A/N: This was written for a prompt at the puckrachel drabble meme on LJ.
They both end up at OSU, but they don't really hang out. It's a big school, and he doesn't really hang out with anyone from high school except Finn. They talk occasionally, when they end up in the same place at the same time; he knows that she goes to his football games (having a killer high school coach who writes amazing recommendation letters is the reason Puck even got into college), and he keeps track of her crazy musical performances. They dated once, and they used to be friends, but really, she's just a girl he knows from high school.
He red-shirts as a freshman, but he doesn't bother to declare a major until after his sophomore year, so being on a five-year plan turns out to be a good thing.
Puck is basically the only person who isn't surprised when he declares physical education as his major but the way he figures it, that makes as much sense as anything. It doesn't really matter if he's coaching high school football or teaching P.E. classes to third-graders, he knows he'll be good at it, and it'll probably be a good time.
Between Finn (who is still friends with Rachel) and his gossip-mongering mom, Puck hears all about the car accident. He knows that her left leg was basically crushed, and even though she'll be fine and lead a normal life or whatever, she won't be able to dance like she used to.
A wet highway and and some dude who stops short, and Rachel Berry's Broadway dreams go up in smoke.
It turns out, he doesn't hate Lima. Actually, he sort of digs it, and it should probably scare the hell out of him.
It's kind of funny how many people he knows from high school who end up being teachers, but when you live in a town like Lima, there isn't much else to do with a college degree. They're pretty full up on doctors and dentists, so unless you want to be a nurse or work your ass off at some dead-end retail job, you're a teacher. Quinn teaches second grade at Gilmore Elementary, and Artie is the school's speech pathologist. Finn's a special ed teacher at McKinley working primarily with kids with emotional-behavioral issues, something he's weirdly good at.
Rachel is the biggest surprise. She's at McKinley teaching drama and public speaking, and she's as dedicated to teaching as she was to becoming a star, and that would be amazing if it wasn't just sad. (To be fair, the only people who find it sad are the ones who remember who she was ten years ago, adding gold star stickers to her signature and spouting Broadway trivia like people cared.)
Puck has Coach Beiste to thank for the fact that he's teaching at McKinley. Her coaching got him scouted, her letter got him a scholarship, and her encouragement helped him decide what the hell he wanted to do. He'd done his student teaching with her, and Figgins had hired him off her recommendation and insistence that she needed a new offensive line coach. He'll be teaching freshman P.E., weights, and some ridiculous lifetime sports class, plus coaching football and whatever comes up through the school year.
He rents a two-bedroom house from a little old lady who doesn't seem to realize that she should be charging him at least twice what she is, and he's set up some ground rules with his mom so he can actually like having her nearby instead of wanting to kill her. His sister is a junior at McKinley, and she's sure he's going to ruin her life. (Not hers. He'll just destroy any little fucker who thinks he's going to mess with Puck's sister.) Brittany is a hygienist at an orthodontist's office in town, and Santana's making more money than any of them as an accountant at a local firm, and he doesn't hate that either of them are around.
It's good, really good. He dates Brittany for a while, but they break up because she's just too nice. (Truth? He can't watch her cry over another stray animal. That shit's awful.) He's chilled out on all the sleeping around. It's a bad example or whatever, plus it just isn't as exciting as it used to be. He isn't ready for the whole wife-and-kids package, so that must mean that he's up for dating someone seriously. That's what's in between friends-with-benefits and ball-and-chain, right?
He runs into Rachel in the teachers' lounge one morning in early October. Literally. His coffee maker freaked the fuck out this morning, so he's on a desperate quest for caffeine, and she's just there when he rounds the corner.
He swears under his breath, catching her elbows and pulling her against him before she falls on her ass. "Rachel. Sorry."
"It's fine," she tells him, looking up at him curiously as he lets her go and moves away. "Are you okay? Your eyes are only half-open."
"I haven't had any coffee yet." She nods, leaning against the counter as he pours himself a cup (He has no idea whose mug this is, and doesn't give a fuck.) and takes a long, deep drink. It scalds his throat, but he doesn't even care. "I didn't mean to mow you over."
"It's fine," she repeats, holding a stack of papers - fresh copies, he assumes - against her chest. She's wearing a skirt, longer than the ones she used to wear in high school (probably a good thing since those hot-as-fuck skirts were borderline inappropriate), and he's glad that she doesn't seem self-conscious about the scars on her left knee and ankle. "You let your students call you Puck." Her tone is disapproving.
He smirks. "Sure do, Ms. Berry."
"You don't think that's too informal?"
"Not any different than Schue," he points out.
She rolls her eyes. "Have a good day, Noah." Her ballet flats are silent when she moves across the tile and out of the room, leaving him alone and surprised that she didn't engage in the obvious argument.
