a/n: So, really, this is the result of an idea that's been in my head for quite some time now. It is most definitely multi-chaptered and will be approximately eight chapters long. Also, this is as AU as it gets. It's a completely clean slate – no glee club, no former relationships, a whole new setting, etc. Just read and you'll understand. The characters included in this'll be mainly Finn, Mike, Puck, Rachel and Santana with sheer mentions of some others, perhaps. It follows Finn/Rachel but with a gist of everyone else, too. Title and lyrics are from "Whistle for the Choir" by The Fratellis.

... ... ...

Well it's a big big city and the lights are all out

But it's much as I can do you know to figure you out

And I must confess, my hearts in broken pieces

And my heads a mess

And it's 4 in the morning, and I'm walking along

Beside the ghost of every drinker here who has ever done wrong

And it's you, woo hoo

That's got me going crazy for the things you do

... ... ...

It's rare for the chime on the door of Dalton's to ring at only four-thirty in the morning, especially if it's not Mr. Ortiz picking up his early morning coffee – half a cup of milk and two sugars, not too steamy.

Rachel Berry can't say being a barista is one of her finest moments – it's hardly in her top ten, that's for sure. But tuition is a load more than she's ever expected it to be, and giving up her spot at NYU doesn't seem applicable in the least.

A man enters when it's just her and Spencer – the always-crabby barista with the ginger curls who's only good for brewing a hell of a good cappuccino – working their usual four am shift. His hands are fiddling idly in the pockets of his denim jacket and he takes a small huff before pulling the doorknob behind him closed, careful not to let his knuckles or his wrist collide with the chimes that hang on the doorknob once more.

"Take this one, Rachel," Spencer tells her, untying the string of her navy blue apron and tossing it on top of the vacant counter all the way by the stacked cups. "I'll be back; I have to send a wakeup call over to my boyfriend." So, her boyfriend's a city firefighter, and as much respect as Rachel has for that because, well, he's practically a hero, she could do without the constant calls out of fret and panic from Spencer.

"You do that," Rachel nods, pressing both of her palms flat down on the countertop as she pushes the rest of her body weight down with them, sighing. "Can I help you?"

The man takes off his hat and he's not a man at all – more like a twenty-something college student with an awfully odd mohawk like the ones she sees in those boy bands on the music channel she occasionally flips to out of boredom. "No coffee for me," he tells her.

"Well," she's chuckling a bit. "This is only a coffee shop, so…"

"You got a spare wall?" He pulls a wad of rolled up paper out from inside of his jacket and begins to untie the rubber band holding all of them together. "I've got a band and, well… we gotta get the word out there somehow."

"Um, back there," Rachel's pointing to the wall closest to the bookshelf and the two black lounge chairs, so he doesn't hesitate to walk over, nodding his head as a sort-of 'thank you'. "Wait! Did you say you had a band?"

"Yes ma'am," he nod, turning his body back around to face hers. "S'not like we've got a million gigs set everywhere or anything, but we're workin' on it." He bites his lip and looks to her for just a second – she's shooting him a smile too, but he blames it on the over-enthusiasm and all of that shit the workers are totally expected to pull. "But… um, it's not like we need a ton of members either. Just one."

"And that one would be?" She asks him, a hint of excitement to her voice.

"We just need a lead vocalist, s'all," he's digging his hands through his pocket once more, but this time he steps closer to the counter and reaches his hands over so she does the same, opening her palm as he drops a small, folded piece of paper inside of it. "Lord knows if you can sing, but you should audition anyway. Your looks say just about enough..."

"So you think I have an appeal, huh?" She doesn't blame him; her parents have always reminded her of how spectacular a face she had for things like this. "I'd have to, um… I'd have to know your name first."

"I'm Puck," she arches her brow because he can't be serious – does he expect her to believe his name is actually Puck? "S'Noah – Noah Puckerman. But call me that and I'll rig your microphone at auditions."

"Deal," she reaches her hand out for a handshake and pulls back once her eyes meet his groggy ones, hesitant and unsure – has he ever heard of a friendly gesture in his entire life? "I'll see you at auditions, Noah."

"Watch it," he chuckles. "And you are?"

"Rachel," she nods. "Rachel Berry. You might want to write that down on your band roster or something because, well, I'm actually a pretty good performer – or so I've been told."

