whiny author's note: lalala, i have so much homework. also, i posted this a long, long time ago. almost a year ago, actually. and i've decided to edit it and make it pretty and added more random shit and here it is, i hope you like.
To Feel Wanted
Puck knows he shouldn't complain about the job he has considering his old job used to involve him having to avoid getting killed by the angry Central Powers during the war while in the Army a few years back, and he should be thankful he even has a job, but he can't help it, especially when it involves coming out looking like tar with his bones just hurtin'.
However, after the day's over and done with, once he's washed up and seated at the bar of The 21 Club speakeasy, Noah Puckerman doesn't feel the need to complain anymore about working on the railroads.
As he nurses his glass of scotch, he scopes the room that's now hazy from cigarette smoke. He sees a few friends like Finn Hudson and Sam Evans around and nods, raising his drink. The two nod back and he's glad they didn't come over to talk. They're friends, but they're all that close and really he really isn't in the mood to talk.
Across the room there's a poker game going on, the table full of famed faces from the city like Jesse St. James, the theater director, Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel, the city's famed designers of suits and clothes for only the richest and most important (and the rumor about the two being more than just business partners lingered in the air), Al Motta, the owner of The 21 Club, and William Schuester, a theater performer. Surrounded by four of the most beautiful women in town in their flashy dresses, blue, green, gold, and black, Emma Pillsbury, Shelby Corcoran, Holly Holiday and April Rhodes. Flappers.
Up on the stage was a music group of ladies, famed among the speakeasies, all in flashy purple dresses. Mercedes Jones, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, and Sugar Motta. They called themselves The Troubletones singing that new music: Jazz. The four were always together and always hanging off the arm of a different man, sometimes two. Each.
He orders another glass of scotch and once he's served, he sips it slowly, continuing to watch the room. He's noticed a new woman has walked in. Rachel Berry, New Orleans' newest and most talented stage performer and, rumor had it, the woman in Jesse St. James' bed every night. Not that he cared about those things, but every time he visited his mother and sister, the two would tell him all about it because she used to go to their temple before she got famous.
He watches as she walks over to the poker table, all eyes on her. She presses a lingering kiss to Jesse's cheek before making her way to the stage, strutting right past him at the bar, pretending she didn't know him. He almost snorts. If only people knew that Rachel Berry was the girl from his temple he'd fucked into oblivion more times than one before and after the war.
As the Troubletones' jazz tunes stop, Rachel Berry's Broadway-style tunes begin and all eyes are on her. She's fantastic, really. She can sing circles around anyone in this place, even Santana Lopez, he can't deny that, but he's so over her air of greatness. Once the song's over, he turns to order another scotch, and that's when she notices her.
She steps into the speakeasy, quietly, discreetly, almost as if trying to not be noticed. But even if she's quiet, there's something about her that just draws his attention to her. Part of it has something to do with the the way she's dressed. A fiery red feather in her long honey blonde curls catches his eye first as he looks her over, followed by a matching red dress clinging to her curvy frame as if for dear life, stopping just at her knees, and her small, bow lips sparkle like red candy.
He watches her curiously, trying to figure her out. She doesn't look like the other women around the bar. There's an air of class, youth, and innocence to her that the other girls lack. Maybe it's in the way she blushes when she feels someone looking at her or in the gentleness of her smile or maybe the way she's cautious about where she steps or whom she looks at, he isn't too sure. But it's there and it's driving him insane.
He can tell she's noticed he's checking her out because she seems to peek over at him through her lashes. He tips his hat in response and his heart flutters, when she blushes and winks at him. His hand flies to his tie. Did the temperature of the room go up ten degrees or is it just him?
He grabs his scotch and takes a drink to cool down, the burn not helping much at all. He traces her steps with his eyes, following her as she walks over to the poker table, greeting all the men with a wide grin and flirty eyes. When she sits Jesse St. James' lap, his heart flutters once more, and he's positive it just broke. Jesse slips an arm around her and drops a kiss to her neck, causing her to grin and giggle and causing Puck to clench his fist around his scotch glass. He doesn't know why. He doesn't even know this girl. He downs the rest of his drink and turns to order another.
