Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or its characters. If I did, the characters would be happy all the time and I'm pretty sure that the show would tank.
The slamming of the front door is what rouses her.
She rubs the sleep from her eyes and glares at the alarm clock. Didn't it go off? Why didn't Puck wake her up? Why is she fifteen minutes late?
She glowers for a moment longer, trying to forget the surge of emotion she feels when she remembers what day it is. She buries her face into Puck's pillow, feeling empty and alone; the gaping hole in her heart feeling larger than usual. She knows that hole in her world will never be filled. Knows her family won't come rushing back into her life anytime soon, if ever.
She hollows her cheeks and pushes the covers off, heaving herself up off the bed and grunting over the exertion. At seven months, you'd think she'd be used to the achy back, the slowness in her movements and the upset stomach, but no. She doesn't think you can ever get accustomed to those things.
She pads over to the bathroom and readies herself for her shower.
She's clean, she's dressed and she's ready for the day to be over.
She slings her bag over her shoulder and waddles her way into the kitchen, inhaling the delicious smell of waffles and bacon. She feels a painful jolt in her jaw as her mouth starts to water and she smiles. Sarah Puckerman - Call me Mrs. Puckerman - has already left for work.
Why else would her son be making bacon? For all his false bravado and tough guy facade at school, only Quinn has seen the real Noah Puckerman. Has seen him cower under his mother glare. Has heard him sing his younger sister a sweet lullaby. Has seen him drive all the way to Akron and back to pick up his grandmother from her doctor's appointment. Has snuggled into his embrace as they fell asleep.
She shakes her blonde hair out of her face and slides up to him at the stove.
"Need help?"
"Hey," he says, nodding in greeting. "Nah, why don't you sit down? I made bacon."
"So I smell," she replies. He turns to give her a tiny smirk and stares at her round belly.
"Is Cougar Puckerman Fabray hungry," he asks, speaking directly to Quinn's stomach. She smiles, despite herself, but quickly masks her features into a well-rehearsed frown before he meets her eyes again. "What?"
"I thought we agreed we wouldn't address the baby," she replies, raising one thin eyebrow. "Wouldn't name it, either."
"It is a she," he says, rolling his eyes.
"Whatever. Just... stop with the stupid names already," she says, scowling.
"Yes ma'am," is his tired reply.
She clenches her jaw before she can say anything in response. She knows she's being unfair. Knows he means well. Knows that this decision is as much his as it is hers. But no matter how much she knows, she'd be an idiot if she let him have a bigger say in their situation.
She walks away from his side and notices that the table is set. She gapes for a moment at the bouquet of daisies in the middle, surrounded by baskets and bowls of food. A basket of cheese buns and toast, a bowl of that special hot sauce Quinn's addicted to and even some ripe strawberries. Freshly cut orange slices, grapes, cantaloupe and bananas, too. Three different kinds of bevarages; apple juice (for him), orange juice and soy milk (for her).
He's even made sure there is no coffee, knowing that the smell makes her feel nauseated.
There's so much food; more than she knows what to do with; and she idly wonders why he's going to so much trouble. She turns back to look at him, quirks an eyebrow at his backside, but still pulls out a chair.
It catches her off guard, to be honest. All of the trouble he's gone to this morning. Not waking her at the – quote – buttcrack of dawn, making bacon for breakfast, and setting the table. She knows what day it is, but never expected he would, too. She turns back to look at him, focused on not burning her bacon, as the cynicism seeps in.
"What do you want," her voice calls out, interrupting the crack and sizzle of the frying cured meat.
"What," he says, chuckling despite himself. "How do you mean?"
She rolls her eyes and huffs, a bit impatient with this game, already.
"You know what I mean," she says, gesturing to the laid out food.
"Just eat, will ya?"
She breathes out an incredulous laugh and delicately picks up a cantaloupe wedge with two of her dainty fingers. She brings it to her lips and moans at the taste.
"This is good," she says in between bites. "Where'd you get the fruit?"
"The store."
She hears the mocking lilt to his voice, but can't be bothered to care. Puck teases her as much as he teases his younger sister.
"What about the bacon? Your mom forbade me from buying it," she says, swallowing. "Remember," she adds, a bit sarcastically.
"Yeah, I know."
She rolls her eyes, hating the wariness in his voice.
She rolls her eyes, hating the fact she feels guilty even more.
"Sorry," she mumbles.
"Don't sweat it." He puts the final thin slices of bacon on a plate, taking it in his left hand and picking up the plate full of waffles in his right.
"Dig in."
She narrows her eyes at him.
"Get in the truck, Fabray," he nearly growls.
"No. I normally walk to school. You know that."
"Jesus. You woke up late this morning! There's no way in hell you're gonna make it in time for school. Stop being so friggen stubborn and get in the truck." He yanks the door open and glares at her.
She stares at him for a beat before slamming it closed once more.
"I said no."
"Fine."
He walks around to the passenger door and pulls it open.
"Have fun walking!"
She fiddles with the strap of her bag, watching him as he buckles up. He's about to pull out of the driveway when she calls out to him.
"Fine. Give me a ride to school," she mutters once she's climbed in.
"Finally!"
"Shut up."
"Really, I'd like to know what climbed up your ass and died this morning. 'Cause you're being a bigger pain than usual in mine."
She fixes him with a cold glare and decides she hates him.
"Just..." she takes a deep breath. "Just drive."
"Whatever you say, Princess."
"What was that?"
He plasters on a fake smile and shakes his head.
"Nothin' at all, babe."
"Good. That's what I thought."
They're nearing the school parking lot, but Quinn's lecture on letting her sleep in and trying to butter her up with food is just getting started.