Figgins finds Puck when he's looking for Coach Beiste, so he gets the great news that his best wide receiver just got suspended for three days, making him ineligible to play that Friday. And of course, Friday they're playing a team that actually presents a challenge.
Turns out Ms. Berry caught the kid tossing a slushie in a freshman girl's face.
He tells Beiste, then leaves her to tear the little jerk a new one while he goes to find Rachel.
She's standing in front of her filing cabinet when he taps on the door, and she sighs when she sees that it's him. "Noah, I really don't want to argue with you about this. I saw what Andrew did and unless you go over my head to Figgins, his suspension is going to stand. I'm sure you remember the humiliation and discomfort of being slushied, and there's no way I'm letting a student get away with it just because he can catch a football."
He makes his way into the room as she talks, leaning against one of the desks and watching her shove the metal drawer shut. "I'm gonna run him till he pukes," he says conversationally.
The disgust on her face almost makes him laugh. "Is that your answer to everything, Coach Puckerman?"
"Nah." He smirks. "Sometimes the answer is up-downs."
She rolls her eyes and moves to sit in her chair. "You're an idiot."
"In all seriousness, though, I wanted to let you know that he's not getting off the hook. Beiste doesn't tolerate that crap, and neither do I."
"There's irony in that, you know," she says, smiling as she leans back in her chair and crosses her legs.
He snorts as he pushes himself off the desk. "Yeah, yeah."
She's laughing when he walks out of the room, and he likes the way it sounds.
He gets roped into chaperoning prom, which sucks. He'd gone to his own senior prom with Santana, but they'd only stayed long enough to take pictures and dance once before he took her back to her house to find out what she had on under her dress. (Nothing. Fuck, that was a good night.) Instead of bitching, he just puts on a suit and goes to the hotel ballroom where the dance is being held.
He's kind of surprised how happy he is when he sees that Rachel is there, though they don't really get a chance to hang out. He spends the evening milling around, ignoring things that are mildly inappropriate and putting a stop to things that he would get in trouble for letting continue.
At one point, they're actually standing on the same side of the ballroom at the same time. "Do you think this is punishment for being new?" he asks quietly, grinning when she bites her lip and nudges him with her elbow. "Seriously."
They only have about an hour before the torture is over, but it feels like forever. Puck has already confiscated two flasks and seen three crying girls; it's the first time he's actually hated being a high school teacher.
She looks up at him, the refracted light from the disco ball (yes, really) flickering on her face. "It's really awful, isn't it?"
When the dance officially ends and the lights are back on, Puck uses his most menacing expression to scare off any of the kids who might linger. He walks Rachel out to her car because while Lima is a pretty safe town, he's not going to let a woman walk alone through a dark parking lot.
It turns out that being a teacher is infinitely easier the second year. Being a coach, Puck doesn't really have to bother with proper lesson plans unless Figgins is doing that mandatory evaluation shit, and he never has written assignments to grade. During football season his work days are like ten hours long, but it all evens out. He knows which hallways to stay out of to avoid Sue Sylvester, and he finally found an air freshener for his office (which is inside the locker room) that kills the odor of sweaty feet without smelling like a chick.
"Fucking Berry, dude. Her class is hard, but fuck, she's hot."
Puck's walking through the locker room when he hears one of his players drop that little gem.
"I'd like to bend her over that des-"
"Hey!" Puck shouts, cutting Reynolds off when he rounds the corner. "You need to watch your mouth, especially when you're talking about a teacher."
"Sorry, Coach." The kid's eyes are big and startled.
"You will be when you finish your laps tomorrow."
So it wasn't the worst locker room talk he's ever heard, not by a long shot. If he's being honest, the worst talk he's ever heard came out of his own mouth. It is, however, the first time he's ever heard one of the guys talking about a teacher like that, and, yeah, maybe he's a little more aware of the fact that it's Rachel.
After practice the next day, he runs Reynolds until the kid looks like he's going to throw up, then sends him on his way with another warning to watch his mouth.
He's leaned against the wall at the end of the gym with a bunch of other teachers for the homecoming pep assembly, waiting to watch glee club and the Cheerios and whatever. Schue makes his usual "hooray for glee club" speech before the kids get out there and start singing, a contemporary rap song with a catchy hook that Puck recognizes but doesn't particularly care for. Glee doesn't get quite the flack that it did back in his day (god, that makes him sound old), but it still isn't the "cool" thing to do. He isn't surprised, but he wishes that wasn't the case; glee is still one of the best things that ever happened to him, and he's totally willing to admit it now.
He slides down the wall a bit, pushes past the chem teacher so he's next to Rachel, her shoulder pressed against his arm. He leans down to speak into her ear. "Do you miss that?"