"Confidence… I like it," Puck looks at her for a moment before pivoting and turning right out of the shop. The fliers he brought in with him just moments before still rest tightly in his grip, the rubber band once holding them together back in place.

It's not like he was actually going to hang those up anyway, right?

... ... ...

"Relax, dude," Puck eyes his pacing friend as he takes a swig of beer that rests on his amplifier. "She'll totally be here – she dug the whole 'band' idea in like, a heartbeat."

Finn Hudson just nods his head because, well, if Puck picked her up, she must have something right about her, right?

"What if she's a priss?" Mike Chang sits at the piano bench his ass has been glued to almost all day due to a gruesome round of auditions – or fail auditions, which seems the more appropriate term now. "And how do you know she can sing?"

"Dunno," Puck shrugs. "The chick was kinda hot so I was like, 'what the hell', y'know? Plus, she's a barista at that new coffee shop – Dalton, I think it is – and she could totally get us gigs there. It's got a stage for those Saturday night shows and junk."

Finn sighs, "I thought we'd try and get in at McKinley's, dude."

"One problem," Puck groans. "We need a lead singer to get into McKinley's, asshole." He grunts as Finn looks onto him with bulged eyes, his grin the least bit satisfied. "Just give this chick a chance and well, if she can't sing, there's always my ex-girlfriend…"

"Santana?" Mike asks with a snicker. "She stayed in the band for like, a week and left once you dropped out of school for that stupid guitar playing dream in Central Park and those stupid cigarettes you can't go five minutes without smoking, but nice try."

"One, my guitar playing is top notch, so you can shut your trap now, douchebag," Puck snorts. "And two, Santana left me because she's totally playing for the other team now – she's got a friend with benefits or some shit like that."

Mike nods, "Right, the blonde –"

"Guys!" Finn throws his hands over his head and groans. "Would you just shut up for like, two seconds? I think that's your doorbell."

Puck nods and brings his index finger to his mouth, shushing the guys beside him because that better be Rachel Berry with one helluva set of pipes. "Buzz her in, Finn."

"Buzzed in," Finn signals. He's like, totally skeptical of Puck's pick, and he knows Mike is too, but he buzzes her in anyway because, well, she's practically their last hope.

"Hello?" She's lifting the handle on the door of their apartment and pounding it over and over so Finn kind of wants to quiet her down because he totally just fixed that handle. "Anyone?"

"Uh… comin'," Puck gestures for Mike to go open the door but he just shakes his head and starts pressing every which button on his keyboard to make himself look occupied, so Finn figures he'll do it if his friends are just gonna sit there like lazy assholes. "Thanks, Hudson. You're the man."

"Save it," Finn tells him. He's at the door and she stops the pounding because, well, she must hear his footsteps, right?

"Hi!" She's wide-eyed and tiny – like, five foot kind of tiny. She's carrying a stacked black binder in her hands, her neck covered in a red scarf as she huffs as if she's lost all capability of breathing. "I'm… I'm Rachel."

"Rachel…" Finn doesn't know how far down her body he looks, but his eyes roam her like, everywhere, because her legs are super long and she doesn't even bother wearing tights that aren't like, practically see-through, so she kind of grants him permission just like that. "Hi, I'm Finn Hudson." He's holding out his hand now and she grips it tightly, a smile gracing her lips. "I'm the, um… I'm the drummer."

"Drummer," she nods. "Noted." She steps into the crowded apartment, almost hitting the amplifier up against the wall nearest to the door with her legs as she passes by and makes her way to Puck, who greets her with a high-five and nod.

"Told you she'd show," he sounds proud and Finn and Mike just grunt because, really, he makes it hard not to be forever deemed an asshole in their heads. "So, sing."

"Just… just like that?" Rachel asks, her breathing almost labored. "You cannot be serious. My performance will require nothing but a solid warm-up to start off with; maybe a few scale practices before I begin belting the notes that are a little less approachable, you know?"

"English please," Puck demands with a snicker, shooting his glance toward Finn and Mike who look like, ten times more confused than he is.

"Just let her warm-up," Finn tells him, nodding to Rachel as she smiles back to him, shaking her head 'yes' more times than he can count. "Then she can sing like, whatever she needs to sing and be on her way."

