Hurts So Bad, Baby
Title: Hurts So Bad, Baby
Chapter: 1/1
Warning: This one's not related to the other fictable stories.
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: Fictable prompt #27 - Blood.
Word Count: 3,634
Disclaimer: Don't own.
She's currently not talking to him.
She's angry. Seriously, he's never seen her so pissed.
She's also sitting on his lap.
He watches her as she looks down, adjusting the ice on his knuckles. His hand hurts like a bitch right now. He doesn't think he's ever thrown a punch so hard. And he's thrown a lot of punches. Rachel's all about this 'no violence' bullshit. It's totally retarded. And yeah, she'd probably give him a big, long speech about using the word 'retarded' in a derogatory way. It's not something he makes a habit of, but given that he's fucking bleeding right now, he thinks he can say whatever he wants.
"You gonna talk to me?" he asks. She doesn't answer, just goes back to wiping the blood from the cut above his eye. That shit hurts. "Easy, baby. It's a fuckin' cut, you know." She still doesn't say anything. "C'mon, Rach. How long are you gonna stay mad at me?"
She rinses the cloth she's been using and he watches the red drain down the sink. Shit. He took a couple good ones. None of the punches hurt as much as the epic silent treatment he's getting from her right now.
You see, since they started dating or whatever this is, he's been totally fine with being her boyfriend. He's not sleeping with anyone else, doesn't want to, even, and he doesn't give a shit who knows they're together.
Rachel's kind of against the whole PDA thing or whatever. It's weird, since honestly, and this is no insult to her, he kinda thought that when she got a boyfriend, they'd all be subjected to her showing off the fact that, you know, she could get a boyfriend. When that turned out to be him? He was pretty freaking happy that it'd be him she'd be making out with in the halls.
Only there's been no making out in the halls. No one really knows they're dating, other than the people in glee who, let's face it, no one cares about at all.
So she came to his baseball game to surprise him, which was pretty awesome of her, actually, and he smiled at her from the dugout before he really had to get his head in the game.
Then one of his teammates (this fucking douchebag, Ray, who no one fucking likes) started talking shit about her, and Puck was just not okay with that. And it was fucking nasty stuff, too. Stuff that not only does Puck know isn't true, but also, you just don't talk like that about a girl, even if you don't know you're saying it to her secret (fuck) boyfriend.
So hell yeah, Puck threw the first punch.
It took three guys to get him off Ray, and then when he was holding his fist, trying to see if he could even bend his fingers, Ray fucking sucker punched him in the eye and they started at it again.
Of course, this had to be the game Rachel was at.
Puck got ejected and is benched for the next three games, Ray ended up with a broken hand (Puck doesn't really care, since the idiot broke it on his face), the team had to forfeit the game, since Puck is the only guy who can play catcher whatsoever, and coach was so pissed Puck was actually afraid for his life.
And now Rachel's not fucking talking to him. Life? It sucks.
"He sucker punched me. I can't believe that fucker actually sucker punched me."
"You hit him first," she says, and they're the first words she's said to him all day.
Even when she went to his side to help him off the ground (Ray really clocked him) she didn't ask how he was or anything, just grabbed his arm, helped him up, and pulled him into the empty girls' locker room.
He raises his hand to the spot above his eye. It feels fucking disgusting. He's surprised she can even handle this. He probably needs stitches or something.
"I was defending you."
"Noah, enough. I don't want to hear it," she says, and when she puts the cloth back over his eye, she does it harder than before.
"Fuck, Rach!" he cries, pulling his face away. "I'm fucking injured, here. You tryin'a make it worse? Jesus."
"If you're man enough to get into a fight, you can be man enough to deal with the repercussions. What were you thinking? I can't believe you'd do this. I mean, let's face it, you've done some stupid things, Noah. Really stupid. I don't think you'll disagree with me. Ray is your teammate and you punched him. What could he have possibly done to deserve that? You say you were defending me, but that's just absurd. He couldn't have..."
