly empty bottle of booze to keep him company and a hard-on that really, really needs some attention. Fuck. It’s times like these that he wishes he was into somnophilia. (Great. Now Rachel’s gone and corrupted his inner monologue with her word-a-day mentality.)
He’s not, by the way. Into screwing unconscious chicks. He likes participation and loudly voiced confirmations of his stud-ness, thanks a lot.
There’s a knock on the door and he yells the standard, “Fuck off, we’re busy!”
A moment later the door opens and yeah, speak of the Berry. She enters the room after a cautious look around and, finding no naked girls lying around, closes the door behind her, leaning against it. “Are you drunk?”
He grunts and waves the bottle in her face, not bothering to answer verbally. She sighs. “You’re our designated driver.”
“Screw you, Berry.”
See, the problem? A year ago, Rachel would have turned tail and ran at being insulted so plainly. A year ago she would have been Berry, not Rachel. But these days she’s either grown a very thick skin when it comes to his tongue or he’s turned into a total pussy. He suspects it’s a bit of both.
“We’ll just crash,” he says after a moment of silence. Because appeasing her has become second nature and he knows she’s waiting for it. For him to talk. (She always is.)
“That’s what I am afraid of, Noah.”
He lifts his head to give her the stink eye. “Crash here. Not with the car. Buy a goddamn slang dictionary.”
“Why are you angry?”
Anyone else asking that question would either get a fist in the face or a glare to scare their mother. Because Puck’s not angry. Because Puck’s always angry. Because it’s his fucking default setting and if you don’t like it, he’ll gladly beat you to the door. But when this girl asks, he answers. “My date totally checked out before second base. Then her friend wailed on me for being an asshole. Then I used the word ‘somnophilia’.”
She laughs. Bitch.
“You totally ruined me, Berry. That shit isn’t funny!” He means that in more ways than just her ten-dollar vocab.
She laughs some more and he decides to drown her out. Literally. With scotch. Then she says, “I made out with Finn in the garden.”
And he spits thirty-year-old booze across the expensive bedspread, ruining both in the process. And his shirt. Fuck.
“Noah?”
“Did he…,” he swallows and eyes the bottle, finding it not nearly empty enough for this conversation. “Have an early release?” He leers and smirks and knows that she looks right through it.
“No. We stopped.”
“Why? Saint Finn not good enough for you, Berry?” Now if only he could decide which of them he’s pissed at. (The needle hangs halfway between ‘both’ and ‘neither’.)
She sighs, shakes her head and sits next to him, daintily avoiding the alcohol stains with a little frown of distaste. “Finn was my first kiss, you know?”
The hell? No, he didn’t know that.
“We kissed in the auditorium and then he told me to pretend it never happened.” She smiles and pats his arm in that granny-move of hers. “You were the second boy I kissed.”
With a bland expression he raises the bottle, saluting. “Here’s to eternally getting sloppy seconds.”
She slaps him hard enough for the sound to snap through the entire room. “I am not your sloppy anything, Noah Puckerman.”
His cheek stings so he rubs at it, eyes fixed on his friend, the bottle. Maybe he’s had enough after all. He’s fucking things up again. (And his potential for fuck-upping rises directly proportionally to the amount of alcohol he consumes. Exhibit one: Quinn Fabray.)
He looks for the cap of the bottle and doesn’t find it (not surprisingly). So he puts the bottle on the bedside table and lies back down. “Dude, the only time I got there before Finn, I knocked the chick up and ruined everything.”
“It was a mistake,” she informs him tartly and he’s amazed (again) how she can lecture him and defend him from himself at the same time. (He’s pretty sure that has to do with that whole ‘faith’ thing she’s got going.)
“I knocked up my best friend’s virgin girlfriend, Berry. Sloppy seconds is good. Can’t break it if it’s already broken.”
He sees her hand twitch out of the corner of his eye and knows she wants to smack him again for putting himself down. The only one who’s ever believed in him like this is his mother and she gave up around the time he came staggering home at six in the morning for the first time, telling her to go fuck herself when she asked where he’d been.
Then she’s suddenly sitting on top of him, her small hands braced on either side of his head, glaring at him with a solid ninety pounds of fury behind her. It’s scarier than it ought to be. She leans down until her hair separates them from the rest of the world and he can smell beer and strawberry lipgloss on her breath.
“I am not broken, Noah Puckerman,” she growls. Damn, that’s hot.
He must be leering because she smacks her palm into the bedding and repeats, low and dangerous and with an edge of panic, “I. Am. Not. Broken.”
“Who you’re trying to convince, babe?” he asks quietly, meeting her eyes head on even though she’s too close to focus on properly. Her brown eyes are nothing but a dark smear above him.
She kisses him.
Of course he kisses back. He’s male. He’s drunk. She’s possibly the best kisser he’s ever come across. And she just admitted to making out with Finn. Puck wants Finn. Puck wants what Finn has. It’s always been that way. He buries his fingers in her hair and pulls her into him, biting, licking, nipping until her lips are wide open, letting him in.
Her low heels dig into his knees and she grinds down on his lap hard enough to be uncomfortable. And eventually he tries to pull back because hello! This is Rachel Fucking Proper Berry and he’s pretty sure she’s doing this for all the wrong reasons.
He pushes against his shoulders and she digs her tiny fingers into his guns and growls, “Don’t you dare push me away.”
Guh. Hot.
She grabs his left hand, pushes it under her top and then his right and shoves it up her skirt. He thinks his brain may be exploding, and that’s before she starts moving again. His hands switch to autopilot, one kneading the other tracing crazy patterns, feather light, then rough. She moans like a porn star (He knew she would. Come on, she’s loud.) and throws back her head, still moving steady and he might just come in his pants for the first time since he was thirteen. When that girl crosses a line, she annihilates it.
He tugs her down with one hand, desperate for another one of these kisses and when she moves to pull back he shoves her panties aside and twists his thumb right there and she shatters on top of him, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood before going limp.
He withdraws his hands slowly, causing her to twitch a bit and he can’t resist licking his fingers because he’s got like, the boner of the century in his pants and she doesn’t look like she’s going to do anything about it. Guy’s got to get his kicks somewhere.
She watches him, heavy lidded, from where she’s resting her head on his shoulder and he exaggerates every swipe of his tongue, just for her. She bites her lip and then sits up, keeping herself steady with her palms against his chest, totally twisting his nipple ring without noticing. Sh-it.
“See?” she demands, still sounding, like, well, sex. “Not broken.”
That’s when he realizes she just let him get to second (third?) base for the sole reason of proving he doesn’t ruin everything he touches first. Meaning this was her first. Meaning. Aw, fuck.
“You’re screwed in the head, Berry. Seriously.”
The really messed up thing though? He knows she was saving that up for someone special, someone who matters. She told him so. And here she is, giving it up for Lima Loser #1 and his fucking ego.
He ruins everything he touches. (Exhibit two: Rachel Berry.)
She nods, earnest and solemn and he has no idea what to say. (Puckerman’s speechless. Quick, alert the newspapers.)
“What?” Finn’s voice comes from the doorway, half-choked. Puck knows, just from the sound of his voice, that his eyes are glazed and he’s totally turned on. How long has he been fucking standing there? He clears his throat. “What are you two… doing?”
“Proving a point,” Rachel informs him, sounding prim again. “Lock the door, please, Finn. Too many people walk into this room.”
He obediently turns the lock and then looks at her for approval and new orders like a puppy. (And he’s supposed to be the leader. No wonder they never get any-fucking- where.) But Rachel simply slips off Puck’s lap and curls into his side without another word, falling asleep.
(Pretending to, but don’t tell.)
.
.
Finn lies on Puck’s other side, eyes wide and glazed and horny as anything. For a minute or ten they just listen to Rachel’s quiet breathing, staring at the ceiling. It some kind of dark wood and it looks expensive and Puck thinks that Santana’s parents own entirely too much shit. (The hell did she dump him for his credit score when she’s swimming in dough? Bitch.)
Then Puck asks. “Stood there long?”
His boy shifts uncomfortably (They are teenaged boys. Those boners aren’t going to just, like, go away.) and then nods. “A while. Did you…?”
A shrug. “Yeah. Whatever, man.”
More silence. Rachel lies against his side like a warm rock, solid. (In more than one sense.)
“You wanna?”
“Fuck, yes?”
