Broken part 12
Don't hate me.
Title: I'm too foggy today, To know what you're sayin'
Author: Nytegoddess
Pairing: Kurt/Puck
Warning: And we're back to the angst.
A/N: I swear to you all, there's an actual puppy coming...after this.
“So, wait. You want me to spend the whole afternoon with a girl I used to fuck on a regular basis?” Puck slides his hands around to the front of Kurt’s waist and pulls out of the groping session they’ve been involved for the past five minutes.
Kurt leans back and rolls his eyes skyward. “Yes, I’m cool with it. I told you.”
“Alone and unsupervised?” Puck’s eyebrows inch higher towards his very limited hairline.
“Yes. I trust you. And besides, Brittany’s going, so you won’t really…The point is, I trust you. Now I’m trying to slip you some tongue before fifth period, so stop talking.” Kurt plants his lips back on Puck’s and mentally promises to buy him the new Left For Dead game in return for lying to him about this afternoon.
Santana was ‘forcing’ Puck to go bowling with her and Brittany, making up some story about a lane attendant that kept ogling them. Puck, surprisingly, had hesitated, checking with Kurt and finally admitting he had wanted to spend time with him, ‘hanging out’. Kurt had felt a particularly hard pang of regret as he invented a dentist appointment and encouraged Puck to go have fun.
“Can’t I just hang out at the dentist’s office and make fun of you all knocked up on Novocain?” Puck said as the bell rang, signaling the end of their make-out time, and they broke apart to pick up their bags.
“No.” Kurt said firmly, hand on the doorknob. “You go growl at the lowlifes for awhile. It’ll be good for you.” He gave Puck a final kiss and slid out into the hallway, looking around furtively before heading for chemistry.
Three hours later, Kurt was a nervous wreck as he paced up and down the train station. A million thoughts were chasing themselves around his head, the foremost being that Puck was going to dump him then possibly throw him in a dumpster once he found out what Kurt had done, followed by how in the hell he was going to recognize Ella when she got here since he’d never seen the woman before?
His phone buzzes and he yelps before digging it out of his pocket. “What?” He hisses, glancing again at the arrivals board.
“Is she here yet?” Santana whispers, the sounds of the bowling alley coming through the phone.
“Not yet. How’s it going down there?” Kurt forces himself to sit on a bench, bouncing his leg impatiently.
“Not so good.” Santana exhales across town and Kurt feels even more pressure bear down on him. “Finn and Rachel are here, and Quinn. And the others. And Steve.” The last name is dripping with hatred and Kurt wishes he was there to glare appropriately.
“How’s Puck doing?” The overhead blares like Charlie Brown’s teacher and Kurt strains to catch her reply.
“Well, he’s bowled four three hundred games, had nine Mountain Dews, and if he eats another pizza, I’m gonna gain ten pounds just from watching him. I think you better reconsider hiding Ella at your place and come straight here.” A shout from the background is followed by the crashing of pins and Brittany’s voice over the ruckus.
“You guys aren’t supposed to cross the line!”
“Shit!” Santana covers the microphone, evidently, as Kurt can only make out muffled yelling and movement no matter how hard he presses the phone to his ear, until she abruptly comes back and barks out a single order. “Get Ella and get over here, Hummel, or you gonna have to use your Gucci money for Puck’s bail.”
“Santana? Santana!” Kurt’s yelling pointlessly at the phone when a sudden feeling of being scrutinized overtakes him. He freezes, glancing up at the woman standing in front of him and wonders why he ever thought he’d have trouble picking Ella Puckerman out in the crowd.
She was taller then Puck, though that was probably due to the four inch heels on her black boots, and it was clear from her perfect posture that she’d lost none of her showgirl athleticism. As Kurt’s eyes take in her fitted jeans, cowl sweater, and leather trench coat, she slides her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose, deep emerald eyes raking up and down his body to land on his phone, still clenched in his fist.
“Am I interrupting?” Her voice is just as sharp as he remembered, to the point of eeriness, and Kurt drops his hand before straightening and smoothing his hair back.