"You don't want me to repeat the shit he was saying," he growls. "I can't repeat it. It's fucking disgusting. And...fuck! Don't I get some kind of reward for being the guy punching people for you? Christ. You're taking the side of the dick who did this."
He pulls her hand away and points to the gash on his forehead.
He's also got a bruise on his jaw and cheek, a hand print on his neck (Ray is a fucking psycho, apparently, and held Puck to the ground by his neck) and his head is fucking pounding. Not to mention, his hand is fucking killing him, his knuckles bruised and red.
"You broke his nose."
"Damn fucking straight I broke his nose! Bastard's lucky that's all I did."
She stops tending to him, shifts a little on his leg. She looks at him with this serious expression, and he's looking between her and the amount of blood that's already on the cloth again. He can feel it rolling down the side of his face, too. He's pretty sure he needs to get to a hospital.
"Tell me what he said," she says seriously, eyes locked with his.
He shakes his head. "No. No fucking way. Babe, you know I say some filthy shit, but I can't tell you. I'm not going to. You'll fucking cry, then I'll have to comfort you, and I'll get pissed again, and it'll be a whole big thing."
"Tell me, Noah. I can take it."
"Rachel!" he shouts. She flinches and he rests his hand on her thigh to comfort her. "Drop it."
She sighs and puts the cloth against his forehead again, wipes from just next to his ear up past his eye to get all the blood.
"I don't like you fighting," she says quietly.
"I don't like people talking shit about my girl," he argues. "Shouldn't we get me to a hospital or something? I feel like I'm gonna pass out."
She looks terrified. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah. I'm all lightheaded. And my hand hurts like a bitch. You gotta drive me."
"I walked."
"My keys are in my pocket," he tells her, tipping his head back against the sink. She slaps the side of his face lightly. Too bad there's a fucking bruise there. "Fuck! Dammit, Rachel!"
"You have to stay awake! You might be concussed. Not to mention, I've never driven your truck. I'm scared. I..."
"'S'not a standard. You'll be fine. Shit, baby, I'm real tired right now."
"Don't you dare go to sleep!" she cries, moving so she's literally straddling his leg.
He looks down at her, her skirt covering her just barely and he flexes the muscle of his thigh. "This is hot. They make pornos that start like this."
"Oh, my god," she mutters. "You're disgusting. I don't know what he could have said that could possibly be worse than the garbage you talk."
"Don't fuckin' start with me. I'm not telling you," he says again. "Shit, my head hurts."
"Yes, well that's what happens when you get into fights for no reason."
"I had a reason!" he reminds her. "You're the reason. You're always the reason."
He sees the smile she tries to hide. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Does to me."
"Explain that," she says as she folds the cloth again, dabbing the cut with it. "Don't make me slap you again. Explain it."
"Fuck," he mumbles. He's so fucking tired and she's begging him for a conversation. And he's kinda dizzy. But she looks all cute with her hair half up and her white tee shirt on. He can see the outline of her bra, and he reaches out to trace the line of her jaw with his index finger. "You're pretty."
"Okay." She laughs a little and pulls his hand away. He rests it on her hip.
"No. You are. You're so fucking pretty Rachel. I just like looking at you sometimes. That sounds fucking creepy, but 's'true."
"You're most definitely suffering a concussion," she tells him.
"Shut up. I'm serious. Even if I am all fucked up. Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here."
"We need to get you to a hospital," she says, holding the cloth to his head as she tries to stand. He reaches out, though, and the ice pack falls to the floor as he holds her in her place. When he pulls her closer, her thigh rubs against the front of his pants and she's leaning forward. She lets out a little sigh. He likes that. "Noah, what are you doing?"
"Kiss me or something," he commands. "You wanna?"
"You're barely making sense right now."
"Just fuckin' kiss me, baby, okay? I need you to kiss me." He sees her shaking her head as she leans forward and brushes her lips against his lightly. Too lightly. When he pulls her back towards him, he kisses her full on, and he realizes why she was being careful. He's pretty sure he's got a split lip or something, too. "Ow."
"Yes, well, that's what you get," she says, and when she stands, he notices a drop of blood on the front of her shirt.