They turn towards each other simultaneously, hands going for belt buckles, buttons and zippers as Finn reels Puck in by the back of his ‘hawk and kisses him. (Big fucking girl.) They both pretend that they can’t taste remnants of strawberry lipgloss on each other and then Puck has Finn’s jeans pushed down enough to get a hold and Frankenteen totally moans.
Puck withdraws his fingers and glares.
“Wha’?” And then Finn’s stupid brain kicks in and he remembers that their girl is lying, like, half a foot away, totally within touching distance. Which is hot as all get out, but not very conductive to sexing your boy in a totally non-gay way. Plainly: If Finn plans to get off tonight, he’s better keep his trap shut or put it to good use. Quietly.
He nods and bites his lip in this totally adorable way that makes Puck want to give him, like, dog biscuits and squeaky toys. Behind them, Rachel giggles and they both freeze, hands in each others’ pants.
They are so busted.
She sits up and all either of them sees is her face above them. Finn makes a strangled noise and tries to move away, but Puck reflexively holds him tighter and the noise gets louder, until he sounds like hurt cat.
“Faking it, Rach?” Puck asks, as casually as can be with someone else’s hands on your junk.
“I was exhausted,” she defends and he can see that she has trouble keeping her eyes front and center.
“Sure you were, babe.” He grins wickedly because he’s the one who exhausted her.
Finn makes that noise again and pulls away slightly. “Guys…”
But Rachel’s biting her lips in that way that means she’s thinking even though she’s trying really hard not to and they’re both conditioned to hold still and wait until the expression passes, lest her crazy spread to them. Finn looks like he’s convinced she’s going to start screaming any moment now, but Puck isn’t so sure.
This Rachel, the Summer Rachel, post Quinn and Baby Rachel, Beer and Kisses Rachel, she’s not the girl they both love a little bit and hate in almost equal parts during the school year. She’s something else entirely and they’re not sure if that’s because of the season, what happened, or them.
(When they’re alone in their rooms they can both admit that they hope it wasn’t them because she deserves better than that. But they’re pretty sure no-one’s listening to that particular wish.)
This Rachel suddenly leans across Puck’s chest and puts a hand low on Finn’s belly, making the muscles there quiver like a horse’s. “I want,” she starts, pupils blown, hair tousled.
They’re all just drunk enough to do this. To really, actually, do this thing they’ve been building up to and dreading all summer.
She swallows and brushes her hand down Finn’s treasure trail until her fingers his Puck’s and they all let out a sound that’s not a whine. They’re all too badass to whine.
(They so do.)
“I want,” she repeats, but this time Puck doesn’t think there’s anything more to the sentence. She wants. Funny, how two half naked guys are what it takes to render Rachel Berry speechless. Sad, too, because if she doesn’t have words, who does?
Puck finally gets go of Finn’s junk and the other boy immediately tries to pull away only to be stopped by Rachel’s fingers digging into the waist of his boxer shorts, keeping him in place. He goes all Bambi-eyed. (Again. What the fuck’s with the cute animals expressions?) The fucking idiot still doesn’t get it.
Puck twists so he’s on his back, grabs Berry around the waist and pulls her across his chest and until she’s lying between them. He turns her to face Finn and pulls the douche’s head in until they’re nose to nose and when they finally get the hint and start kissing, he rucks up her shirt and splays his hands over her naked stomach and waist. His fingers reach all the way around, just like he remembers.
So tiny. (He sometimes thinks of Drizzle and how she was even more fragile than Rachel, how tiny and soft and breakable.) He squeezes tight enough for his splayed fingers to dig uncomfortably into her skin. (Just to prove she won’t break.)
She growls low in her throat, sexy as hell and grabs one of his hands, pulling it around and towards Finn, wordlessly ordering him to help her figure out how to make that boy scream.
Puck wraps her small fingers around Finn’s junk and his own bigger ones around hers and then he twist and squeezes just how Finn likes it, all the while kissing her neck like it’s air. Finn finally catches on that no, this is not one of his wet dreams and yes, this is actually real and starts participating with more than kitten noises, going for Rachel’s skirt.
After that things sort of blur and Puck would like to blame the booze but knows that isn’t it. It’s all hands and tongues and spit and sweat and other fluids, sounds and sights and touch and heat and pure, fucking sensation.
Eventually Puck kneels behind Rachel, hands on her hips and helps her sit on Finn’s lap, head thrown back again, hips twisting in something that starts as pain and ends very differently.
(And it turns out they don’t need words after all.)
.
(This is not one of Rachel’s fifty-three firsts. It’s not part of any of her other lists either.)
.
.
“What happens tomorrow?” she asks on the last day of summer, curled between her two boys under a heap of blankets on the shore of the lake.
“We go back to school,” Noah rumbles and he doesn’t sound like that’s anything to look forward for.
She weighs glee against teachers who do nothing to protect the losers, Jacob Ben-Israel, the hockey team and the absence of Quinn and says nothing.
“Back to glee,” Finn adds, breathing into her neck. He only says it for her sake and they all know it.
“I know,” she agrees, smiling into Noah’s naked shoulder because they try so hard for her, those boys. She wonders if they do it because she’s all that’s left and can’t quite decide if that thought hurts.
There used to be four of them (five if you count the baby) and now there’s only three. They’re pieces of something that was good, something that felt whole. They’re not complete anymore.
(She doesn’t think they were whole to begin with, doesn’t believe they didn’t all lose bits and pieces long before they met.)
But now… they’re less than they were and twisting themselves and each other into new shapes, trying to make a new whole. A new thing. In fifth grade, Jacob tried to impress her with the knowledge that when you chop a worm in two, both halves will survive on their own.
She looked it up and knows it’s not true (not to mention gross), but the idea is nice. Parts surviving. She still wishes there wouldn’t be any breaking or chopping to begin with, though. Once upon a time, Rachel Berry sung about people breaking without understanding more than the words. Because really, it wasn’t going to happen to her. She had goals. She had plans. She had dreams.
Once upon a time wasn’t all that long ago.
“I mean what will happen to us?” The three of them. They can’t stay the way they are, can they? (People will call her whore and there’ll be no end of trouble, one girl with two boys and let’s face it, they can’t keep their hands off her long enough to convince anyone.)
Somewhere at the other end of the lake, someone hollers for another beer, yelling that this is the last night on earth and they’re fucking celebrating. Finn mutters something about going over there and scoring some booze.
“I don’t know, babe,” Noah mutters into her skin and she thinks he sounds sorry as he starts trailing kisses down her collarbone and chest. “But we’re friends.”
She runs a hand through the ‘hawk and he rolls his eyes up to meet hers, giving her his badass grin.
“We weren’t before,” she throws back in his face without heat.
“This is after,” he points out mildly before his tongue is otherwise occupied.
Behind her, Finn shifts closer, making some noise about not getting them and starts tracing patterns on the skin of her stomach, with clumsy, eager fingers.
She tells him that’s okay because she doesn’t get them either and closes her eyes.
.
(Later that night it’s Rachel who sobs into Finn’s shoulder while Noah sings lullabies he’ll never sing to his little girl.
They split before sunrise.)
.
It ends with a beginning.
(Most things do.)
.
End
.
.
.
Now with sequel here.
Author: pprfaith/Faithunbreakable
Rating: Hard (really hard) R for sexual situations.
Pairings/Characters: Puckleberry Finn threesome. No, really, Puck/Rachel/Finn.
Warnings: Sexing, threesome, slash, some angsting and a lot of swearing.
Spoilers: Wildly AU after Sectionals.
Words: Just under 11,000.
Prompt Table: #8 - Shatter.
Summary: It’s summer and Quinn is gone for good and the three of them have no idea what they’re doing.
.
.
Where We Start From
.
It starts with an ending.
(Most things do.)
.
Rachel has no idea how it comes to this.
.
It starts on the day school lets out for summer, in the McKinley High parking lot where Quinn doesn’t look back as she climbs into her father’s car, which will take her to the airport.
She’s going to live with her sister in New York now. The baby is long gone, her figure is back, the stretch marks as gone as they will ever be and Quinn is leaving. Rachel, Finn and Puck watch until the car is gone from sight and then they just stand there some more, staring blankly ahead.
Rachel holds an envelope filled with pictures and goodbye letters and well wishes from the gleeks. Quinn took the envelope earlier, hugged them all, thanked them. Five minutes ago she pushed it into Rachel’s hands. “I can’t,” she said, looking to the ground, “I just… I need a new start, alright?”
