A/N: This idea has been annoying me for the past couple weeks and I tried to fight it, but alas my will power isn't that strong. So here it is. I haven't written anymore, I'm not even sure if I'm going to - though a Rachel that drinks warm beer in Puck's mom's garage rocks my socks with her awesome - I guess we'll see if anybody is reading this first. Enjoy :)

The Mistakes That Lead Me To You

One

Rachel watched enviously as Noah Puckerman popped the top off another beer bottle with his lighter, carelessly letting the tiny metal cap fall to the cemented floor of the garage. The girl had spent the better part of a year failing at perfecting that particular skill, ever since she saw him do it seven months ago: the date of their first ever coupling for honorary bro's night.

It had started because of an audition. Most things did where Rachel Berry was concerned because her big dreams of her name on a marquee sign in the bright lights on Broadway would have it no other way. She was auditioning for the role of Maureen in a local community theatre production of Rent and she feared she wouldn't be able to fully grasp the character without experiencing feelings of rebellion for herself first hand.

Noah suggested getting drunk—which was his customary answer for everything, since he was always trying to get in her pants because she was a hot looking Jew and he just couldn't help it—but Rachel refused to attend Noah's regular bro's night on Saturday with all the guys. Usually, he would've just stopped trying to help after that but Rachel was his best friend, had been for as long as they could remember.

They're parents had been good friends since they were young, well, just his mom, since Noah's dad hadn't ever shown up for anything, least of all to the Synagogue. At first, they were just dragged along by Rachel's two gay dads and his mom, when they conversed over lunch after Temple was over, but after a while Rachel took it upon herself to make them friends. She had said it would be a beneficial endeavor for both of them to make these Saturday lunches somewhat tolerable by mutual friendship. He agreed to get her to stop talking and things just escalated from there until she was the first number he called when his dad left.

"Berry, stop looking at me like that. It's not my fault you have no hand-eye coordination," Noah ordered before opening another bottle to hand to her.

Rachel's eyes narrowed dangerously to the point that the black sweatshirt he had on looked like a pin-pick against his tan skin. Noah just looked on, somewhat nervously, as he ran his left hand over his practically shaven off Mohawk, his brown eyes blinking rapidly in wait for the explosion.

"I resent that, Noah! You know very well my hand-eye coordination is above par. I play the piano, I am sufficient at playing the guitar and I beat you all the time at every video game you own! The only reason I can't open the bottle with your lighter must be because of your inadequate explanation on how it's done. Furthermore—"

"Jeez, I like you better when you're drunk. You're a normal person when you're blitzed and stop calling me, Noah. How many times do I have to tell you—"

"That you prefer to be called Puck because you don't want to be associated with some pansy that built a boat to save the giraffes," interrupted Rachel with a slight sigh as she took a sip of her beer. "I remember, I just don't care. Your given name is an important part of your identity and while I'm forced to tolerate your use of multiple names for me, because you refuse to see reason, I will not participate in such an act—"

"Stop, please. You're ruining my buzz," he whined in a way only he thought was manly.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Fine, lets play video games. You have that shooting game out here, right?"

"Duck Hunt, Berry. Duck Hunt. We've been over this a thousand times. Do you just do it to torture me?" Noah groaned, almost sounding like he'd been fatally wounded.

"Like you, with your sexual innuendos to get in my pants?" Rachel asked, the amusement in her eyes dulled down by the haze of intoxication. "But to answer your question, yes. What else am I going to do for entertainment when I'm sitting on a lawn chair in your garage with only a faulty twelve-inch sometimes colour television and a cooler full of melted ice and lukewarm beer? I must say this is the worst bro's night you've organized thus far."

Rachel took a sip of her beer, waiting for him to respond. She knew the moment she got there something was up. They'd only be in the garage if Noah had something to say that he didn't want his mother to hear. Unfortunately, it took a while for him to get to the point, something that annoyed her greatly, as she enjoyed the blunt and honest approach herself. Rachel was just lucky that dressing in jeans and her favourite gold star hoodie, instead of her usual short skirts, made it easier to discourage his advances because she'd be freezing right now.

"Yeah, well, I forgot about it until you called me. I think it's pretty good for the fifteen minutes I had."

She rolled her eyes again—a go to reaction when faced with her best friend—before draining the last of her beer with an embellished gulp. She may not have got the part—apparently she was too young which was a gross exaggeration since the woman that got the role had to be over forty—but Rachel's ability to hold her alcohol and even tolerate the cheapest beer from 7-Eleven had drastically improved.

"What, too busy deep cleaning another woman's pool to remember me?" she murmured sarcastically while retrieving another beer from the cooler between them.

"No," he growled and when his fists clenched at his sides, Rachel placed the bottle down on the cement next to her foot so she could turn to face him.

"What's going on?" she asked softly. "It's not your dad is it?"

Noah shook his head, still looking straight ahead at his front yard. His sister's bike was sprawled across the sun-scorched lawn under the faulty streetlight that would periodically flash on and off, illuminating the neon reflectors on the bike's handlebars. They were surrounded by an eerie silence, that was always somewhat comforting, until the neighbours dog started barking at shadows that skittered along the ground with the moon. Rachel just took in the lackluster scenery and waited; it was all she could do. If she pushed anymore they'd be out there all night. It already happened once and her chiropractor had made a fortune fixing her posture after she spent hours uncomfortably slumped in a lawn chair. Never again.

"I slept with, Quinn," he finally answered and Noah was determined not to look at her because he didn't want to see her reaction.

Rachel was always disapproving of his 'older' conquests, but only enough to comment sarcastically at their expense. The ones from school she was a lot less lenient on and she usually lectured him for hours about how self-esteem issues in teenage girls were directly related to being promiscuous. This time though, with Quinn Fabray, well, it would definitely be worse than that—a whole lot worse.

"What?" she all but growled.

Her voice was almost unrecognizable and he swallowed as much beer as he could.