"Oh no," he says, reaching out to take the fabric in his hands. "Blood. Right there."
"I can see that," she says. "Noah, can you please cooperate? You're scaring me right now."
"Not tryin'a scare you. I don't mean to. Fuck, my head really fucking hurts." He stands up with her help, and she drapes his arm around her shoulder. He can walk okay, if a little squirrely. She's got her arm around his waist and her hand holding his wrist at her shoulder. "Where'd my keys go?"
"I have them," she says. He can tell she's trying not to laugh.
"When'd you do that? You're like a ninja, baby. It's pretty hot, you know?"
"Maybe you should just stop trying to talk, okay? Just...conserve your energy."
"You're the boss," he says.
The sun is way too fucking bright. What's with that shit? There are still some people floating around the parking lot. He sees Matt and calls his name, but Rachel shushes him. He doesn't really know why. They're outside; he can be as loud as he wants. She doesn't really like when he tells her that, but he doesn't get it. Matt comes over and pushes him into the passenger side of the truck while Rachel throws his things into the truck bed. He hears the two of them talking, but things are getting kind of blurry. He hears his name. Fuckers are talking about him. He's too tired to ask why or get mad at them.
"Okay, Noah. We're going to the hospital."
"How's Mattie? I don't think I've ever called him that before. Weird. Hey! You know he's bangin' Mercedes? Shit. I think that's a secret. Don't tell him I said anything. We need music."
She's doing her best not to laugh. He can tell.
"Why don't you just try to sit still, okay?" she suggests. "We'll leave the radio off. Why don't you tell me about your favourite songs? Your favourite ballads. You know I love ballads."
"There's blood on your shirt." He thinks he's having one of those deja vu things. It's pretty fucked up.
"Yes, we've established that," she says.
They're pulling out of the parking lot and she's tense, he can tell. Her hands are at 10 and 2 and she's leaning forward a little. He reaches over and runs his hand down her back as his head rests on the seat behind him.
"You're doing so good, baby," he tells her. "You're good at this. Driving. And you look hot driving my truck. Remind me later, okay? I think I might forget."
She starts outright laughing. "You're so ridiculous right now. You can barely keep your eyes open and you're talking gibberish."
"Yeah, it's fucking light out. Or bright. What's the word? You're the dictionary."
"Bright," she tells him. "Stop touching me."
"I like it."
"I do too, but I need to concentrate on driving your behemoth vehicle and getting you to the hospital safely."
"Be-what-now?"
"Noah, seriously. Stop talking," she says, glancing over at him.
Damn, she's pretty. He thinks he'll have to tell her that someday.
"I'm just gonna sleep a while. Wake me up when we get there." He feels her hand on his leg. Hitting him. What the fuck? "You're abusing me."
"I want you to stay awake. Can you do that? Just stay awake. Five more minutes," she says. When he looks at her, she looks scared again.
"'Kay. Hey, you think Matt'll be mad I told you about him and Mercedes? You're my girl, right? Even if you don't wanna tell people. What's with that, anyway? Shit. I think I'm bleeding really bad. This cloth isn't doing shit. Are we going to the hospital?"
And that's pretty much the last thing he remembers even at all until he wakes up.
He's in a hospital bed, still in his own clothes, thank fuck, and Rachel's sitting there holding his hand, leafing through a copy of some stupid magazine or something. He has no idea what time it is, but it's dark out. His head is fucking pounding, and he feels like he can't breathe. That's pretty fucked up.
"Hey," he mumbles. Rachel looks over at him and smiles lightly.
"Hi." She leans over to kiss his cheek, and he winces. "Sorry. This side is all bruised."
"Shit. I feel like I got run over."
"You got in a stupid fight."
"Wasn't stupid," he argues. "Don't fuckin' start that shit."
"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "Are you okay?"
"Don't they have drugs for shit like this? Goddamn. Where's my mom? Thought she woulda been hovering."
"She's working. She's been popping in on her breaks," Rachel explains. "We can leave in a little bit. You're supposed to go home and sleep, but we'll have to wake you up every couple hours."