Rachel nodded and promised to hold on to it until Quinn is ready to pick it up although they all know she never will be. (Puck and Finn would have called her on it, once upon a time, but the girls taught them a bit about shutting the fuck up, sometimes.) Quinn wasn’t meant for being a gleek, for being pregnant and unwanted and confused and real. Quinn was meant to be pretty and untouchable. Quinn wants to be pretty and untouchable.
She can never be that again in Lima, Ohio.
Rachel can’t dislike her for that. But she can hate the blonde girl, just a bit, for becoming her friend and then leaving.
.
Three hours after they cleared out Sectionals, Quinn finds her way to the parking lot waylaid by none other than Rachel Berry, who is the root of the whole Babygate shit storm, but not to blame for it. Quinn brought it on herself and she knows it. Her daddy taught her better than to lie. But she was scared. She thinks that counts for something.
“What?” She bites because she’s tired, alone and scared, so scared, still.
“I called my fathers,” Berry informs her, primly, eyes serious and lips pursed. It used to annoy Quinn to no end, that Rachel takes herself so, so serious. These days, with a baby growing in her belly and screwing with her chemistry she thinks Rachel might just take herself so serious because no-one else does at all.
“Fantastic,” she retorts and keeps walking. Her back hurts, her feet hurt, she’s tired and she has a craving for pickles and apple sauce and oh, let’s not forget that she is effectively homeless since the boyfriend she’s been mooching off for the past month now knows that her baby is not his baby and will probably never look at her again. And the boy whose baby this is also hasn’t so much as looked at her since she informed him, rather coldly, that she’d rather do this on her own than with him. (She’d like to blame that on her hormones but she doesn’t think anyone will buy it.)
Thing is, Quinn sucks at doing things on her own.
“They are currently at the Hudsons’, gathering your things.”
Nice, they’re helping Finn kick her out. Awesome. “You work fast, man hands,” she bites out because seriously, she didn’t think Berry was that hot for Finn. Or that ruthless. No, hold on, actually, the ruthless is a check.
Rachel nods, seeming satisfied. “I know. They should have everything set up by the time we get home.”
Wait. “What?”
The brunette blinks, takes a deep breath and starts babbling. “Well, I had assumed that since your subversion concerning the baby was discovered, through no small part thanks to me, for which I already apologized, Finn would not tolerate you living in his house anymore since he feels betrayed, used and stupid. I also assumed that Noah’s avoidance of you during everything that happened today off stage means that he is not inclined to offer you shelter either. The conclusion I drew from that is that you are, effectively, homeless as of this morning and since I am, in part, to blame for that state of affairs, I called my fathers and they agreed to offer up our guest room to you for however long you need it.” She nods as she finishes, as if confirming to herself that she said all she meant to say.
Quinn, who didn’t want to hear any of that, takes a second to catch up. Or five. Jesus, that lung capacity is not normal. Then…Rachel Loser Berry is offering her shelter? “Why?”
“I already told you, I am also to blame for your current predicament and I…”
She trails off when Quinn raises a hand to stop her (they’re both surprised she does) and simply repeats, “Why, Berry?”
“That’s what friends do,” Rachel answers and her voice is small and soft, the way it sometimes gets when the Broadway seeps out of her and she’s just a real, life-sized girl.
We’re not friends, Quinn howls inside her head because even after all that’s happened, she’s still the Cheerio Captain, deep down. But she remembers who closed ranks around her the first time she walked through the halls in street clothes, her bump showing. And it wasn’t the popular kids.
“Thank you,” she whispers, because sometimes she’s only life-sized, too.
If the roles were reversed. She’s glad they’re not and accepts the hand Rachel holds out silently. Maybe they are friends. Maybe that’s not a bad thing.
.
Quinn spends the weekend sobbing herself to sleep in the Berrys’ baby blue guest bedroom, eating little and talking less. Rachel keeps coming and going, collecting untouched trays of food and bringing new ones, telling lame jokes, yammering on and on and on about things neither of them care about, just to fill the silence.
The doorbell rings half a dozen times and Quinn can always make out Puck’s deep growl as he asks to see her, how is she, how’s the baby. Rachel’s answers are honest and to the point, not angry but immensely disappointed. Quinn remembers, when she’s not drowning in her own self-pity, that Rachel and Puck are sort of friends. Or were. She guesses that’s over now because Puck lied for her. He always leaves again without even entering the house and Rachel comes and quietly tells her guest what just happened. “He’s worried,” she always tags onto the end.
On Sunday evening Quinn falls asleep with her head in Rachel’s lap, gentle fingers carding through her hair the way her mom’s used to. Her eyes are dry.
.
On Monday she has breakfast in the kitchen, thanks the Berrys for having her and agrees to talk to the father of her child. Rachel calls him and he’s there half an hour later, hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet, not meeting the gazes of Rachel’s fathers, who look on, surprisingly free of judgment.
“How are you?”
Quinn nods. “I’m… we’re okay.”
“Do you… is there anything I can do? Food runs?”
He always does hide behind his smart ass remarks and big guns. (They are awesome guns.) “No.”
“Okay then. Can I…,” more shuffling. “Can I stay for a bit? Just, you know, hang out?”
Quinn isn’t the only one who’s alone all of a sudden. Puck lost Finn, too.
“Sure.”
Rachel brings them snacks but doesn’t stay to chat.
.
On Tuesday Quinn returns to school with Rachel by her side and Puck trailing behind, a hunched shadow of the bright boy (man) he usually is. Rachel doesn’t talk much, which has the entire school on edge. Berry? Shutting up? They expect meteor showers and fire storms.
At the end of the day Quinn lays her hand on Rachel’s arm in the car and says, “I made him swear he wouldn’t tell anyone.”
The other girl looks at her out of the corner of her eye as she takes a right turn and nods curtly. But something in her shoulders relaxes and Quinn thinks that, if she were still the girl she was five months ago, she might be trying to murder Rachel Berry for liking Puck, who belongs to Quinn. Not because she wants him, but because he wants her.
Finn and Puck, they have both always been Quinn’s. The likes of Rachel Berry had no right to even look at them.
Funny how things change.
By the time weekend rolls around again, Rachel sticks around when Puck comes over to visit and their bickering makes Quinn laugh tears.
(Sometimes they’re good tears.)
.
The three of them become a strange unit, tied together by the baby growing in Quinn’s middle, but they’re limping and lopsided and they all know why.
Finn is a tall, glowering pit of anger in the halls, slinking around them like they don’t exist. Rachel, too, surprisingly.
Quinn asks her why one day at lunch and the other girl shrugs. “I assume it is a mixture of resentment for me being the proverbial messenger to be shot and then extending my hand to you in friendship, when he was obviously the wronged party, not you. My continued association with Noah, who most of the school sees as the guilty party in this situation is also not helpful in returning me to Finn’s good graces.”
“Then why do you?” Puck asks, slamming his lunch tray down next to her and slipping into the bench, bumping shoulders with her like he wasn’t throwing slushies at her six months ago. Hell, three months ago. He steals half of her sandwich and she doesn’t even blink, simply pulling out the spare she always prepares these days, well aware that cafeteria food can’t sustain the Puckerone. (His words, not hers.)
“Finn has the entirety of the student body and most of the teachers on his side. Quinn, who is pregnant, homeless and without support, has no-one.”
“So I’m your good deed for the decade?” Quinn asks, poking a stick of carrot into the yoghurt dip one Mr. Berry prepared for her because school grub makes her sick like a dog. A pregnant, hormonal dog.
Rachel nods. “I am certain that this will at one point make a great story to emphasize my altruistic and humanitarian virtues which can only help to boost my fame. Also, I am a nice person. I am not you.”
It’s funny, how, for all her verbosity (and Quinn learned that word from Rachel, so sue her), sometimes the annoying brunette just sinks her teeth right into the heart of an issue and rips it wide open with a single move and a few deadly words.
Rachel is not Quinn.
End of discussion.
.
It gets ridiculous three weeks later when Mr. Schue pairs the two boys together in an effort to make them get over their differences and they sit at opposite ends of the choir room and make Artie ferry messages riddled with insults from one to the other.
The girls exchange looks and nods and then Quinn grabs Puck and Rachel grabs Finn and they drag them, kicking and protesting, into an empty classroom on the third floor (to make escape through a window impossible.) They stand guard at the door and inform the boys that they are not leaving before they are on speaking terms again, thank you very much.