When he turns back around, she's kissing Jesse's cheek and hopping off his lap like he's on fire. He watches her compose herself and continue her sensual walk across the room, catching everyone's eyes once more, and before he knows it, she's standing in front of him, hands on her hips and a smirk on her face.
"What's your name?" she asks him the confidence in her voice booming.
"Uh… it's uh…" he forgot his damn name. "Hi." It's the best he can come up with. His brain's swimming and he's forgotten how to speak.
"Hello there," she greets, her smirk not faltering. "Cat's got your tongue there, darlin'?" she asks, grabbing his glass and finishing up what was left, licking her lips afterward.
"Uh, no, ma'am," he says nervously. Since when did he get nervous?
"I ain't no ma'am," she tells him, taking a seat on the stool next to his, crossing her legs and causing her short dress to ride up, revealing her fishnet tights and mile-long legs. "What's your name?" she asks again, this time, her voice soft as wind chimes.
"Uh, it's Puck…" he mumbles, looking up at her somewhat awestruck.
"Puck," she repeats, the name rolling off her tongue so smoothly. The same tongue he pictures doing things to him that suddenly make his trousers uncomfortable. "That's an interestin' name you got there," she says.
He gives her a once-over. Then another. And when she blushes, he knows she knows he's staring and he tries to look away but he can't. She's like a magnet with her bright green eyes, pink cheeks, and red lips, looking so innocent and yet so dangerous.
"How's about you?" he manages to say. "You got a name?" he asks.
She chuckles a bit. "I'll let ya call me Lucy, darlin'," she says with a wink.
...
She's guarded, he notices, but as he spends his evening with her talking and joking and getting to know one another without revealing too much, she seems to let go a bit. She seems to trust him a little.
The two share drinks of scotch and whiskey and beer, and they're laughing and giggling afterward, as the room spins, earning looks from some of the other patrons when they get too loud, including one Jesse St. James. But neither one even gives him the time of day, especially not when they leave the speakeasy together.
That night, he takes her home. And without the dress or the feather or the lipstick she looks as angelic and innocent as he knew she was deep down. As they get tangled in the sheets of his small bed in the quiet of his small apartment, he asks why she does what she does. She doesn't answer him, instead clinging to him, begging him to call her Quinn. So when he comes right after her, he calls her Quinn, holding her close.
It's when they're lying in the afterglow of their encounter with the moonlight spilling through his window that she speaks. "To feel wanted," she whispers into the darkness, tears filling her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.
He doesn't know why but his hold around her tightens. He whispers that it'll be all right, even though he doesn't really know that. He's too simple to know that. But reassuring this girl is something his heart tells him he needs to do.
"You'll be all right, Quinn," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair.
"I won't," she murmurs, pressing and open mouthed kiss to his neck. "But thanks for tryin', darlin'." She turns in his arms and straddles his waist, kissing him hard. His hands find her thighs and the rest is history.
And then the next day, she's gone with a note that says 'Free of charge. Thanks for the fake comfort. - Lucy.' He frowns and he feels his heart break a little. Suddenly the ache in his bones isn't just from building the tunnel...
...
Three nights later, Puck finds himself in The 21 Club again. He's alone again and the he's unwinding from three days of hard work from digging to cleaning to paving. He's exhausted and it seems the burn of alcohol is better than sleep. And honestly, Puck's just looking for her.
The same group of men is playing poker, surrounded by the same ladies, this time including Rachel Berry. She keeps looking over at him, but he's not interested in even talking to her. He also notices Jesse St. James keeps looking and he's confused as to why.
He blinks, sipping his drink and that's when she walks in again. Quinn. Lucy?
This time her dress is white like the clouds in the sky and sparkles like something shiny and new. The feather in her hair is the same color but her lips still the same candy red. This time her hair is straight and not curly like the other night. She still looks like an angel.
Their eyes meet, but she's quick to look away and he frowns as she walks to the poker table, finding a place on St. James' lap, just like the first night. This time, she doesn't move.
"See somethin' you like, Noah," a voice draws his attention away. He turns to it and near rolls his eyes.
"Rachel," he says dryly.
She does roll her eyes, however. "It's nice to see you, too, Noah," she says. "And now, I ask again," she says, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Do you see somethin' you like?" she asks, biting her lip.
He snorts. "Wish I did," he says looking over at St. James. And at the blonde he couldn't get out of his head.