"That's fucked," he mutters. "I'm fuckin' tired, Rach. I just wanna sleep."
"I know, but those are the rules. You've got a concussion. Apparently this is your second? You didn't tell me that."
"Football. Freshman year. Shit. I think this is worse," he says. "'S'fuckin' bright in here."
Rachel stands up to turn off the light above his bed and he notices the drops of red on the front of her shirt.
"Hey, you have blood on your shirt," he tells her.
She starts laughing, but he isn't really sure why. She sits down at the edge of his bed and rests her hand on his chest.
"I know," she says, leaning down to kiss him gently.
She later explains that he told her no less than seven times that there was blood on her shirt, and as they waited in the ER, the side of his face he was bleeding on kept dripping onto her shoulder when his head would loll to the side.
She stays at his house with him that night, since his mom has to work early in the morning, and her dads give permission since they know that there's clearly not going to be anything happening between she and Noah.
When she wakes him up at 4:00 am, he pulls her into his arms in his bed and kisses the top of her head.
"I had a dream you were driving my truck," he tells her. He feels a little better now, still groggy as hell, and he's got a headache, but he doesn't feel like death is a better option than being awake, so that's something.
"I did drive your truck."
"I know, but I don't remember it," he says.
"You wanted me to remind you that you think I look hot driving it," she says, smiling at him. He laughs a little bit. "You were quite funny when you weren't scaring me."
"Sorry," he says quietly, kissing her forehead. "Didn't mean to."
"You told me that, too," she whispers. "Can you promise me you won't fight anymore?"
He pulls away and looks at her like she's lost her goddamn mind. He thinks she has. She just doesn't fucking get it.
"No."
"Noah..."
"Rachel, you don't understand," he says. Shit, he's tired. This can't wait. "I'm not the guy who'll just sit back and let someone talk about you like that. So fucking deal with it."
"Even if it sends you to the emergency room?" she asks. She sits up a little bit and he has to smile. She's wearing one of his tee shirts.
"Uh huh. Face it, Rach, I'm the guy who fights when it's worth it. And you?" He smiles and pulls her back towards him. Her leg ends up draped over his hip. "You're worth it."
She kisses him, and he doesn't even care that it fucking kills his mouth. Doesn't matter.
"You said a lot of very sweet things to me when you were barely conscious," she tells him, her fingertips tracing patterns on his stomach. "That might be the sweetest."
As he drifts off to sleep, he racks his brain, trying to remember what else he said. Shit. He hopes it's nothing incriminating.
He thinks he's dreaming when he wakes up in the morning and sees Rachel standing at the foot of his bed, her back bare, save for her bra, and pulling her tee shirt over her head.
"Mmm," he murmurs, leaning back against his pillow as he watches her turn around. "'S'a good morning."
"How are you feeling?" she asks, moving back to the bed.
"Turned on."
"Too bad," she laughs. "No strenuous activity until your headache is completely gone. Doctor's orders."
He groans and slips his hand beneath her skirt at her thigh anyway. "Don't come around till them, okay? I can't fucking handle it. I'll just...I'll die."
"You're being dramatic," she tells him, running her fingers lightly over the stitches above his brow. "I have to go, okay? I'll be back later to check on you."
"'M'fine."
"Yes, well, Hannah has been given strict instructions on how to take care of you," Rachel explains. "She's going to leave you alone for the most part. Basically you each just have to make sure the other doesn't die."
He laughs a little bit and moves his hand closer to the apex of her thighs. She pushes it away and he smirks. It was worth a try. She leans down to kiss his forehead, then stands.
"Thanks for takin' care of me, babe," he says, watching as she grabs her bag.
"Of course," she says quietly.
She makes her way for the door and he watches the sway of her skirt, the way her legs look, all tanned. He wants to tell her how hot she looks, but he knows her, and he knows that'll just start something that, apparently, he can't finish, since his head is still pounding like a bitch. She turns around just as she gets to the door and he smiles lazily.
"Hey," he says, jutting his chin in her direction. "There's blood on your shirt."