Puck curses and Finn kicks a desk hard enough to hurt himself and Rachel says, “You have been best friends since first grade. Don’t be more stupid than you are.”
The whole school spends the rest of the semester wondering what exactly happens in the forty-five minutes during which the former Ice Queen and the resident Loser Queen stand guard at the door, listening hard to the muffled words in the room behind them. Finn and Puck, the only people who know, refuse to talk about it. But they come out shoulder to shoulder, month-old tension gone from their frames.
They’re not best buddies again, but they’re getting there.
.
(What happens is this:
Puck tells Finn that the only reason he ever wanted Quinn was because she was taking Finn away from him and Finn is his boy. Which is totally fucked because the last time the Puckerone talked about his feelings, he was like, ten or something. But he does it, because this is Finn.
Finn, who shifts on his feet uncomfortably and says nothing because they never talk about it like this. What they sometimes do with each other since they were thirteen has no words and needs no words. They’re friends. They’re bros.
So what if they both know how to get the other off in under two minutes? What if Finn totally loves the way Puck tastes after he’s had a few too many beers? It’s just guy stuff, just fooling around. Just shit they do when there’s nothing else to do.
“You were jealous,” Finn summarizes.
“Yeah. Fuck. And then… she made me swear man.”
Puck has never been able to break a promise, no matter how fucked. Especially not if the promise was to a woman he cared about and he cares about Quinn, even if he hates her, too.
“Shit,” Finn says.
“Yeah.” And then, “She’s yours, too, you know?”
“Quinn?”
“The baby. She… Quinn wanted you to be the father because she loves you, man. You’d make a way better dad than me.”
“How? I don’t have the first clue about fathers.”
Puck laughs. (Finn never notices before that it’s not a very real laugh at all.) “And you think I do?”
It’s what made them stick together in the first place. Puck and Finn, the two fatherless boys. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much that they won’t get to keep Drizzle.
And that’s that.)
.
After that the Berry household is never empty. Quinn doesn’t like going out much and so they come to her. Puck brings games and music, Finn brings stories and himself, Rachel brings food and gossip and opinions. Sometimes it’s only two of them, sometimes three, sometimes four.
But Quinn is always at the center of them and they work around their problems for her, for the baby. The sexual tension between Puck and Rachel is sometimes palpable but they do nothing. The gooey eyes Finn makes at Rachel are annoying, but he never makes a move. Puck and Finn still grate at each other at times, but they never back off.
They build a cocoon around Quinn and her unborn daughter and she finds herself thinking of the baby girl as theirs. Drizzle will have two fathers and two mothers, if only for the few short minutes before someone else becomes her family and changes her name.
They all meet all potential adoptive parents and tag-team them. If they ask stupid questions about why there are four parents and what this silly business is about, they end the interview right there. If they accept the four tangled teenagers sitting on the couch opposite them, they make it to the next round.
They never talk about why that is. It just is.
And Quinn is at the center of it all.
.
(But it’s Rachel who holds all three of them the night Drizzle is born, letting them sob into her shoulder, singing them lullabies they’ll never sing to that little girl.)
.
Until the day school lets out for summer and Quinn gets into a car that will take her far, far away. They built this cozy little foursome, this web of resentment and friendship and past and present and future around her like a dome resting on a single pillar.
With that pillar gone, it all comes crashing down and they stand there, the three of them, feeling like someone pulled their middle out because for the better part of a year, they revolved around Quinn.
And now she’s gone and they are without gravity. It feels funny. Friend, girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, ex-enemy, sister, lover. Friend. Always friend. Except… they’re drifting and Rachel sways slightly between the two boys, clutching the envelope close.
Puck steadies her without thinking and Finn looks at them and they look at each other and they haven’t got the first idea what to do with each other.
That’s how it starts.
.
.
The first official day of summer, Finn buys soda, chips and a Disney movie and finds himself on Puck’s doorstep. It’s not even a conscious decision, it’s just how it’s always been. How they’ve started the summer since they were seven. Finn gets snacks and Puck offers the house because he needs to look after his little sister and can’t leave. They park Sarah on the couch with the movie and make their way upstairs into Puck’s room where they spend the day shooting the breeze, planning the summer, playing games.
The thought that this summer might be different because Puck impregnated Finn’s girlfriend and then kept it secret for five full months doesn’t even occur. Puck’s that deeply ingrained in Finn.
And from the way Puck opens the door like he expected no-one else, it’s kind of obvious that Finn is that deeply ingrained in Puck, too.
It’s only around noon when they run out of shit to talk about and fall silent that they suddenly look at each other and wonder when this happened, when they started being okay with each other again.
Then Sarah bounces into the room and demands food and the moment’s over.
.
On the second day of summer they drive Sarah to her friend Natalie and leave her there with the promise to take the girls to see a movie the next day. Nat’s mother happily agrees since the agreement is not new and those two boys have always returned her daughter safely.
She may be one of the only people in Lima that believe in Puck.
They go to Finn’s house and lie around in the living room, eating leftover pizza and watching porn. It’s bad porn, the kind that’s so utterly ridiculous it makes you want to laugh even as it undeniably turns you on.
Finn’s hand is the first to wander and it settles on Puck’s stomach and from there, goes lower. They jerk each other off, sloppily and lazily, eyes fixed on the screen. Finn’s early-shooter problem ceases to be a problem because Puck doesn’t expect shit from him and never has. This? This is like kicking around a ball and playing Halo.
Afterwards Puck passes the Kleenex box and Finn wrinkles his nose a bit at the mess they made and thinks, with about half his brain, that Rachel would call them disgusting boys with stress on the second part. (Her hands would be on her hips, her left foot tapping and she’d look totally hot.)
They agree that they’re thirsty and wander into the kitchen, not bothering to turn the DVD off. Puck gets them both a glass of water and they lean against opposite counters, their feet bumping between them, just looking at each other.
After a minute Puck sets down his glass and gets in Finn’s face, kissing him. Finn holds still, lets him, tries to work with it and knows it falls flat.
Puck pulls away, runs a hand over his ‘hawk and says, “Fuck, man. Fuck.”
Finn nods, shrugs. Says, “Kurt is taking Artie shopping this week. He says he’ll turn him into a chick-magnet.”
Puck laughs. “Should be interesting.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Mhm. Probably because of Tina.”
“What about her?” Finn asks, blinking, taking a sip of his water.
“Dude, she’s totally screwing Chang. It’s an Asian-Other-Asian love fest.”
Finn spews water and Puck makes him clean his shit up. In the living room, a bottle blonde with fake boobs moans way too loudly to be credible.
.
Let’s face it, they’re bored.
It might have something to do with that personal growth shit Rachel keeps going on about, or it might be that they suddenly have a shitload of free time. They’re used to balancing school, glee, football, Quinn time, jobs and helping their mothers around the house. All of a sudden, that’s all gone, except the family stuff.
Finn only ever worked to help Quinn and Puck’s pool cleaning business went down the drain with his libido. He didn’t ever really know shit about pools and the cougars didn’t really hire him for that anyway. Finn snorts and calls him a manwhore when he hears that.
Puck punches him in the thigh and chews on his neck until he whimpers. Just to make a point, you understand.
But that’s not really why they’re bored. They wasted countless days of their youth (wow, Rachel totally rubbed off on them) just like this. There’s something else missing.
They both have no clue what that is until Finn suggests, “Let’s see what Rachel’s doing,” and they jump on the idea like it’s the best thing since Santana’s rack.
And Santana’s rack is fucking fabulous.
.
One of her fathers lets them in and tells them to go right through, Rachel’s in the backyard. Just like that. Either those men are so gay they’ve completely forgotten what teenaged boys do with teenaged girls, or they actually, like, trust her. Which is… wow. Awkward, considering all the shit the two of them have pulled. But probably justified because Rachel is like, good.
She’s lying on a blanket in the middle of the yard and her bikini is totally tiny and Puck thinks fucking hot and a single look at Finn tells him that yeah, his boy is right there with him. They grin at each other, shrug and wordlessly walk up, plopping down on either side of her at exactly the same time, scaring the shit out of her. She yelps, jumps and when she realizes who they are, she smacks them both in the chest with her flat palms. It stings and they laugh louder.
On the porch, her fathers stand and watch and they seem happy. At ease. Puck wonders if that’s what it’s like when parents look at their kid and don’t see a complete fuck up. Finn tells Rachel that they were bored and just wanted to visit, see how she is. No-one says out loud that they know she must be feeling a bit lonely, now that Quinn is gone. (They all know it anyway.)