She blinks up at him, then shakes her bangs out of her eyes. "Yes," she answers simply, and she looks so fucking sad that he wishes he hadn't said anything. He realizes that she can't do that any more, and he hates himself. Yeah, she can still sing like no one he's ever heard, but that isn't what she's doing now.
He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't move away from her either, not until the football team is introduced and a sophomore Cheerio with a scary look in her eye comes over to pull him out into the center of the gym with the rest of the coaches.
He kicks the guys doing winter conditioning out of the weight room at 4:30 because, frankly, he's sick of being at work. It's Friday, so he might see if Finn or somebody wants to meet up at the pub later, but he kind of just wants to sit on his couch, drink a beer, and watch the game. (Some game. Whatever. He doesn't care.)
The halls are quiet when he locks his office and starts making his way to the parking lot. Since it's Friday afternoon, even the teachers who hang out late are gone for the weekend, but he isn't really surprised when he walks by Rachel's classroom and sees her leaned over something on her crazy-organized desk.
"Seriously, Berry?" He leans against the doorway, grinning when she starts. "It's Friday. What are you still doing here?"
"You're still here," she points out. Her pen is still hovering over the page in front of her.
"Winter conditioning," he explains. "And I'm leaving. What are you doing?"
"Grading speech essays."
His eyebrows knit together. "Why do kids in speech need to write essays?"
"Because the written component is an important part of public speaking." She rolls her eyes when he scoffs. "Have a good weekend, Noah."
"How much longer are you planning on being here?"
She thumbs through the papers in front of her, counting. "An hour, maybe an hour and a half."
"Fuck that," he says flatly, waving a hand when she reprimands him for swearing. "We're the only ones in the building, Rach. And you cannot sit at your desk until six o' clock on a Friday grading papers."
She drops her pen and turns in her chair a bit so she's facing him. "Excuse me if I'm not in a hurry to get home to eat dinner alone while watching a marathon of House episodes alone before I go to bed alone."
He blinks twice, then steps further into her classroom. "Wow. What's with the pity party?" She isn't quite the overbearing, overexcited girl she was in high school, and he knows that her life isn't exactly what she expected, but she generally isn't so down on herself. And yeah, he's seen her looking a little low before, but this is different.
"I think I'm suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder," she tells him seriously, and he can tell it's a lie even though she's a better liar than she ever was in high school. "I'm going to look into taking a vitamin D supplement."
"God, you're full of shit," he tells her, and he likes how indignant she is. "Look, whatever. If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to, but let's go out to eat. I'll even let you pick someplace that has that crazy fake cheese stuff."
"It's soy."
"Whatever. I'll pick you up at your apartment at 5:30."
She pulls a face. "That's really early for dinner."
"Yeah, but it also means that you'll have to leave here soon," he tells her, grinning when she scowls. "Later, Berry."
It isn't completely strange, making plans with Rachel, but they don't usually hang out alone. A lot of their mutual friends are still around Lima, so they're generally part of a big group, and maybe that's the weird part. He hangs out one-on-one with everyone else, but he's pretty sure, now that he's thinking about it, that Rachel spends most of her time on her own. He's never heard Quinn or Brittany or even Finn talk about hanging out with her.
He parks his Jeep next to her little hybrid and makes his way into her building right at 5:30 because he doesn't want to listen to her bitch about his failure to be punctual. (He's heard it before. Like, Monday afternoon at the faculty meeting when he slipped in two minutes after Figgins started droning about fucking nothing.)
She's already wearing her coat when she opens the door, and all he can do is laugh and shake his head. "What?" she asks, stepping outside and turning to lock the door.
"Sometimes, it's like you're exactly the same as you were in high school."
She smiles up at him sadly. "It's really depressing that sometimes I think that would be better, isn't it?"
He doesn't know what to say to that. That's twice in one day that she's looked at him and said something so fucking sad that he just wants to give her a kitten or a baby chick or whatever would make her smile for real, but she's just walking down the hall like it's the most normal thing in the world. Since he doesn't know what to say, he lets it go.
They go to some restaurant that somehow has excellent macaroni and cheese and the crazy vegan stuff she eats, and they spend most of the meal talking about school and their friends and the fact that his sister is taking speech as her elective. She actually starts talking about the weather, which would be shit awful if it wasn't for the way she brings it up.
"I can't wait for it to get cold already so my ankle will stop aching." He gives her a strange look, but his mouth is full of chicken, and he actually does have some manners, so he doesn't say anything. "Ever since the accident. I've turned into a cliché, predicting changing in the weather based on the pain in my joints."
"That sucks," he says simply, because it does.