He winks at her as she rolls her eyes, smiles and walks out of his bedroom.
Chapter: 1/1
Warning: This one's not related to the other fictable stories.
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: Fictable prompt #27 - Blood.
Word Count: 3,634
Disclaimer: Don't own.
She's currently not talking to him.
She's angry. Seriously, he's never seen her so pissed.
She's also sitting on his lap.
He watches her as she looks down, adjusting the ice on his knuckles. His hand hurts like a bitch right now. He doesn't think he's ever thrown a punch so hard. And he's thrown a lot of punches. Rachel's all about this 'no violence' bullshit. It's totally retarded. And yeah, she'd probably give him a big, long speech about using the word 'retarded' in a derogatory way. It's not something he makes a habit of, but given that he's fucking bleeding right now, he thinks he can say whatever he wants.
"You gonna talk to me?" he asks. She doesn't answer, just goes back to wiping the blood from the cut above his eye. That shit hurts. "Easy, baby. It's a fuckin' cut, you know." She still doesn't say anything. "C'mon, Rach. How long are you gonna stay mad at me?"
She rinses the cloth she's been using and he watches the red drain down the sink. Shit. He took a couple good ones. None of the punches hurt as much as the epic silent treatment he's getting from her right now.
You see, since they started dating or whatever this is, he's been totally fine with being her boyfriend. He's not sleeping with anyone else, doesn't want to, even, and he doesn't give a shit who knows they're together.
Rachel's kind of against the whole PDA thing or whatever. It's weird, since honestly, and this is no insult to her, he kinda thought that when she got a boyfriend, they'd all be subjected to her showing off the fact that, you know, she could get a boyfriend. When that turned out to be him? He was pretty freaking happy that it'd be him she'd be making out with in the halls.
Only there's been no making out in the halls. No one really knows they're dating, other than the people in glee who, let's face it, no one cares about at all.
So she came to his baseball game to surprise him, which was pretty awesome of her, actually, and he smiled at her from the dugout before he really had to get his head in the game.
Then one of his teammates (this fucking douchebag, Ray, who no one fucking likes) started talking shit about her, and Puck was just not okay with that. And it was fucking nasty stuff, too. Stuff that not only does Puck know isn't true, but also, you just don't talk like that about a girl, even if you don't know you're saying it to her secret (fuck) boyfriend.
So hell yeah, Puck threw the first punch.
It took three guys to get him off Ray, and then when he was holding his fist, trying to see if he could even bend his fingers, Ray fucking sucker punched him in the eye and they started at it again.
Of course, this had to be the game Rachel was at.
Puck got ejected and is benched for the next three games, Ray ended up with a broken hand (Puck doesn't really care, since the idiot broke it on his face), the team had to forfeit the game, since Puck is the only guy who can play catcher whatsoever, and coach was so pissed Puck was actually afraid for his life.
And now Rachel's not fucking talking to him. Life? It sucks.
"He sucker punched me. I can't believe that fucker actually sucker punched me."
"You hit him first," she says, and they're the first words she's said to him all day.
Even when she went to his side to help him off the ground (Ray really clocked him) she didn't ask how he was or anything, just grabbed his arm, helped him up, and pulled him into the empty girls' locker room.
He raises his hand to the spot above his eye. It feels fucking disgusting. He's surprised she can even handle this. He probably needs stitches or something.
"I was defending you."
"Noah, enough. I don't want to hear it," she says, and when she puts the cloth back over his eye, she does it harder than before.
"Fuck, Rach!" he cries, pulling his face away. "I'm fucking injured, here. You tryin'a make it worse? Jesus."
"If you're man enough to get into a fight, you can be man enough to deal with the repercussions. What were you thinking? I can't believe you'd do this. I mean, let's face it, you've done some stupid things, Noah. Really stupid. I don't think you'll disagree with me. Ray is your teammate and you punched him. What could he have possibly done to deserve that? You say you were defending me, but that's just absurd. He couldn't have..."
"You don't want me to repeat the shit he was saying," he growls. "I can't repeat it. It's fucking disgusting. And...fuck! Don't I get some kind of reward for being the guy punching people for you? Christ. You're taking the side of the dick who did this."