But this thing, this getting to know each other without Quinn around might not be all bad because Finn says Puck brought his guitar and he gets it and Rachel pulls out a few pots and bowls from the kitchen and Finn sets up a makeshift drum set and they just starts jamming in her backyard and it rocks.
Her fathers clap and after the third song or so, the neighbors stars cat-calling over the fence, asking is they take requests. They do an awesome Hotel California and they totally spin I Love Rock’n’Roll.
It’s awesome and totally not boring.
.
It becomes the new routine. Finn still brings snacks and Puck still supplies the place, but Rachel brings entertainment and she has way better ways of keeping Sarah occupied than the boys ever had.
They hang out in Puck’s room, or in the backyard. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they play games, sometimes they surf the internet together and read high school blogs and laugh. Sometimes they make music. Sarah always finds them when they do and sits on the floor, face in her hands, watching them.
One night, after Finn offers to drive Rachel home after pizza and a movie, Sarah sneaks into the kitchen way past her bedtime and makes Puck lift her on the counter. Their mother hangs in the doorway, waiting. Sarah told her she needs to tell Noah something and her expression was solemn. (She learned that word from Rachel and uses it too much.)
“I like when you make music with Rachel and Finn,” she tells him in her secret-voice. “It sounds so pretty.”
He thinks that might mean something and then looks funny at his glass of coke because, seriously, did someone slip him something? When the hell did he grow a vagina?
.
They have a plan. It’s a five step plan and they wrote it down. Rachel really is fucking rubbing off on them, Puck says, and puts enough innuendo in the remark that Finn actually cringes and smacks him upside the ‘hawk.
Step one: Kidnap Berry.
It’s easy enough because all they have to do is show up at her place and tell her to get her shit, they’re going somewhere. They promise her fathers to get her home in one piece and that’s all the two Mr. Berry demand, because they trust Rachel.
She bucks for a moment but agrees because, ultimately, she trusts them not to murder her and bury her body in a shallow grave.
Step two: Stop at the nearest 7/11 and whip out the fake ID. It’s Puck’s because Finn has one, too, but his milk and sugar face isn’t going to get them any beer. At. All.
Finn waits with Rachel in the car so she can’t make a scene and get them all into trouble by probably screaming through the store that they’re minors. (Only Rachel never really screams. She… belts things out.)
When Puck returns with two six packs and a bag of sour cream and onion chips (her favorite), she gapes and asks them what they think they are doing.
“We’re getting you drunk, Rach,” Finn tells her.
Puck flinches and waits for her to start laying into them. Instead she just asks, “Why?”
(He thinks she learned that from Quinn, who learned it from Drizzle via some pre-natal telepathy bullshit connection or something. She never did it before the baby. But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t even think that. Quinn’s been gone almost three weeks and his daughter - their daughter - longer than that.)
“Because we’re pretty sure it’s going to be awesome,” Finn answers and even though he’s a totally idiot a lot of the time, he does hit the nail on the head every now and then. Simple does it, apparently.
Step three: Find a place.
Predictably (or not) they end up back in the place where everything starts and ends for teenagers. High school. They climb over the fence (and both the boys totally peek up her skirt as they gallantly make her go first) and sit on the bleachers, teaching their girl how to drink beer from a can.
Step four: Get her to drink that first beer.
See above for details. She almost spills most of the first can because she doesn’t open it right and it sort of… goes all over the place. Finn takes it from her, empties the can in one gulp and then licks his sticky fingers clean. Her eyes do not linger.
(They totally do.)
They instruct her very carefully on the second can and she only hesitates for a moment before downing it. (“Do not push me, Noah, I am merely trying to commit this moment to memory as it is one of the fifty-three firsts I have marked as memorable moments of my life that must be savored at all costs. I want to remember this tomorrow.” It totally figures that she has a bucket list with a very fancy and complicated name.)
Step five: Keep ‘em coming.
Rachel Berry is a loud and horny drunk and she cannot hold her liquor. At all. This is the easiest they’ve ever gotten anyone drunk and that includes Quinn and the wine coolers, which they do not talk about.
They have to add a sixth step to their plan, which is, of course, something that totally slipped their minds. Namely: Aftermath.
How the hell are they supposed to get a giggly, swaying and singing Rachel past her fathers and into her bed without bringing down hell on their heads?
The answer? Not at all.
Puck orders Finn to take Rachel down to the field where she a) can do those dance steps she’s been doing without falling off the bleachers and b) will be out of earshot when he calls her fathers. It’s his job because Finn can’t lie worth shit. It’s like honesty just pours off of him or something and it goes sour as soon as he tries to bullshit someone and it stinks. Or maybe it’s the way he shuffles around and doesn’t look you in the eye.
Anyway, Puck takes Rachel’s phone and calls her dads, telling them that they’re at his place and she fell asleep. No, they don’t have the heart to wake her up. Is it okay if she stays? They’ll bring her around tomorrow. He hangs up just in time because a second later Rachel bursts into song and that voice? Carries like nothing you’ve ever heard.
It’s not one of her usual show tunes but some poppy emo shit that Quinn loves. (Loved.) “One of these days the sky’s gonna break and everything will escape,” she sings, arms spread wide, spinning in place. Finn is trying to reign her in but of course the pussy totally fails and Puck jogs over to help him. She giggles and twists out of his way every time he makes a grab for her until he finally gets tired of it and launches himself at her, full tackle.
She stops singing in surprise, the air pushed out of her as she lands on her back under him. He has his arms around her and their legs are tangled in bad (good) places. She blinks up at him with those doe eyes, wide and dewy, totally smashed, and brings one hand up to trail a finger from his eye to his jawline, miming a tear or whatever else the fuck is going on in her drunken head.
She starts singing again, picking up where she left of, “We were made to never fall away, never fall away.” Her voice is low and sweet, different from anything he’s ever heard. “One of these days letters are gonna fall from the sky, telling us all to go free…”
She trails off into low humming, her hand playing around his ear, scraping along his short hair. It turns him on like hell but she keeps humming and that’s Quinn’s song, the song she always listened to when she was sad and she was sad a lot while she was pregnant and then, shit, he’s crying like Rachel wordlessly prophesied and he hates it.
He buries his face in her neck, inhaling her scent, pretending he’s not sobbing. There’s a dull thud as Finn drops onto the grass next to them and asks, low and serious, “Where do you think she is now?”
Puck shakes his head into Rachel’s shoulder and she wraps her arms and legs around him and just holds him there, still humming, humming for him because he doesn’t know where his daughter is and he never will. She’s gone.
It feels like she’s dead.
Finn’s paw lands, clumsy and big, on the center of his back, hot and heavy and there. Rachel rolls them into Finn and it turns into a big mess of limbs and Puck is too fucked up to complain about the feelings and shit.
“I miss them,” Rachel whispers, and she sounds more lucid than she did ten minutes ago.
“Yeah,” Finn agrees. “It’s not fair.”
(It’s not fair that Quinn could just turn around and walk away, not fair that Drizzle isn’t Drizzle anymore at all, not fair that she’ll never know that there are four completely overwhelmed teenagers who love her with all their heart, that she has a daddy who would have done anything for her and shit. Shit, shit, shit.)
Puck screams into Rachel’s skin and all she does it hold him tighter as she shakes.
They fall asleep like this.
.
Predictably, they don’t get away with their little field trip. Considering their collective luck over the past year, that shouldn’t surprise them as much as it does.
(They don’t know that it’s simply a big honking coincidence that the Berrys run into Puck’s mom when they’re out getting breakfast and thank her for having Rachel, to which Ms. Puckerman replies that she hasn’t seen her son in a while and they’re probably sleeping at Finn’s place. They call his mother, but she hasn’t seen them either.
That’s when they all start panicking just a little bit because their kids are mostly grown and not (very) stupid, but the last anyone heard of them was before midnight the night before and that’s… long ago.)
A phone ringing in the vicinity of her head wakes Rachel and she squirms in confusion until it registers that the heavy weight across her stomach is Noah’s and Finn’s combined arms. She sits up and looks behind her and swallows a giggle because they’re totally spooning and if they were awake right now, they’d probably kill her simply to ensure she’d never tell. She starts reaching for her own phone to take a picture, but Noah took it last night and she doesn’t know where he put it. (The bleachers.)