"I don't understand why you'd let me sleep in. Especially today of all days."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She hears the defensiveness in his voice and doesn't know what to think. If he's not trying to con her into doing something for him, then she's almost positive he's offended that she suspects him of blackmail.
She folds her thin arms over her stomach, fixing her eyes to the front.
"You know exactly what I mean," she counters, instead.
"No. Actually I don't."
He's pulling the truck into his usual spot and Quinn knows she needs out. She feels as though the cabin space inside the truck is shrinking and she'd rather be anywhere – sharing a meal with Rachel, talking to Mrs. Hudson, or facing her daddy – than here.
As soon as he's stopped, she pushes the door open.
"Whatever," she replies, dismissive, before she walks towards the school.
She doesn't know if she's relieved or angered by the fact he doesn't chase after her. Especially today. Somehow it seems more like a personal attack today.
She shakes her head, deciding she's relieved that the boy who knocked her up doesn't seem to care about her.
"Just add him to the list," she mutters under her breath, convinced she actually means it.
It feels like a Monday, when really it's Thursday. She'd give anything to go straight home but alas, they have glee club.
She drags her tired, aching body to the choir room and plops down in the front row. She ignores Santana and Brittany's hushed conversation, Mercedes' brassy laugh, Kurt's idle chatter and glowers.
Rachel and Jesse come in, followed closely by Puck. She avoids his gaze, but he stubbornly sits next to her. It's like he's pushing all her buttons. It's like he wants to make this day worse for her than it already is.
It's like this day can't get any worse.
She angles her body further away from him and hears his low chuckle. She ought to be surprised when his lips graze the shell of her ear, as he whispers, "Just wait until you see what I have planned."
She presses her cheek against her shoulder, trying to hide her smile.
Darn him.
"You know perfectly well why I'm not getting in that truck," she can't help but argue when he leads her back to his parking spot. She also can't help the smile that grows on her lips when he smirks in response, opening the door for her.
"Come on, baby," he says, tilting his head to the side, trying to coax her the way he has before. He's been successful in the past, but she's not buying it. Not yet, anyway. "You know you don't want to play hard to get. It must be exhausting."
She lets out a full belly laugh at that.
"No, what's exhausting is being forced to spend more time than I have to with you."
Puck feigns offense, clutching his chest. He shuts the door, but still takes two steps forward, pressing his stomach against her protruding belly.
"Whatever you say. But it's a long walk home," he says, softly, his eyes tracing her face.
"Nuh-uh," she replies, shaking her head, looking up at him through her long lashes.
It's not a usual occurrence, this flirtatious game. But they're both naturals and they prefer this flirting to their usual arguing. It's not something they'd like to broadcast, but it's the way it is. Even their hostile verbal spars have a playful, flirtatious note to them, though neither will ever admit to that.
"It's the same walk I take every day you have football practice." She raises one eyebrow, a smirk on her lips, challenging him.
"True," he nods. Feeling bold, he snakes his arms around her to pull her closer, leans down and whispers, "but I have a surprise for you back home."
She pulls away to look at him, still smiling, but the wariness in her eyes warns him that he's walking a fine line.
"We're not playing Mario Kart tonight."
"No, not that," he chuckles.
She slaps his shoulder.
"Definitely not that," she says, laughing. "Last time we tried, it wasn't all it's cracked up to be." She glances quickly around the parking lot, double-checking that there's no one around. "My stomach kept getting in the way, remember?" She says lowly, quietly, afraid that someone will overhear.
He rolls his eyes, slightly annoyed that – of course – she'd jumped to that conclusion. You knock up a girl one time and you're branded. Sure, it wasn't like he hadn't tried getting back in her pants a few times (and he'd almost been successful once), but no. That's not what he's after tonight.
"'Course I remember. It was pretty embarrassing."
She giggles at his discomfort, but lifts her face, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.
"I know." she whispers, staring deep into his eyes. She relents after a beat. "Fine. Let's go home."
Both Mrs. Puckerman and Hannah are waiting for them in the living room, matching smiles on their faces.
"Surprise!"
Quinn startles, momentarily mute.
"Oh. Wow," is all she can manage.
Strewn across the coffee table, Quinn sees containers of Chinese take-out, cans of grape soda pop and a chocolate birthday cake. She turns to look at Puck, who's standing just outside the entryway, smiling softly at his family.
"We didn't forget," is all he says.
"No. You didn't forget," she replies, unable to keep the awe out of her voice. She smiles, embarrassed, but doesn't look away. "Thank you."
"Happy birthday, Quinn."
She stares at him for a beat longer. Just this morning, she'd been dreading this day, knowing full well that neither her parents nor sister would call. She figured this birthday would be the worst ever, but somehow, Puck's managed to make this day special.
Still smiling, she nods and shifts her gaze to the floor.
Mrs. Puckerman clears her throat.
"Come. Sit. Eat."
"We got a whole bunch of food, Noah! Ma even let me get that sweet and sour pork stuff for you!" Hannah chatters excitedly.
Quinn goes to sit between both Puckerman women and smiles graciously at Mrs. Puckerman when she hands her a container of Chow Mein. She briefly locks eyes with Puck when he goes to sit in his usual chair and shoots him another smile.
She leans back into her seat and suddenly realizes her world feels whole, again.
AN: It was my friend Marie's birthday last week. She's quite possibly one of the nicest, warmest and level-headed people in the Glee fandom. I consider myself lucky for knowing her and I am grateful that she puts up with my flailing and ranting when we talk about the show. She's wonderful and amazing and I wrote this one-shot for her. Happy birthday, Marie. I love you.
(Also, you might wanna check out her stuff! Her ff name is 2q21.)
As always, reviews are welcome and encouraged!