He pulls her hand away and points to the gash on his forehead.
He's also got a bruise on his jaw and cheek, a hand print on his neck (Ray is a fucking psycho, apparently, and held Puck to the ground by his neck) and his head is fucking pounding. Not to mention, his hand is fucking killing him, his knuckles bruised and red.
"You broke his nose."
"Damn fucking straight I broke his nose! Bastard's lucky that's all I did."
She stops tending to him, shifts a little on his leg. She looks at him with this serious expression, and he's looking between her and the amount of blood that's already on the cloth again. He can feel it rolling down the side of his face, too. He's pretty sure he needs to get to a hospital.
"Tell me what he said," she says seriously, eyes locked with his.
He shakes his head. "No. No fucking way. Babe, you know I say some filthy shit, but I can't tell you. I'm not going to. You'll fucking cry, then I'll have to comfort you, and I'll get pissed again, and it'll be a whole big thing."
"Tell me, Noah. I can take it."
"Rachel!" he shouts. She flinches and he rests his hand on her thigh to comfort her. "Drop it."
She sighs and puts the cloth against his forehead again, wipes from just next to his ear up past his eye to get all the blood.
"I don't like you fighting," she says quietly.
"I don't like people talking shit about my girl," he argues. "Shouldn't we get me to a hospital or something? I feel like I'm gonna pass out."
She looks terrified. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah. I'm all lightheaded. And my hand hurts like a bitch. You gotta drive me."
"I walked."
"My keys are in my pocket," he tells her, tipping his head back against the sink. She slaps the side of his face lightly. Too bad there's a fucking bruise there. "Fuck! Dammit, Rachel!"
"You have to stay awake! You might be concussed. Not to mention, I've never driven your truck. I'm scared. I..."
"'S'not a standard. You'll be fine. Shit, baby, I'm real tired right now."
"Don't you dare go to sleep!" she cries, moving so she's literally straddling his leg.
He looks down at her, her skirt covering her just barely and he flexes the muscle of his thigh. "This is hot. They make pornos that start like this."
"Oh, my god," she mutters. "You're disgusting. I don't know what he could have said that could possibly be worse than the garbage you talk."
"Don't fuckin' start with me. I'm not telling you," he says again. "Shit, my head hurts."
"Yes, well that's what happens when you get into fights for no reason."
"I had a reason!" he reminds her. "You're the reason. You're always the reason."
He sees the smile she tries to hide. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Does to me."
"Explain that," she says as she folds the cloth again, dabbing the cut with it. "Don't make me slap you again. Explain it."
"Fuck," he mumbles. He's so fucking tired and she's begging him for a conversation. And he's kinda dizzy. But she looks all cute with her hair half up and her white tee shirt on. He can see the outline of her bra, and he reaches out to trace the line of her jaw with his index finger. "You're pretty."
"Okay." She laughs a little and pulls his hand away. He rests it on her hip.
"No. You are. You're so fucking pretty Rachel. I just like looking at you sometimes. That sounds fucking creepy, but 's'true."
"You're most definitely suffering a concussion," she tells him.
"Shut up. I'm serious. Even if I am all fucked up. Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here."
"We need to get you to a hospital," she says, holding the cloth to his head as she tries to stand. He reaches out, though, and the ice pack falls to the floor as he holds her in her place. When he pulls her closer, her thigh rubs against the front of his pants and she's leaning forward. She lets out a little sigh. He likes that. "Noah, what are you doing?"
"Kiss me or something," he commands. "You wanna?"
"You're barely making sense right now."
"Just fuckin' kiss me, baby, okay? I need you to kiss me." He sees her shaking her head as she leans forward and brushes her lips against his lightly. Too lightly. When he pulls her back towards him, he kisses her full on, and he realizes why she was being careful. He's pretty sure he's got a split lip or something, too. "Ow."
"Yes, well, that's what you get," she says, and when she stands, he notices a drop of blood on the front of her shirt.
"Oh no," he says, reaching out to take the fabric in his hands. "Blood. Right there."