The ringing keeps up and she kind of admires those two boys for their marvelous ability to sleep through just about anything. She bends over them and listens until she locates the phone in Finn’s back pocket and pulls it out. He grunts and twists a bit into Noah, who grumbles.
(She has them completely figured out, but she doesn’t tell them that.)
Her head feels fuzzy and too full and she prescribes it a name (hangover), taking a second to take it in, before she checks the screen and sees ‘mom’ flashing there. Oh dear. She presses the button and raises the phone to her ear.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson,” she greets, trying to muster some of her usual cheer. She didn’t know it was possible for her own voice to grate on her like this.
“Good morning?” Mrs. Hudson echoes, sounding darkly amused. Not good. “Honey, it’s almost noon and none of us know where you are so we would appreciate it if the three of you would get to the Puckermans’. Now. And tell Finn he is grounded.”
This? One of the reasons Rachel should have told the boys no when they told her their plan for the night. Actually, she should have told them no the first time they came to hang out with her. They aren’t friends. She got slushied by them and kissed them both and loves them a bit and they hate her still because she’s Crazy Rachel Berry and they’re not… they worked together for Quinn’s sake.
She isn’t even sure why they stick around.
(That’s not true.)
She nods into the phone and looks down to see two pairs of bleary eyes focused on her. Apparently they ignore any sort of alarm better than voices. Good to know. She glares at Finn for leaving her to deal with his worried mother. “We’ll be there in a while. Just… We didn’t do anything bad, I promise. We merely fell asleep before either of us remembered to inform you of our whereabouts.”
She hangs up and wordlessly hands Finn back his phone. They heard. She doesn’t have to tell them. “Wishing you’d never hung out with us?” Noah asks as he runs a hand over his silly hairdo and face, trying to rub away the evidence of his crying.
She cocks her head to the side, taking in his bloodshot eyes and Finn’s puppy dog smile. Her head is pounding.
“No,” she says.
There is grass in her hair.
.
They stand in front of their disappointed and disapproving parents like tin soldiers, all pretty in a row. Puck’s mom looks more tired than anything, exhausted from her son’s constant fuck ups. Finn’s mother is angry and worried, but the worry wins out and that’s worse. Rachel’s fathers just look at her, waiting.
Neither of the three says anything because they had to stop and get some gum on the way home and seriously, what are they supposed to say? (“We got Rachel drunk and then we got drunk and she sang a song and we cried because somewhere, out there, there’s a baby that should be here, fuck it all!”)
Yeah.
“This is just not okay,” Mrs. Hudson finishes a long winded lecture that no-one except Rachel listened to and Puck can’t help himself. He opens his mouth, takes a deep breath and then visibly reigns himself in, fisting his jeans, clenching his jaw. He spins on his heel and thunders up the stairs with a tightly coiled rage that hangs in the room long after he leaves.
They all watch him go and then Rachel clasps her hands in front of her stomach and says, “I think the problem, Mrs. Hudson, is that we are not okay. You have all told us repeatedly, separately and together how proud you are of us for stepping up and doing our best to help Quinn and get a grip on the situation that arose with the baby. However, somewhere along the way you seem to have forgotten that no matter how well we pulled together and how good we seem to be handling an admittedly extremely stressful and emotional situation, we are still only teenagers. The adoption of baby Drizzle and Quinn’s subsequent departure have left us all reeling, trying to deal with her absence and that-,” she sniffles a little, straightens and puts on the Rachel Berry Stage Face, which includes a wide smile that is utterly fake and grotesque because there are tears standing in her eyes.
“It hurts,” she finally finishes, sounding small and young. She nods once to herself, spins on her heel and follows Noah, leaving behind only Finn.
He hooks a finger over his shoulder at her and offers, “What she said.”
.
(While they take turns in the bathroom, their parents sit in the living room in stunned silence, watching the stairs. The three teenagers that walked up there a minute ago are hurt strangers and they all wait, deep down, wait for their own children, those happy, innocent, gap-toothed children, to come back down the stairs.
They wait for things to be okay again, knowing they won’t ever be.
(They haven’t been since Quinn said, “I’m keeping it.”
Since Puck said, “I won’t let you do this alone.”
Since Rachel said, “That’s what friends do.”
Since Finn said, “I just… you know.”)
It hurts when children grow up.)
.
.
(They don’t know what they’re doing. Haven’t got the slightest idea, in fact.)
.
They spend their days together, doing anything and everything, avoiding their friends and families. They spend their nights curling together far closer and tighter than three teenagers ever should.
They talk. They sing.
When Rachel has one of her many classes (not as many as last summer or any summer before) Finn and Puck find a quiet place and grope and twist and pull and bite and it’s angrier and edgier than it ever was before and they can’t pretend anymore that it doesn’t mean anything.
(They jump apart like scalded cats when Rachel calls and don’t so much as graze shoulders for the next twenty-four hours.)
It means something.
They just have no idea what.
.
Santana throws a party and they go. Puck’s angrier than he ever was, grating against anything and everything like broken glass and he finds a bottle of booze and a willing girl fast enough, dragging both away into a far corner and closing his eyes tightly. (She was apparently living under a rock, or maybe in Michigan, when Babygate broke and doesn’t know that he’s pond scum outside of glee.)
Rachel stands next to the patio doors, looking as out of place as she feels, hands clasped behind her back, posture perfect, as always. Finn is fooling around on the dance floor with Matt and Mike, trying new moves and amusing half the guests with his epileptic twitching.
Rachel watches and knows that he’s too big, too lanky to ever be a dancer. Compact movement needs a compact body, coiled energy. There is simply too much of Finn to ever be graceful. (But she wanted him to be, so badly. Feels forever ago now, those star-struck days of puppy love for a boy who belonged to another girl.)
Somewhere up on the second floor a door slams and when she turns to look for Noah, his corner is empty. Kurt is next to her suddenly, opening his mouth and she knows without waiting for it, that he’s about to insult her outfit. (Skirt, t-shirt, flats. No blouse, no ruffles. It doesn’t matter to Kurt. Kurt doesn’t like what’s inside the clothes.)
So she takes a breath and puts on her best panic face, asking, “Is that beer on those pants, Kurt?”
He goes wide-eyed and pale, twisting desperately, trying to find the stain that doesn’t exist before running off, yelling about interventions and where the hell is Mercedes?
(That was mean. Puck taught her how to be that.)
Finn stops his dancing long enough to follow Kurt’s trail of screaming outrage in reverse, eyes landing on her in her brightly lit corner. His gaze flickers around, looking for Noah and not finding him. He slaps his friends on the shoulder and makes his way over to her, managing to grab two bottles of beer on the way.
He hands her one and they clink them together, smiling. He downs half of it, Rachel sips. She doesn’t like the taste, but the results are nice. (Puck taught her that, too, on the bleachers.)
“You just totally sent Kurt packing, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” There are moments for verbosity. And there are moments for quiet gloating.
“You’re mean, Rach. Totally mean,” he laughs. She shrugs, demure, blushing a bit.
“I feel a bit bad, but I know that he was about to insult my wardrobe choice based solely on the fact that it is me who made said choice. He just…”
“Doesn’t like you?” Finn suggests, his goofy expression fading.
“I thought we could be friends, you know? In glee?”
But they’re not. They stick together against outsiders, but inside their little group, it’s still war. Kurt and Mercedes against Rachel. Puck against everyone, Santana against the other girls. Mostly, it feels like everyone against Rachel.
“I’m sorry, Rach,” Finn shrugs, solemn and big-eyed.
She beams at him. Stage smile #7. “It’s okay. We’re friends, though, right?”
He nods, goof back. “Yeah. I mean, me and Puck, we’re totally your friends.”
(“Puck and me, Finn. Please watch your grammar.” She doesn’t say it.)
Correction. “Puck and I are not friends.”
“What? Why?”
“We weren’t before.” She smiles again and he doesn’t get it. He wasn’t there for that particular bleacher-moment.
Finn frowns, takes a sip of his beer and then declares, “I don’t get it.”
She pats his arm. “Let’s see where he went, yeah?”
He nods and she leads him out into the garden, where she knows Noah is not.
.
There is an empty gazebo in the back of the giant yard, where the lights and the sounds of the party barely penetrate and Finn’s hands on her hips feel like they did a year ago when she still had that school girl crush on him. A picnic on a stage. God, she thinks, could you be any more symbolic, Berry?