“No ma’am. I’m Kurt, we talked on the phone before?” He hesitates before sticking his hand out to shake, half of him still imagining doomsday unfolding at the bowling alley, and she takes it, wrapping it around her elbow and guiding him past security and out towards the parking lot.
“Call me Ella. Now give me the skinny on you and my grandson, because I may be an old woman, but I recognize Armani when I see it and I’d bet my menopause you’re the first friend Noah’s ever had who could spell it let alone wear it.”
“Oh, well. We’ve been going to school together for a while. We used to share, um, assembly every morning before class, in fact.” Granted, our assembly met by the trash bins. Kurt crosses his fingers behind his back and plows on. “And we were both on the football team last year. And um, Glee.”
“Uh-uh. And it was all that quality time led you to open your house and family to him out of the blue like this?” Her grip on his arm tightens and he has an unsettling feeling of a noose dropping around his neck.
“I don’t think I know what you’re asking, Mrs.Puc-“ She clears her throat. “Ella.”
“Let me clarify, hon.” They stop in the parking lot next to his baby and she swings him around to face her. “Exactly how long did my grandson torture you before he wised up?”
Kurt takes one look at her expression and throws the bullshit to the wind. “Um, about two years?”
“Sounds about right.” She sighs and heads around to the passenger seat. “Took Leo six before he got his head outta his ass.”
“Leo?” Kurt inquires as they pull out and head across town.
“My Leonard. Noah’s granddad. We met in school, too. Leo and the others used to shove me into the boys’ bathroom and lock the door before classes. Thought they were being clever, I suppose.” She flips down the mirror and checks her lipstick.
“I got thrown in the dumpsters.” Kurt admits as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“I don’t guess you know what the Hebrew name translating to ‘Flame of Jehovah’ is?” She digs out a compact and dusts her nose as Kurt glances over in confusion.
“No.”
“Uriella.” He almost veers into the next lane, recovering just in time, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road instead of gaping at her in horror.
“Yes, bless my mother’s sainted heart, she thought everyone and their mistress would understand if I just explained the meaning, that they would respect such a strong, traditional Jewish name. Meanwhile, I got called Urinal all through grade school.” She pauses to light a cigarette and exhales out the window, cracking her neck with a swift twist of her head.
“Leo was the one who came up with locking me in the boys’ room. I was late to French everyday for a year until the janitor, Mr. Barclav, took pity on me and taught me how to jimmy the door open from the inside.” She chuckled, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “I practiced till I could open that door almost as fast as he locked it. The next Monday, those boys marched me into the restroom, locked that door, and then ran like Marilyn Manson from a Baptist revival when I swung it right back open on ‘em. The door hit Leo smack in the face, and he tripped over his own big feet and broke his arm! Oh, the looks on their faces. And poor Leo, laying there staring at me holding that screwdriver in my hand…”
“What happened?” Kurt chokes out, seeing the sign for Cherokee Lanes up ahead.
“Oh, he started babbling about how sorry he was, and how they didn’t mean it, and all that other horsecrap men sprout when they think someone’s about to do damage to their balls.” Ella crushed out her cigarette and pointed a finger at him. “Never forget, there’s not a man alive who’ll argue with a person holding the business end of a Craftsman flat-tip. Anyway, it took Leo another three weeks of staring at me from across the cafeteria before he finally asked me out.”
They park next to Puck’s Impala and Kurt draws a breath, playing the first verse of ’Survivor’ in his head, his only pre-solo Beyonce song next to ’Soldier’. He could do this. “I know you said Jacob was keeping you up to date on Puck but I need to know what you really know. Because he’s going through hell right now and I’m not above slamming your head into the dash and driving you back to the train station if you’re gonna act like his mom did.”
Ella turns in her seat to appraise him for a tense minute, before she throws her head back and laughs uproariously, patting his arm. “Oh, I knew I was going to like you. Now here‘s a fellow who‘s balls dropped all the way, I said to myself, and just what my boy needs.” She turns serious, although a smirk lingers on her face, a twin to the one so often found on Noah’s lips.