"Who is she?" Rachel asks, sounding almost jealous as she glared at the blonde.
"I don't think you care," Puck says, sipping his scotch.
"What-" Rachel starts to speak again, but he's ignoring her, more focused on Jesse, who's now nodding him over. Puck raises a brow and stands, drink in hand as he walks over.
"Mister Motta," Jesse says to the owner of the club. "I think you've had enough for one night."
"What?" he asks.
Jesse raises a knowing brow, almost threatening him. Al Motta doesn't say another word, instead standing and walking away.
Puck watches the scene unfold in confusion, making discreet eye-contact with Quinn who looks just as confused as he does.
"Mister Puckerman," Jesse says, tightening his hold around Quinn. "It is Mister Puckerman, right?" he questions, a smirk on his lips.
Puck clears his throat. "Uh, yes, yes it is," he says.
"Have a seat," Jesse says.
"I don't play poker. I don't make nearly enough as you all."
Jesse's smirk widens. "Mister Puckerman, is that fear I hear in your voice?" he asks.
Puck glares. "Not at all, St. James." He sees Rachel come up behind Jesse.
"Then surely, one game won't hurt. I'll make it easy for ya. And enticing, of course."
Puck raises a brow. "How exactly?"
"One game. One hundred dollars each and..." Jesse pauses for a moment. "One Miss Lucy here." Rachel looks almost jealous.
"What?" Quinn finally speaks. "You can't bet me!"
"I don't think you're in any place to protest, Miss Lucy," Jesse says, squeezing her arm.
"Don't you touch her like that!" Puck says, but Jesse ignores him, still squeezing Quinn's arm.
"Plus, if you want that role, you'll let me bet you," Jesse raises a brow. "And I always win," he smirks. "And well, if your little friend doesn't play, then you know what happens."
This guy's a psycho. And a menace, Puck decides. He plops down. He only has one hundred dollars so if he loses, he's screwed. "Cards on the table, St. James."
...
He doesn't know how, but Puck kicked Jesse St. James ass for all it was worth on the poker table in a poker game he's positive was rigged, and he left with two hundred dollars and with Quinn on his arm. She thanks him the whole way to his place, as makes sure he knows it when she lets him take her to bed that night.
"I wanna be an actress, you know. Like the ones on the stage," she tells him later that night as they lay in bed. "Or in the movies, but Mister St. James thinks I'm not serious enough. He's always after that Rachel Berry girl. And you saw how he treats me..." she frowns. "He doesn't want me."
"I don't think you should have to put up with him," he tells her, running his hand over her arm.
"He's the only one that can get me in the business," she explains. "It's the only way they'll ever..." she trails off.
"You don't need St. James to do anything for you. There are plenty of directors who can get you what you want," he encourages.
"Except they all work for him! They're all under his control," she swallows. "None of them will want me once he spreads the word. No one wants me! That's why I do this! Because at least for one night, someone wants me. For one night, someone doesn't think being with me is so horrible."
She's near tears and her voice is barely above a whisper when she finishes. "I just want to feel wanted, Puck."
He doesn't know what to tell her because she's so broken and he's scared that anything he says will just break her more.
So he holds her close. "You'll be all right, Quinn," he whispers again, kissing her blonde locks, just like he'd done the last time.
"I won't," she murmurs with a dry chuckle and a sniffle. "But thanks for tryin', darlin'," she echoes, wiping her eyes.
...
She disappears again that night, leaving the same note, and he's disappointed. It becomes a cycle. They see each other a few times a week, however, and sometimes, he takes her home, when he's lucky. But whenever he does, she's gone by morning and he hates it, especially when he sees her again a few days later hanging off the arm of Jesse St. James. On those nights, she doesn't even look at him.
One evening, he's watching intently. She's siting on St. James' lap while the man makes a bet with William Schuester this time. He can't quite make out what they're saying, but when he sees Quinn stand and practically yell at Jesse, she knows the bet has to do with her.
Standing up for herself earns her a hard slap to the face from Jesse and next thing she knows, she's being dragged out by the arm. Puck stands and runs out after them, but by the time he makes it outside, Jesse's car is speeding off.
Puck curses and he hears Rachel's smug voice behind him. "She won't make it outta that," she smirks.