"So this is a rushed audition?" Rachel asks, panic gracing her voice. "I won't take that; I can't take that. I showed up here to expect only the finest audition – proper warm-up, a song selection of my choice and my choice only. But I… there's always other girls for your band, right?"

Finn and Mike both shake their head 'no' incessantly as they look onto Puck, who plops his ass down on the one chair they've got in their living room area and crosses his right leg over the left. "Mike, give her some keys or some shit and let her warm-up; Finn, give her a beat on the drums."

"And you'll be doing…?" Rachel narrows her eyes toward Puck, who holds his beer steadily as he lifts it to his lips to take a swig.

"Watchin' you," he tells her. "C'mon, we don't have all day."

"Actually, we were just gonna play Guitar Hero after you left so we have like, all –"

"Finn!" Mike and Puck both yell in unison.

So she starts with some warm-ups (at least Puck thinks that's what saying 'mi' over and over again 'till he practically wants to pick her up by her tiny torso and chuck her out of his third floor apartment window is called – a warm-up) and Finn and Mike clap for her because she's aced the first part of the test.

"Now the song," Puck tells her indifferently. "W'do'u plan on singing, kid?"

"Kid?" Rachel narrows her eyes. "Mind you, I'm a nineteen-year-old attendee of New York University pursuing nothing but a serious career in performing arts. I'm hardly a child and will not stand in the midst of your living room and attempt to sing a single note for you if I'm called one again." Finn and Mike just stand wide-eyed; they'll let Puck do the talking since, well, it's totally his fault.

"Chill, chill," Puck holds up his hands as if he's guilty of a crime, nestling his head further back into the cushion of the sofa as he lets out a small huff. "…So are you singin' for us or not?"

"We'll see," she answers, a somewhat evil glint in her eye as she sets the binder she's holding tight to her chest down on the amplifier she's taken notice is a not-so-convenient holder for the guys' beer bottles.

"Funny," Puck chuckles. "What's the binder for anyway?"

"My repertoire," she answers seriously. "Don't believe me? I've got fifty or so pages of music – ask me to sing sixteen measures from each and I'll gladly –"

Puck reaches his arm out and leans his body over the sofa, grabbing the thick binder with his hands. He quickly scans the pages, roughly turning them and passing all of the pages containing some stupid musical crap – Evita, West Side Story, Wicked. "What's a West Side Story?"

"Only the most heartfelt take on a modern Romeo and Juliet there is – gangs and all," Rachel nods enthusiastically. "Now, let's put off the questions for later. Can I sing my song?"

Puck throws his hands up in victory, "I thought you'd never ask."

... ... ...

She's good – like, really good. She doesn't sing one of those freak show songs after all, no. She belts Britney Spears' I Love Rock 'n Roll with no care, tapping her foot for a tiny effect. As she hits the end note, Finn and Mike begin to clap and Puck shoots his hand up to stop them.

"A little iffy," he tells her as she looks at him with that sort-of 'I'm a little discouraged but I still kicked ass anyway and I totally know it' kind of look. "But…"

She taps her fingertips nervously on the binder she's picked up in her hands once again, her tiny body flailing up and down as Puck shoots and whisper over to the guys standing beside the sofa.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but…" Puck shrugs teasingly. "You're in the band, diva."

She squeals, lifting her hands to her mouth as she giddily runs over to Puck and throws herself in his arms. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'll work hard; I'll devote every spare moment I obtain to this band and this band only. Oh, Noah –"

He interrupts, "Puck. And you're squeezin' all the air out of me, lady."

"Thank you!"

He's not sure if he should say you're welcome, because he's not sure he's ready to welcome another girl to the band. Not after the Santana incident, at least. (So, he's upset, but who could blame him? The chick totally switched teams on him.)

... ... ...

Puck crashes on the couch, his ever-so-present bottle of beer still nestled in his grip as he takes small chugs every so often, watching Rachel slip on her coat and place the sheet music she's showing Finn (who's gotta be completely uninterested because, well, Wicked, seriously?) back into that stupid binder he's sure he'll remind her again and again never to bring to rehearsal.

Mike's gotta meet his girlfriend downtown for Sushi but he stays just to congratulate Rachel and print out a copy of their rehearsal schedule from his computer in the kitchen quickly.