“I know he got a girl pregnant. I know he’s living above your father’s garage. I know something happened when he was younger, something I could never get out of him. I know his mother blames him for his father leaving and that kills him. I know merciless teasing is the Puckerman way of showing affection, but Freud's been largely discredited,so I try not to worry over that one too much. And I think I know you’re willing to stick all of that out, because I think you’re coming to know what I’ve known for a long time. That Noah has the potential to be an amazing person, he just needs a few kicks to the ass along the way.” She steps out of the car and leans back in through the window with a wink. “So what do you say we go save ourselves a bad boy?”
Kurt tosses his head as he steps out of the car and links arms with her. “Let’s.”
For a split second, it feels like they can take on the world, but they barely make it past the lobby before they hear the shouting, Santana’s voice shrill in the echoing alley.
“Would you guys just knock it off?!”
They round the corner to see the half of Glee club that is Team Finn facing them, and Puck’s back as he squares off against Quinn, who’s are being held back by Rachel of all people. Kurt cringes as Quinn yells at Puck, clearly in the midst of an argument.
“I don’t have my parents either! You ever think about that?! Or are you too busy ruining Kurt‘s life now?!”
“Your parents kicked you out, that’s right. Two months ago.” Puck’s voice is harsh and he’s practically vibrating with restrained violence. “I’ve had eleven years, Quinn. Eleven years of birthdays and holidays and football games and baseball practice and, and the first time I fell off my bike and the first time I got right back on. My first kiss, my first fight, my first kid! And you have no idea what it’s like to know that the only reason you don’t have what everybody else has isn’t because of a war or a disease or a cause, but because somebody just didn’t give a damn. Well, I give a damn about that little girl. And you have no right to tell me I don’t get to love her! Nobody gets to do that!”
Noah stalks towards the exit, only to spin back around and glare over Quinn and Rachel’s heads at Finn.
“You wanna hate me for lying to you about the baby? Fine. But Quinn never would have even looked my way if you hadn’t been panting after Berry. And maybe while you’re feeling so damn sorry for yourself you might think about something; while you had everybody singing you songs and trying to help you out, all I had was everybody saying you were better then me. And for a while, maybe I believed it. Maybe I thought everybody would be better off if the kid was yours. But you know the truth? All of us are just as fucked up as the rest, and you’re just as much of a screw-up as me. I‘m just honest about it.”
Puck slams his way outside, not even seeing Kurt and Ella in his anger. Kurt glares at the Gleeks and steps in front of them, Santana, Brittany, and Artie moving behind him, silently backing him up, and it‘s with a rush of affection that he sees Mercedes make her way to stand with them as well. Kurt’s feeling like he could kick a hundred perfect field goals with the ferocity rushing through him as he faces off against the others.
“He’s right. You, all of you, are treating him like crap, like he deliberately got Quinn pregnant. Shit happens. It happens to everybody and you just have to deal with it the best way you can. You’re blaming him, and wallowing in self-pity, and you’re not even beginning to think that maybe he’s going through something, maybe he’s got a secret he shouldn’t have to carry, maybe he’s no worse than the rest of us.” Kurt draws a breath, ready to continue, to tell them all exactly where they could go, but a sudden, horrific sound breaks the silence, a sound of glass breaking and metal crunching, and Kurt doesn’t realize he’s moving before they’re all flooding outside to see the Impala wrapped impossibly around a light pole.
It’s like all the air is gone, Kurt’s lungs are burning, screaming for him to take a breath as he runs for the twisted remains of the car, hearing screams and yells from what sounds like a million miles away behind him. Absently his mind notes a dark shape hurtling next him, a flash of metal wheels turning faster then he could hope to run, driven by Artie’s years of experience. If it weren’t for the adrenaline, Kurt knows Artie would have left him behind but fear fuels them both to reach the smoldering wreck at the same time. Artie leans forward, gloved hands reaching past the jagged windows, voice tight with worry as he yells something about an ambulance and gas and fire. Kurt knows it’s important, knows he should be helping, should be doing something, but he just falls to his knees, all of his focus on the hand laying on the ground amid the glass, a hand that’s too still.
Too relaxed.