"I can see that," she says. "Noah, can you please cooperate? You're scaring me right now."
"Not tryin'a scare you. I don't mean to. Fuck, my head really fucking hurts." He stands up with her help, and she drapes his arm around her shoulder. He can walk okay, if a little squirrely. She's got her arm around his waist and her hand holding his wrist at her shoulder. "Where'd my keys go?"
"I have them," she says. He can tell she's trying not to laugh.
"When'd you do that? You're like a ninja, baby. It's pretty hot, you know?"
"Maybe you should just stop trying to talk, okay? Just...conserve your energy."
"You're the boss," he says.
The sun is way too fucking bright. What's with that shit? There are still some people floating around the parking lot. He sees Matt and calls his name, but Rachel shushes him. He doesn't really know why. They're outside; he can be as loud as he wants. She doesn't really like when he tells her that, but he doesn't get it. Matt comes over and pushes him into the passenger side of the truck while Rachel throws his things into the truck bed. He hears the two of them talking, but things are getting kind of blurry. He hears his name. Fuckers are talking about him. He's too tired to ask why or get mad at them.
"Okay, Noah. We're going to the hospital."
"How's Mattie? I don't think I've ever called him that before. Weird. Hey! You know he's bangin' Mercedes? Shit. I think that's a secret. Don't tell him I said anything. We need music."
She's doing her best not to laugh. He can tell.
"Why don't you just try to sit still, okay?" she suggests. "We'll leave the radio off. Why don't you tell me about your favourite songs? Your favourite ballads. You know I love ballads."
"There's blood on your shirt." He thinks he's having one of those deja vu things. It's pretty fucked up.
"Yes, we've established that," she says.
They're pulling out of the parking lot and she's tense, he can tell. Her hands are at 10 and 2 and she's leaning forward a little. He reaches over and runs his hand down her back as his head rests on the seat behind him.
"You're doing so good, baby," he tells her. "You're good at this. Driving. And you look hot driving my truck. Remind me later, okay? I think I might forget."
She starts outright laughing. "You're so ridiculous right now. You can barely keep your eyes open and you're talking gibberish."
"Yeah, it's fucking light out. Or bright. What's the word? You're the dictionary."
"Bright," she tells him. "Stop touching me."
"I like it."
"I do too, but I need to concentrate on driving your behemoth vehicle and getting you to the hospital safely."
"Be-what-now?"
"Noah, seriously. Stop talking," she says, glancing over at him.
Damn, she's pretty. He thinks he'll have to tell her that someday.
"I'm just gonna sleep a while. Wake me up when we get there." He feels her hand on his leg. Hitting him. What the fuck? "You're abusing me."
"I want you to stay awake. Can you do that? Just stay awake. Five more minutes," she says. When he looks at her, she looks scared again.
"'Kay. Hey, you think Matt'll be mad I told you about him and Mercedes? You're my girl, right? Even if you don't wanna tell people. What's with that, anyway? Shit. I think I'm bleeding really bad. This cloth isn't doing shit. Are we going to the hospital?"
And that's pretty much the last thing he remembers even at all until he wakes up.
He's in a hospital bed, still in his own clothes, thank fuck, and Rachel's sitting there holding his hand, leafing through a copy of some stupid magazine or something. He has no idea what time it is, but it's dark out. His head is fucking pounding, and he feels like he can't breathe. That's pretty fucked up.
"Hey," he mumbles. Rachel looks over at him and smiles lightly.
"Hi." She leans over to kiss his cheek, and he winces. "Sorry. This side is all bruised."
"Shit. I feel like I got run over."
"You got in a stupid fight."
"Wasn't stupid," he argues. "Don't fuckin' start that shit."
"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "Are you okay?"
"Don't they have drugs for shit like this? Goddamn. Where's my mom? Thought she woulda been hovering."
"She's working. She's been popping in on her breaks," Rachel explains. "We can leave in a little bit. You're supposed to go home and sleep, but we'll have to wake you up every couple hours."