"Shut up, Berry," he says. "Don't you have a table to be under?" he asks, walking away and ignoring the undignified gasp from her.
...
He doesn't see her again for a while after that. He visits the speakeasy on a nightly basis and she doesn't make her appearance. On the third night, he threatens St. James, practically nailing him to the wall in the process. "Where is she?!" he asks. "Where the hell is she?!"
It gets him thrown out of the 21 Club, but the blood gushing from St. James' nose makes it satisfying.
He lays low after that, staying away from the speakeasy for several days after. He doesn't show up again until the following week. He heads up to the bar and sees St. James at the poker table, glaring at him. His nose is still bruised and swollen and Puck smirks. He takes off his hat and orders a scotch from Matt Rutherford, the bartender, who hands it to him along with a pat on the back, before turning around to scope the room.
It's the same setting as usual. The richest around the poker table surrounded by the flappers. Rachel Berry at Jesse St. James' side as if claiming her territory, but every one knows she's his territory, not the other way around. The Troubletones are on stage, their sultry voices along with the jazz melody setting the mood.
And that's when he sees her again.
After two whole weeks, she steps into the speakeasy, just as quietly and discreetly, as she had the first night he saw her. It's almost as if she's trying to not be noticed again, but even if she's quiet, everything about her draws his attention to her. Her head is held high and there's a confident look in her eye. She's dressed in a black that stops just at her knee and sparkles in the light and black gloves cover her hands and forearms up to the elbow. Her blonde curls fall down her back like spilt honey and a black feather adorned her hair. The smirk on her face is small, her bow lips sparkling like red candy, just as they had that first night.
It's almost as if he's in a trance as she walks through the place like she owns it. All eyes are on her and she knows it too, he notices. He sees her walk to the poker table and his heart sinks. She's still with him.
She walks by Jesse and winks at him before walking past him and making her way to the bar.
And before he can even register, she's in front of him, her hands on her hips and a smirk on her face.
And fuck, he wants to pinch himself because she looks way too beautiful to be real.
"What's your name?" she asks him the confidence in her voice booming.
He smirks up at her and he wants to kiss her. "Uh, hi," he says, just like he had the first night.
"Hello there," she greets, her smirk not faltering. "Cat's got your tongue there, darlin'?" she asks, grabbing his glass and finishing up what was left, licking her lips afterward.
"No, ma'am," he says.
"I ain't no ma'am," she tells him, taking a seat on the stool next to his, crossing her legs. Her dress rides up, revealing her creamy thighs. It's deja vu really."What's your name?" she asks again, this time, her voice soft as wind chimes.
"It's Puck…" he says, his smirk widening to a smile.
"Puck," she repeats, as if testing the name on her tongue. "That's an interestin' name you got there," she says.
"How about you?" he asks giving her a once over, biting his lips at the sight.
"I'll let ya call me Lucy," she winks.
...
And he doesn't care who it hurts, he takes her home that night and makes her his time and again, calling her Quinn each time. He thinks he might love her. And he doesn't really know what love is, but the things she makes him feel, they can't be normal.
So when they lie in the afterglow of their third round of the evening, he holds her to him.
"He hurt you," he says, tracing a bruise on her cheek that was obviously from more than the slap he witnessed. Makeup was a wonderful thing apparently.
"That's none of your business," she says, pushing his hand away. "I'm fine."
"I still don't know why you let him control you," he says. "He treats you like horseshit, Quinn!"
She sits up and pushes the blankets away. "He's going to make me something! I'm nothing without him!" she says. "He hit me because I deserved it!"
"What?! How could you think you deserve to be treated like that?" he asks, sitting up as well. "You're better than that, Quinn."
"You don't even know me!" she says, reaching for her dress on the floor. "Why the hell do you care?! Jesse..." she says, her voice shaky. "He's gonna get me on the stage," he tells her. "He's gonna make me famous!"
His heart breaks at her words. She can't be this superficial, can she? He doesn't believe that. He figures tough love'll make her talk. "So you'll let him beat the crap out of you any chance he gets just because he's gonna make you famous? What kinda shit logic is that, Quinn?" he asks her. "You're willing to risk your life to be famous? Gee, how fuckin' predictable. Just like Rachel Berry, except she trades favors under the table for it... oh wait..."