Too bloody.
Title: I'm too foggy today, To know what you're sayin'
Author: Nytegoddess
Pairing: Kurt/Puck
Warning: And we're back to the angst.
A/N: I swear to you all, there's an actual puppy coming...after this.
“So, wait. You want me to spend the whole afternoon with a girl I used to fuck on a regular basis?” Puck slides his hands around to the front of Kurt’s waist and pulls out of the groping session they’ve been involved for the past five minutes.
Kurt leans back and rolls his eyes skyward. “Yes, I’m cool with it. I told you.”
“Alone and unsupervised?” Puck’s eyebrows inch higher towards his very limited hairline.
“Yes. I trust you. And besides, Brittany’s going, so you won’t really…The point is, I trust you. Now I’m trying to slip you some tongue before fifth period, so stop talking.” Kurt plants his lips back on Puck’s and mentally promises to buy him the new Left For Dead game in return for lying to him about this afternoon.
Santana was ‘forcing’ Puck to go bowling with her and Brittany, making up some story about a lane attendant that kept ogling them. Puck, surprisingly, had hesitated, checking with Kurt and finally admitting he had wanted to spend time with him, ‘hanging out’. Kurt had felt a particularly hard pang of regret as he invented a dentist appointment and encouraged Puck to go have fun.
“Can’t I just hang out at the dentist’s office and make fun of you all knocked up on Novocain?” Puck said as the bell rang, signaling the end of their make-out time, and they broke apart to pick up their bags.
“No.” Kurt said firmly, hand on the doorknob. “You go growl at the lowlifes for awhile. It’ll be good for you.” He gave Puck a final kiss and slid out into the hallway, looking around furtively before heading for chemistry.
Three hours later, Kurt was a nervous wreck as he paced up and down the train station. A million thoughts were chasing themselves around his head, the foremost being that Puck was going to dump him then possibly throw him in a dumpster once he found out what Kurt had done, followed by how in the hell he was going to recognize Ella when she got here since he’d never seen the woman before?
His phone buzzes and he yelps before digging it out of his pocket. “What?” He hisses, glancing again at the arrivals board.
“Is she here yet?” Santana whispers, the sounds of the bowling alley coming through the phone.
“Not yet. How’s it going down there?” Kurt forces himself to sit on a bench, bouncing his leg impatiently.
“Not so good.” Santana exhales across town and Kurt feels even more pressure bear down on him. “Finn and Rachel are here, and Quinn. And the others. And Steve.” The last name is dripping with hatred and Kurt wishes he was there to glare appropriately.
“How’s Puck doing?” The overhead blares like Charlie Brown’s teacher and Kurt strains to catch her reply.
“Well, he’s bowled four three hundred games, had nine Mountain Dews, and if he eats another pizza, I’m gonna gain ten pounds just from watching him. I think you better reconsider hiding Ella at your place and come straight here.” A shout from the background is followed by the crashing of pins and Brittany’s voice over the ruckus.
“You guys aren’t supposed to cross the line!”
“Shit!” Santana covers the microphone, evidently, as Kurt can only make out muffled yelling and movement no matter how hard he presses the phone to his ear, until she abruptly comes back and barks out a single order. “Get Ella and get over here, Hummel, or you gonna have to use your Gucci money for Puck’s bail.”
“Santana? Santana!” Kurt’s yelling pointlessly at the phone when a sudden feeling of being scrutinized overtakes him. He freezes, glancing up at the woman standing in front of him and wonders why he ever thought he’d have trouble picking Ella Puckerman out in the crowd.
She was taller then Puck, though that was probably due to the four inch heels on her black boots, and it was clear from her perfect posture that she’d lost none of her showgirl athleticism. As Kurt’s eyes take in her fitted jeans, cowl sweater, and leather trench coat, she slides her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose, deep emerald eyes raking up and down his body to land on his phone, still clenched in his fist.
“Am I interrupting?” Her voice is just as sharp as he remembered, to the point of eeriness, and Kurt drops his hand before straightening and smoothing his hair back.