"That's fucked," he mutters. "I'm fuckin' tired, Rach. I just wanna sleep."
"I know, but those are the rules. You've got a concussion. Apparently this is your second? You didn't tell me that."
"Football. Freshman year. Shit. I think this is worse," he says. "'S'fuckin' bright in here."
Rachel stands up to turn off the light above his bed and he notices the drops of red on the front of her shirt.
"Hey, you have blood on your shirt," he tells her.
She starts laughing, but he isn't really sure why. She sits down at the edge of his bed and rests her hand on his chest.
"I know," she says, leaning down to kiss him gently.
She later explains that he told her no less than seven times that there was blood on her shirt, and as they waited in the ER, the side of his face he was bleeding on kept dripping onto her shoulder when his head would loll to the side.
She stays at his house with him that night, since his mom has to work early in the morning, and her dads give permission since they know that there's clearly not going to be anything happening between she and Noah.
When she wakes him up at 4:00 am, he pulls her into his arms in his bed and kisses the top of her head.
"I had a dream you were driving my truck," he tells her. He feels a little better now, still groggy as hell, and he's got a headache, but he doesn't feel like death is a better option than being awake, so that's something.
"I did drive your truck."
"I know, but I don't remember it," he says.
"You wanted me to remind you that you think I look hot driving it," she says, smiling at him. He laughs a little bit. "You were quite funny when you weren't scaring me."
"Sorry," he says quietly, kissing her forehead. "Didn't mean to."
"You told me that, too," she whispers. "Can you promise me you won't fight anymore?"
He pulls away and looks at her like she's lost her goddamn mind. He thinks she has. She just doesn't fucking get it.
"No."
"Noah..."
"Rachel, you don't understand," he says. Shit, he's tired. This can't wait. "I'm not the guy who'll just sit back and let someone talk about you like that. So fucking deal with it."
"Even if it sends you to the emergency room?" she asks. She sits up a little bit and he has to smile. She's wearing one of his tee shirts.
"Uh huh. Face it, Rach, I'm the guy who fights when it's worth it. And you?" He smiles and pulls her back towards him. Her leg ends up draped over his hip. "You're worth it."
She kisses him, and he doesn't even care that it fucking kills his mouth. Doesn't matter.
"You said a lot of very sweet things to me when you were barely conscious," she tells him, her fingertips tracing patterns on his stomach. "That might be the sweetest."
As he drifts off to sleep, he racks his brain, trying to remember what else he said. Shit. He hopes it's nothing incriminating.
He thinks he's dreaming when he wakes up in the morning and sees Rachel standing at the foot of his bed, her back bare, save for her bra, and pulling her tee shirt over her head.
"Mmm," he murmurs, leaning back against his pillow as he watches her turn around. "'S'a good morning."
"How are you feeling?" she asks, moving back to the bed.
"Turned on."
"Too bad," she laughs. "No strenuous activity until your headache is completely gone. Doctor's orders."
He groans and slips his hand beneath her skirt at her thigh anyway. "Don't come around till them, okay? I can't fucking handle it. I'll just...I'll die."
"You're being dramatic," she tells him, running her fingers lightly over the stitches above his brow. "I have to go, okay? I'll be back later to check on you."
"'M'fine."
"Yes, well, Hannah has been given strict instructions on how to take care of you," Rachel explains. "She's going to leave you alone for the most part. Basically you each just have to make sure the other doesn't die."
He laughs a little bit and moves his hand closer to the apex of her thighs. She pushes it away and he smirks. It was worth a try. She leans down to kiss his forehead, then stands.
"Thanks for takin' care of me, babe," he says, watching as she grabs her bag.
"Of course," she says quietly.
She makes her way for the door and he watches the sway of her skirt, the way her legs look, all tanned. He wants to tell her how hot she looks, but he knows her, and he knows that'll just start something that, apparently, he can't finish, since his head is still pounding like a bitch. She turns around just as she gets to the door and he smiles lazily.
"Hey," he says, jutting his chin in her direction. "There's blood on your shirt."
He winks at her as she rolls her eyes, smiles and walks out of his bedroom.