(He kisses better though.)
They make out for a while, hastily, hurried, like they’re afraid of something. (They all are.)
Then she pushes him away suddenly, her hands on his heaving chest, resting her forehead against his shoulder. He smells of sweat, beer and Finn. She says his name and he shrugs, uncomfortable. It’s hot and his shirt and hair are plastered to him. He looks a bit like a lanky, drowned puppy.
“I don’t think…”
He steps away from her, nodding. “You’re right. We should split. We’re gonna find Puck faster that way.”
.
He was going to screw that chick whose name he can’t quite remember. Really. He was. She had a tongue like a frog, a bod made to be sexed and they were both pleasantly buzzed on San’s father’s expensive scotch.
A roll in the sack with that bitch was a sure thing. Right up until she fell asleep when he was trying to get to second base. Fucking. Hell. Just his luck that she’s one of those chicks that go from a nice buzz directly to comatose.
He grabbed her phone, called her bff who was downstairs somewhere (her name was Cherry and he knows her name because he totally did her before Babygate) and told her to get her punked out friend some place where she won’t choke on her own vomit. Predictably, Cherry bitched at him like the psycho she is as she dragged drunk!chick out of the room.
He waved.
Now he’s lying in the middle of a mussed up bed with only a mostly empty bottle of booze to keep him company and a hard-on that really, really needs some attention. Fuck. It’s times like these that he wishes he was into somnophilia. (Great. Now Rachel’s gone and corrupted his inner monologue with her word-a-day mentality.)
He’s not, by the way. Into screwing unconscious chicks. He likes participation and loudly voiced confirmations of his stud-ness, thanks a lot.
There’s a knock on the door and he yells the standard, “Fuck off, we’re busy!”
A moment later the door opens and yeah, speak of the Berry. She enters the room after a cautious look around and, finding no naked girls lying around, closes the door behind her, leaning against it. “Are you drunk?”
He grunts and waves the bottle in her face, not bothering to answer verbally. She sighs. “You’re our designated driver.”
“Screw you, Berry.”
See, the problem? A year ago, Rachel would have turned tail and ran at being insulted so plainly. A year ago she would have been Berry, not Rachel. But these days she’s either grown a very thick skin when it comes to his tongue or he’s turned into a total pussy. He suspects it’s a bit of both.
“We’ll just crash,” he says after a moment of silence. Because appeasing her has become second nature and he knows she’s waiting for it. For him to talk. (She always is.)
“That’s what I am afraid of, Noah.”
He lifts his head to give her the stink eye. “Crash here. Not with the car. Buy a goddamn slang dictionary.”
“Why are you angry?”
Anyone else asking that question would either get a fist in the face or a glare to scare their mother. Because Puck’s not angry. Because Puck’s always angry. Because it’s his fucking default setting and if you don’t like it, he’ll gladly beat you to the door. But when this girl asks, he answers. “My date totally checked out before second base. Then her friend wailed on me for being an asshole. Then I used the word ‘somnophilia’.”
She laughs. Bitch.
“You totally ruined me, Berry. That shit isn’t funny!” He means that in more ways than just her ten-dollar vocab.
She laughs some more and he decides to drown her out. Literally. With scotch. Then she says, “I made out with Finn in the garden.”
And he spits thirty-year-old booze across the expensive bedspread, ruining both in the process. And his shirt. Fuck.
“Noah?”
“Did he…,” he swallows and eyes the bottle, finding it not nearly empty enough for this conversation. “Have an early release?” He leers and smirks and knows that she looks right through it.
“No. We stopped.”
“Why? Saint Finn not good enough for you, Berry?” Now if only he could decide which of them he’s pissed at. (The needle hangs halfway between ‘both’ and ‘neither’.)
She sighs, shakes her head and sits next to him, daintily avoiding the alcohol stains with a little frown of distaste. “Finn was my first kiss, you know?”
The hell? No, he didn’t know that.
“We kissed in the auditorium and then he told me to pretend it never happened.” She smiles and pats his arm in that granny-move of hers. “You were the second boy I kissed.”
With a bland expression he raises the bottle, saluting. “Here’s to eternally getting sloppy seconds.”
She slaps him hard enough for the sound to snap through the entire room. “I am not your sloppy anything, Noah Puckerman.”
His cheek stings so he rubs at it, eyes fixed on his friend, the bottle. Maybe he’s had enough after all. He’s fucking things up again. (And his potential for fuck-upping rises directly proportionally to the amount of alcohol he consumes. Exhibit one: Quinn Fabray.)
He looks for the cap of the bottle and doesn’t find it (not surprisingly). So he puts the bottle on the bedside table and lies back down. “Dude, the only time I got there before Finn, I knocked the chick up and ruined everything.”
“It was a mistake,” she informs him tartly and he’s amazed (again) how she can lecture him and defend him from himself at the same time. (He’s pretty sure that has to do with that whole ‘faith’ thing she’s got going.)
“I knocked up my best friend’s virgin girlfriend, Berry. Sloppy seconds is good. Can’t break it if it’s already broken.”
He sees her hand twitch out of the corner of his eye and knows she wants to smack him again for putting himself down. The only one who’s ever believed in him like this is his mother and she gave up around the time he came staggering home at six in the morning for the first time, telling her to go fuck herself when she asked where he’d been.
Then she’s suddenly sitting on top of him, her small hands braced on either side of his head, glaring at him with a solid ninety pounds of fury behind her. It’s scarier than it ought to be. She leans down until her hair separates them from the rest of the world and he can smell beer and strawberry lipgloss on her breath.
“I am not broken, Noah Puckerman,” she growls. Damn, that’s hot.
He must be leering because she smacks her palm into the bedding and repeats, low and dangerous and with an edge of panic, “I. Am. Not. Broken.”
“Who you’re trying to convince, babe?” he asks quietly, meeting her eyes head on even though she’s too close to focus on properly. Her brown eyes are nothing but a dark smear above him.
She kisses him.
Of course he kisses back. He’s male. He’s drunk. She’s possibly the best kisser he’s ever come across. And she just admitted to making out with Finn. Puck wants Finn. Puck wants what Finn has. It’s always been that way. He buries his fingers in her hair and pulls her into him, biting, licking, nipping until her lips are wide open, letting him in.
Her low heels dig into his knees and she grinds down on his lap hard enough to be uncomfortable. And eventually he tries to pull back because hello! This is Rachel Fucking Proper Berry and he’s pretty sure she’s doing this for all the wrong reasons.
He pushes against his shoulders and she digs her tiny fingers into his guns and growls, “Don’t you dare push me away.”
Guh. Hot.
She grabs his left hand, pushes it under her top and then his right and shoves it up her skirt. He thinks his brain may be exploding, and that’s before she starts moving again. His hands switch to autopilot, one kneading the other tracing crazy patterns, feather light, then rough. She moans like a porn star (He knew she would. Come on, she’s loud.) and throws back her head, still moving steady and he might just come in his pants for the first time since he was thirteen. When that girl crosses a line, she annihilates it.
He tugs her down with one hand, desperate for another one of these kisses and when she moves to pull back he shoves her panties aside and twists his thumb right there and she shatters on top of him, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood before going limp.
He withdraws his hands slowly, causing her to twitch a bit and he can’t resist licking his fingers because he’s got like, the boner of the century in his pants and she doesn’t look like she’s going to do anything about it. Guy’s got to get his kicks somewhere.
She watches him, heavy lidded, from where she’s resting her head on his shoulder and he exaggerates every swipe of his tongue, just for her. She bites her lip and then sits up, keeping herself steady with her palms against his chest, totally twisting his nipple ring without noticing. Sh-it.
“See?” she demands, still sounding, like, well, sex. “Not broken.”
That’s when he realizes she just let him get to second (third?) base for the sole reason of proving he doesn’t ruin everything he touches first. Meaning this was her first. Meaning. Aw, fuck.
“You’re screwed in the head, Berry. Seriously.”
The really messed up thing though? He knows she was saving that up for someone special, someone who matters. She told him so. And here she is, giving it up for Lima Loser #1 and his fucking ego.
He ruins everything he touches. (Exhibit two: Rachel Berry.)
She nods, earnest and solemn and he has no idea what to say. (Puckerman’s speechless. Quick, alert the newspapers.)
“What?” Finn’s voice comes from the doorway, half-choked. Puck knows, just from the sound of his voice, that his eyes are glazed and he’s totally turned on. How long has he been fucking standing there? He clears his throat. “What are you two… doing?”