She slaps him. Hard. And it stings like hell and that's when he sees the tears in her eyes again as she falls apart before him. Gone is the confident woman from the speakeasy and before him is a scared and broken little girl, falling to pieces.
He pulls her into his arms hugging her tight and kissing the top of her head as she buries her face into his neck.
"I just want somebody to love me..." she murmurs against his skin in between sobs. "I want someone to want me. Nobody wants me."
He rubs her back and she pulls away. "Don't you see? If-" she stammers. "If I'm on that stage, the audience will love me. Someone will love me and I'll-I'll be happy," she whispers.
"No, you won't," he whispers, reaching his hand out to wipe her tears. "You'll be miserable. I don't know anything about love, but I do know that where you're lookin' ain't the right place."
"I just-" she shakes her head. "I don't know what to do," she whispers.
"Run away with me," he says suddenly. The thought just dawned on him. Really, what's he doing in New Orleans that he can't do anywhere else?
Her head snaps up. "What?"
"You heard me," he whispers, tipping her chin to kiss her. "Run away with me. We'll get out of this hell hole... away from New Orleans... and this hell you're livin' in with Jesse. You don't gotta deal with him, Quinn. If you want fame, you'll get it, but not like this. He's controlling you, babe."
She looks thoughtful and so afraid and worried. "What if... he'll find me," she mumbles.
"No, he won't. And if he does, I'll break his nose again," he smiles a little. "Plus, you'll already be a big, big star."
She smiles a little and sniffles, wiping away her tears. "You'd really do that for me?" she asks.
"I want you, Quinn," he tells her seriously, looking into her eyes.
...
By morning, they're on a train with whatever bits of their belongings they could get together in the middle of the night. They're headed for New York. She's cuddled up into his side and it's the best she's ever felt. He kisses the top of her head and holds her closer. They'll be okay. He knows it.
When they arrive, it's hard. So very hard. But Puck manages to find a job helping Mr. Holland build his tunnel to New Jersey. He's got an eye for detail and Mr. Holland commends him for it, taking him away from the mining and the building and moving him into the office and giving him a hell of a raise.
In the mean time, Quinn finds her groove in their new apartment and new lives. It's tiny, but it's theirs and she loves it and she's happier than she's ever been and he loves it. She goes by Quinn now. Quinn Puckerman. He may've asked her to marry him a few months after they arrived.
And as Quinn Puckerman, she auditions up and down Broadway and it takes a while, but without having to sleep her way to the top, she doesn't mind the wait. And when she finally gets a role, the lead in the Gershwin brothers' Lady Be Good. She's a hit and she's brilliant and he's at every show, front row and with the most beautiful flowers he can find.
After that, directors and producers are in love with her soft and sultry voice and her beautiful face and they're practically knocking down their doors to get her to be in their productions. She's ecstatic and he's so very proud of her.
In the next year, she lands two more roles in huge musicals and her name is all over the newspaper. He continues to work for Mr. Holland, who seems to love him like a son, and thinks Quinn's the sweetest woman he's ever met. At the end of that year, after her last show, she gets another offer, but turns it down. Because she's expecting.
And in June, she gives birth to the most beautiful baby girl Puck's ever seen. She's the spitting image of her mother and he never thought he could love another girl the way he loves Quinn until his daughter came along. Elizabeth Quinn Puckerman. Beth.
They don't hear from Jesse or Rachel or anyone in New Orleans, with the exception of his old friends Finn and Sam, who came up to visit when Beth was born. They're both married, Sam to a beautiful girl named Marley who's as sweet as pie, and Finn to Brittany, the blonde from the Troubletones. They let him know that Jesse was killed by Al Motta, but no one reported the man and really, they all thought Jesse deserved it. They also said that Rachel was the permanent singer at the Speakeasy as the Troubletones were travelling and experiencing fame in the best way.
"It's funny how things turn out," Puck says one night as he crawls into bed next to Quinn where she's nursing their tiny little girl. He kisses both their foreheads.
She smiles up at him before looking down at Beth. "What things?"
"Everything," he shrugs and she knows what he's talking about. "I love you," he tells her.
And she blushes, but the smile on her face is flawless, genuine, and just so beautiful and he falls in love with her again.
"I love you, too," she whispers.