“No ma’am. I’m Kurt, we talked on the phone before?” He hesitates before sticking his hand out to shake, half of him still imagining doomsday unfolding at the bowling alley, and she takes it, wrapping it around her elbow and guiding him past security and out towards the parking lot.
“Call me Ella. Now give me the skinny on you and my grandson, because I may be an old woman, but I recognize Armani when I see it and I’d bet my menopause you’re the first friend Noah’s ever had who could spell it let alone wear it.”
“Oh, well. We’ve been going to school together for a while. We used to share, um, assembly every morning before class, in fact.” Granted, our assembly met by the trash bins. Kurt crosses his fingers behind his back and plows on. “And we were both on the football team last year. And um, Glee.”
“Uh-uh. And it was all that quality time led you to open your house and family to him out of the blue like this?” Her grip on his arm tightens and he has an unsettling feeling of a noose dropping around his neck.
“I don’t think I know what you’re asking, Mrs.Puc-“ She clears her throat. “Ella.”
“Let me clarify, hon.” They stop in the parking lot next to his baby and she swings him around to face her. “Exactly how long did my grandson torture you before he wised up?”
Kurt takes one look at her expression and throws the bullshit to the wind. “Um, about two years?”
“Sounds about right.” She sighs and heads around to the passenger seat. “Took Leo six before he got his head outta his ass.”
“Leo?” Kurt inquires as they pull out and head across town.
“My Leonard. Noah’s granddad. We met in school, too. Leo and the others used to shove me into the boys’ bathroom and lock the door before classes. Thought they were being clever, I suppose.” She flips down the mirror and checks her lipstick.
“I got thrown in the dumpsters.” Kurt admits as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“I don’t guess you know what the Hebrew name translating to ‘Flame of Jehovah’ is?” She digs out a compact and dusts her nose as Kurt glances over in confusion.
“No.”
“Uriella.” He almost veers into the next lane, recovering just in time, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road instead of gaping at her in horror.
“Yes, bless my mother’s sainted heart, she thought everyone and their mistress would understand if I just explained the meaning, that they would respect such a strong, traditional Jewish name. Meanwhile, I got called Urinal all through grade school.” She pauses to light a cigarette and exhales out the window, cracking her neck with a swift twist of her head.
“Leo was the one who came up with locking me in the boys’ room. I was late to French everyday for a year until the janitor, Mr. Barclav, took pity on me and taught me how to jimmy the door open from the inside.” She chuckled, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “I practiced till I could open that door almost as fast as he locked it. The next Monday, those boys marched me into the restroom, locked that door, and then ran like Marilyn Manson from a Baptist revival when I swung it right back open on ‘em. The door hit Leo smack in the face, and he tripped over his own big feet and broke his arm! Oh, the looks on their faces. And poor Leo, laying there staring at me holding that screwdriver in my hand…”
“What happened?” Kurt chokes out, seeing the sign for Cherokee Lanes up ahead.
“Oh, he started babbling about how sorry he was, and how they didn’t mean it, and all that other horsecrap men sprout when they think someone’s about to do damage to their balls.” Ella crushed out her cigarette and pointed a finger at him. “Never forget, there’s not a man alive who’ll argue with a person holding the business end of a Craftsman flat-tip. Anyway, it took Leo another three weeks of staring at me from across the cafeteria before he finally asked me out.”
They park next to Puck’s Impala and Kurt draws a breath, playing the first verse of ’Survivor’ in his head, his only pre-solo Beyonce song next to ’Soldier’. He could do this. “I know you said Jacob was keeping you up to date on Puck but I need to know what you really know. Because he’s going through hell right now and I’m not above slamming your head into the dash and driving you back to the train station if you’re gonna act like his mom did.”
Ella turns in her seat to appraise him for a tense minute, before she throws her head back and laughs uproariously, patting his arm. “Oh, I knew I was going to like you. Now here‘s a fellow who‘s balls dropped all the way, I said to myself, and just what my boy needs.” She turns serious, although a smirk lingers on her face, a twin to the one so often found on Noah’s lips.