“Proving a point,” Rachel informs him, sounding prim again. “Lock the door, please, Finn. Too many people walk into this room.”
He obediently turns the lock and then looks at her for approval and new orders like a puppy. (And he’s supposed to be the leader. No wonder they never get any-fucking- where.) But Rachel simply slips off Puck’s lap and curls into his side without another word, falling asleep.
(Pretending to, but don’t tell.)
.
.
Finn lies on Puck’s other side, eyes wide and glazed and horny as anything. For a minute or ten they just listen to Rachel’s quiet breathing, staring at the ceiling. It some kind of dark wood and it looks expensive and Puck thinks that Santana’s parents own entirely too much shit. (The hell did she dump him for his credit score when she’s swimming in dough? Bitch.)
Then Puck asks. “Stood there long?”
His boy shifts uncomfortably (They are teenaged boys. Those boners aren’t going to just, like, go away.) and then nods. “A while. Did you…?”
A shrug. “Yeah. Whatever, man.”
More silence. Rachel lies against his side like a warm rock, solid. (In more than one sense.)
“You wanna?”
“Fuck, yes?”
They turn towards each other simultaneously, hands going for belt buckles, buttons and zippers as Finn reels Puck in by the back of his ‘hawk and kisses him. (Big fucking girl.) They both pretend that they can’t taste remnants of strawberry lipgloss on each other and then Puck has Finn’s jeans pushed down enough to get a hold and Frankenteen totally moans.
Puck withdraws his fingers and glares.
“Wha’?” And then Finn’s stupid brain kicks in and he remembers that their girl is lying, like, half a foot away, totally within touching distance. Which is hot as all get out, but not very conductive to sexing your boy in a totally non-gay way. Plainly: If Finn plans to get off tonight, he’s better keep his trap shut or put it to good use. Quietly.
He nods and bites his lip in this totally adorable way that makes Puck want to give him, like, dog biscuits and squeaky toys. Behind them, Rachel giggles and they both freeze, hands in each others’ pants.
They are so busted.
She sits up and all either of them sees is her face above them. Finn makes a strangled noise and tries to move away, but Puck reflexively holds him tighter and the noise gets louder, until he sounds like hurt cat.
“Faking it, Rach?” Puck asks, as casually as can be with someone else’s hands on your junk.
“I was exhausted,” she defends and he can see that she has trouble keeping her eyes front and center.
“Sure you were, babe.” He grins wickedly because he’s the one who exhausted her.
Finn makes that noise again and pulls away slightly. “Guys…”
But Rachel’s biting her lips in that way that means she’s thinking even though she’s trying really hard not to and they’re both conditioned to hold still and wait until the expression passes, lest her crazy spread to them. Finn looks like he’s convinced she’s going to start screaming any moment now, but Puck isn’t so sure.
This Rachel, the Summer Rachel, post Quinn and Baby Rachel, Beer and Kisses Rachel, she’s not the girl they both love a little bit and hate in almost equal parts during the school year. She’s something else entirely and they’re not sure if that’s because of the season, what happened, or them.
(When they’re alone in their rooms they can both admit that they hope it wasn’t them because she deserves better than that. But they’re pretty sure no-one’s listening to that particular wish.)
This Rachel suddenly leans across Puck’s chest and puts a hand low on Finn’s belly, making the muscles there quiver like a horse’s. “I want,” she starts, pupils blown, hair tousled.
They’re all just drunk enough to do this. To really, actually, do this thing they’ve been building up to and dreading all summer.
She swallows and brushes her hand down Finn’s treasure trail until her fingers his Puck’s and they all let out a sound that’s not a whine. They’re all too badass to whine.
(They so do.)
“I want,” she repeats, but this time Puck doesn’t think there’s anything more to the sentence. She wants. Funny, how two half naked guys are what it takes to render Rachel Berry speechless. Sad, too, because if she doesn’t have words, who does?
Puck finally gets go of Finn’s junk and the other boy immediately tries to pull away only to be stopped by Rachel’s fingers digging into the waist of his boxer shorts, keeping him in place. He goes all Bambi-eyed. (Again. What the fuck’s with the cute animals expressions?) The fucking idiot still doesn’t get it.
Puck twists so he’s on his back, grabs Berry around the waist and pulls her across his chest and until she’s lying between them. He turns her to face Finn and pulls the douche’s head in until they’re nose to nose and when they finally get the hint and start kissing, he rucks up her shirt and splays his hands over her naked stomach and waist. His fingers reach all the way around, just like he remembers.
So tiny. (He sometimes thinks of Drizzle and how she was even more fragile than Rachel, how tiny and soft and breakable.) He squeezes tight enough for his splayed fingers to dig uncomfortably into her skin. (Just to prove she won’t break.)
She growls low in her throat, sexy as hell and grabs one of his hands, pulling it around and towards Finn, wordlessly ordering him to help her figure out how to make that boy scream.
Puck wraps her small fingers around Finn’s junk and his own bigger ones around hers and then he twist and squeezes just how Finn likes it, all the while kissing her neck like it’s air. Finn finally catches on that no, this is not one of his wet dreams and yes, this is actually real and starts participating with more than kitten noises, going for Rachel’s skirt.
After that things sort of blur and Puck would like to blame the booze but knows that isn’t it. It’s all hands and tongues and spit and sweat and other fluids, sounds and sights and touch and heat and pure, fucking sensation.
Eventually Puck kneels behind Rachel, hands on her hips and helps her sit on Finn’s lap, head thrown back again, hips twisting in something that starts as pain and ends very differently.
(And it turns out they don’t need words after all.)
.
(This is not one of Rachel’s fifty-three firsts. It’s not part of any of her other lists either.)
.
.
“What happens tomorrow?” she asks on the last day of summer, curled between her two boys under a heap of blankets on the shore of the lake.
“We go back to school,” Noah rumbles and he doesn’t sound like that’s anything to look forward for.
She weighs glee against teachers who do nothing to protect the losers, Jacob Ben-Israel, the hockey team and the absence of Quinn and says nothing.
“Back to glee,” Finn adds, breathing into her neck. He only says it for her sake and they all know it.
“I know,” she agrees, smiling into Noah’s naked shoulder because they try so hard for her, those boys. She wonders if they do it because she’s all that’s left and can’t quite decide if that thought hurts.
There used to be four of them (five if you count the baby) and now there’s only three. They’re pieces of something that was good, something that felt whole. They’re not complete anymore.
(She doesn’t think they were whole to begin with, doesn’t believe they didn’t all lose bits and pieces long before they met.)
But now… they’re less than they were and twisting themselves and each other into new shapes, trying to make a new whole. A new thing. In fifth grade, Jacob tried to impress her with the knowledge that when you chop a worm in two, both halves will survive on their own.
She looked it up and knows it’s not true (not to mention gross), but the idea is nice. Parts surviving. She still wishes there wouldn’t be any breaking or chopping to begin with, though. Once upon a time, Rachel Berry sung about people breaking without understanding more than the words. Because really, it wasn’t going to happen to her. She had goals. She had plans. She had dreams.
Once upon a time wasn’t all that long ago.
“I mean what will happen to us?” The three of them. They can’t stay the way they are, can they? (People will call her whore and there’ll be no end of trouble, one girl with two boys and let’s face it, they can’t keep their hands off her long enough to convince anyone.)
Somewhere at the other end of the lake, someone hollers for another beer, yelling that this is the last night on earth and they’re fucking celebrating. Finn mutters something about going over there and scoring some booze.
“I don’t know, babe,” Noah mutters into her skin and she thinks he sounds sorry as he starts trailing kisses down her collarbone and chest. “But we’re friends.”
She runs a hand through the ‘hawk and he rolls his eyes up to meet hers, giving her his badass grin.
“We weren’t before,” she throws back in his face without heat.
“This is after,” he points out mildly before his tongue is otherwise occupied.
Behind her, Finn shifts closer, making some noise about not getting them and starts tracing patterns on the skin of her stomach, with clumsy, eager fingers.
She tells him that’s okay because she doesn’t get them either and closes her eyes.
.
(Later that night it’s Rachel who sobs into Finn’s shoulder while Noah sings lullabies he’ll never sing to his little girl.
They split before sunrise.)
.
It ends with a beginning.
(Most things do.)
.
End
.
.
.
Now with sequel here.