She really does love the whole welcoming ordeal she's being given already. "That's very sweet, Mike. Thank you."

"I'll walk her out," Finn nods his head to Mike and hears Puck mumble from the sofa for him not to trip on the way out. "Have fun at dinner, man. Tell your girlfriend hey and stuff."

"Will do," Mike salutes and turns away. Just before he heads for the door, he turns back to Rachel once more with a whisper. "I'm glad we picked you."

Finn nods because, well, he's kind of glad they picked her too. It's not that the other girls weren't good, no, but something about Rachel makes her like, a hundred times better and he just needs to figure out what – the black binder, the awesome belting on those notes not even Britney could hit, the way she stood up to Puck. Damn.

"So…" Finn tilts his head to the ground and kicks his feet in the rubble on the sidewalk of their apartment building, huffing and puffing in the cool October air. "How are you getting home?"

"Oh, I'll be taking the subway," Rachel tells him. "I've actually got a seven-thirty shift down at Dalton's, so…"

Finn pauses for a moment, "Wait, the Dalton's? Like, the coffee shop?"

"That's the one," she's surprised he knows about it because it's practically brand new and it's not like customers are pouring in demanding their coffee or anything, even though she'll debate for hours on end how much quality it actually contains, but maybe only because she likes to debate or something – she hasn't figured that out. "I've been picking up extra shifts there because, well… things are tight."

Like your tights, he tells himself not to look down at her legs because he's afraid she can like, totally tell he's been staring for the past ten minutes. His face beams a little red and she chuckles. "Sorry to hear," Finn pats her back and then deems himself an idiot because, really? A pat on the back? "Maybe um… maybe being in the band'll help you get back on your feet."

"Maybe," she grins and looks down at her wrist for a split second. "I've gotta go! I guess I'll see you next rehearsal?"

"You'll see me," he nods, smiling at her once more before she totally sprints away from the sidewalk they stand on, still gripping that big black binder she showed him (Which was totally cool because, hey, who would've known Broadway had like, more than ten shows?) tightly against her chest.

She'll see him and he'll see her and it'll all fall into place – she's in the band so it's only fair she become one of them, right?

... ... ...

It's Tuesday morning and she's already late to work so she's glad she catches the last bus headed in the direction to Dalton's.

She's groggy eyed because it's only four o'clock in the morning and no sign of sunrise is anywhere. Her hair's in two braids and she slips on her gloves and scarf as she makes way to the back of the almost vacant bus, sitting on the chilled seats as she crosses her legs and lets out a shiver.

"Rachel?" His voice is loud to her; everything's loud to her at four o'clock in the morning. "You're like, the last person I expected to see here."

"Finn… hi!" She taps the empty spot on the seat she's sitting in and signals for him to join her. "What – what are you doing on this bus? Not that it's a problem, because, well, it's not, but… but what are you doing here?"

Finn lets out a laugh and sits down next to her, shuffling his body so his leg is nowhere near touching hers; that'd just be like, super awkward considering they totally just met two days before. "Firefighter," he nods proudly. "My shift starts at five am most mornings."

"That's… that's just… wow," Rachel says. "You know, I can really admire a person with that much bravery to their name. I know I'd be worried sick if someone close to me was a firefighter. It's just… it's a dangerous job." So, she's got no idea what she's saying, so she tells herself to go with what she knows best – when in doubt, ramble it out. "Y'know, my friend – well, not really my friend, more of a co-worker – her boyfriend is a firefighter. Maybe um… maybe you know him."

He shakes his head. "Doubt it. There's like, thousands and thousands of people in each division."

"Yeah," is all she can say without feeling completely stupid.

The bus comes to a halt and before she knows it, so he presses his arm to her shoulder and hoists his body up. "S'my stop."

"Oh," she says.

"I'll see you at rehearsal," he turns around once more before he leaves the aisle of the bus, despite the driver upfront clearing her throat incessantly because 'We've got a route to cover, kid!'

"Mm," Rachel nods. "I'll see you."

... ... ...

tbc.

a/n: Like I mentioned above, I've got quite a few chapters outlined thus far, so expect more updates from me. I'm busy with school often, yes, but I'll be sure to make time if people do happen to enjoy this story. Your reviews would be lovely! :)