“I know he got a girl pregnant. I know he’s living above your father’s garage. I know something happened when he was younger, something I could never get out of him. I know his mother blames him for his father leaving and that kills him. I know merciless teasing is the Puckerman way of showing affection, but Freud's been largely discredited,so I try not to worry over that one too much. And I think I know you’re willing to stick all of that out, because I think you’re coming to know what I’ve known for a long time. That Noah has the potential to be an amazing person, he just needs a few kicks to the ass along the way.” She steps out of the car and leans back in through the window with a wink. “So what do you say we go save ourselves a bad boy?”
Kurt tosses his head as he steps out of the car and links arms with her. “Let’s.”
For a split second, it feels like they can take on the world, but they barely make it past the lobby before they hear the shouting, Santana’s voice shrill in the echoing alley.
“Would you guys just knock it off?!”
They round the corner to see the half of Glee club that is Team Finn facing them, and Puck’s back as he squares off against Quinn, who’s are being held back by Rachel of all people. Kurt cringes as Quinn yells at Puck, clearly in the midst of an argument.
“I don’t have my parents either! You ever think about that?! Or are you too busy ruining Kurt‘s life now?!”
“Your parents kicked you out, that’s right. Two months ago.” Puck’s voice is harsh and he’s practically vibrating with restrained violence. “I’ve had eleven years, Quinn. Eleven years of birthdays and holidays and football games and baseball practice and, and the first time I fell off my bike and the first time I got right back on. My first kiss, my first fight, my first kid! And you have no idea what it’s like to know that the only reason you don’t have what everybody else has isn’t because of a war or a disease or a cause, but because somebody just didn’t give a damn. Well, I give a damn about that little girl. And you have no right to tell me I don’t get to love her! Nobody gets to do that!”
Noah stalks towards the exit, only to spin back around and glare over Quinn and Rachel’s heads at Finn.
“You wanna hate me for lying to you about the baby? Fine. But Quinn never would have even looked my way if you hadn’t been panting after Berry. And maybe while you’re feeling so damn sorry for yourself you might think about something; while you had everybody singing you songs and trying to help you out, all I had was everybody saying you were better then me. And for a while, maybe I believed it. Maybe I thought everybody would be better off if the kid was yours. But you know the truth? All of us are just as fucked up as the rest, and you’re just as much of a screw-up as me. I‘m just honest about it.”
Puck slams his way outside, not even seeing Kurt and Ella in his anger. Kurt glares at the Gleeks and steps in front of them, Santana, Brittany, and Artie moving behind him, silently backing him up, and it‘s with a rush of affection that he sees Mercedes make her way to stand with them as well. Kurt’s feeling like he could kick a hundred perfect field goals with the ferocity rushing through him as he faces off against the others.
“He’s right. You, all of you, are treating him like crap, like he deliberately got Quinn pregnant. Shit happens. It happens to everybody and you just have to deal with it the best way you can. You’re blaming him, and wallowing in self-pity, and you’re not even beginning to think that maybe he’s going through something, maybe he’s got a secret he shouldn’t have to carry, maybe he’s no worse than the rest of us.” Kurt draws a breath, ready to continue, to tell them all exactly where they could go, but a sudden, horrific sound breaks the silence, a sound of glass breaking and metal crunching, and Kurt doesn’t realize he’s moving before they’re all flooding outside to see the Impala wrapped impossibly around a light pole.
It’s like all the air is gone, Kurt’s lungs are burning, screaming for him to take a breath as he runs for the twisted remains of the car, hearing screams and yells from what sounds like a million miles away behind him. Absently his mind notes a dark shape hurtling next him, a flash of metal wheels turning faster then he could hope to run, driven by Artie’s years of experience. If it weren’t for the adrenaline, Kurt knows Artie would have left him behind but fear fuels them both to reach the smoldering wreck at the same time. Artie leans forward, gloved hands reaching past the jagged windows, voice tight with worry as he yells something about an ambulance and gas and fire. Kurt knows it’s important, knows he should be helping, should be doing something, but he just falls to his knees, all of his focus on the hand laying on the ground amid the glass, a hand that’s too still.
Too relaxed.
Too bloody.