He learns that she wears flats because she can't stand or walk in heels for more than half an hour at a time, and it makes her crazy. Not because she's short (she's just barely shorter than average, she points out), but because heels make one's legs look so much better. He tells her that her legs are sexy as fuck no matter what she has on her feet, and he thinks the way she smiles at him makes the whole thing worth it.
Santana throws a new year's eve party at her condo, and Puck learns that female accountants? Not so hot, at least not the ones she works with. Five years ago, he would've been pissed and gone somewhere else, but he honestly doesn't care. He catches up with Quinn, laughing at a story about one of her students and the guinea pig that lives in her classroom, then lets Brittany talk him into taking shots of Jager (which brings up the memory of a fucking awful night back in college he'd repressed until now).
He escapes to the living room, where Finn and Rachel are sitting together. Puck has kind of been waiting for them to fall back together since he found out she was teaching at McKinley, but apparently they really are just friends. (Finn looked at him like he was crazy when he brought it up one Sunday afternoon when they were watching football.)
"Dude, Brittany's doing Jager shots," he announces, looking at Finn. "You need to either play along or make her quit."
Finn rolls his eyes when Puck flops onto the couch next to Rachel. "Why am I the one who has to stop her?"
"Because you're the special ed teacher?" He smirks when Rachel mutters something about how inappropriate that is. "Because after Artie and Santana, you're the one who can make her stop when she's doing something fucking stupid. Santana's drunk and Artie's the one who gave her the Jager. It's you by default."
Finn grumbles, but he gets up and makes his way into the kitchen because he knows it's the truth.
"I haven't been this drunk in years," Rachel announces, Puck turns a little to look at her. "Santana keeps filling my glass, and I just keep drinking." She gestures a little with her half-full champagne flute.
"You aren't going to throw up, are you?"
"No," she answers.
He drapes his arm across the back of the couch behind her. "Then I'd say it's a good thing. You need to loosen up and have some fun."
"I have fun," she insists, turning her body toward his more fully. She's wearing this silky, low-cut tank top that makes her cleavage look amazing, and he takes the liberty of looking. "You and I just have different ideas of what constitutes fun."
"Yeah, but I bet there's some overlap," he says, and he doesn't really mean for it to come out in quite that tone. He's obviously more drunk than he realized.
She looks up at him through her eyelashes. "Right." Fuck, she's a hot drunk and she isn't even doing anything. He's not sure how he's known her so long and never seen her like this before. (Wait, right. High school Rachel Berry was a tightass.) "What's your new year's resolution, Noah?"
"I don't do resolutions, Berry."
She shakes her head a little, smiling. "Because you're already perfect, right?"
"People don't change," he says with a shrug. "It's stupid to pretend otherwise."
"You don't really believe that, do you?" He shrugs, and her eyebrows knit together. "Noah, you're a million times different than you were when you joined glee club. You've dealt with monumental things. You're so much better than you were then."
"Whatever," he says dismissively. "Back then, I was picturing what you looked like out of your animal sweaters and plaid skirts. Now, I'm picturing you out of this." His finger skims along the strap of the tank top, and he notices that her breathing changes, becomes a bit shallow. "I'm the same dude."
Quinn and Santana choose that moment to come stumbling into the room, giggling and hanging all over each other and brandishing bottles of champagne. (The fact that they're friends instead of being at one another's throats? He's still getting used to that one.) They tug Rachel up off the couch and into the kitchen where her presence is vital to some chick nonsense that Puck isn't paying attention to and doesn't care about. He's caught up in the way her skin felt under his fingertips and how she didn't pull away from him.
He didn't used to hate Valentine's Day. Really, he was pretty ambivalent about the whole thing. Women went crazy over it, whether they had a hate on for it or felt like they deserved roses and romance, and he'd dealt with both over the years. Now, however, he has to deal with listening to the teenage girl craziness that goes along with it, not to mention all of the extracurricular fund raising bullshit. Student council sells carnations (that are color-coded or something), and the marching band sells Hershey Kisses, all delivered during classes throughout the day on the holiday. Puck, being that he's easily the most attractive male on the faculty, unfortunately becomes the recipient of way too much of this bullshit.
As does Rachel.
It makes sense, because she's hot, but he knows that she doesn't appreciate the attention. He'd heard all about it at Santana's Anti-V dinner the year before. (And yes, of course Santana has a hate on for Valentine's Day.)
He's in the teachers' lounge during his plan period, reading the newspaper and drinking a Coke when Rachel stalks in, her arms full of carnations. He raises his eyebrows as she drops them on the table in front of him. "This is ridiculous."
He leans back a little in his chair. "You beat me this year." He laughs when she makes an impatient noise and drops into the chair across from him. "It's one day. Don't worry about it."
"It's completely inappropriate and ridiculous."
"Whatever. Now the band can get new hat feathers or whatever."
"That's the Kisses," she corrects him. "Which I already gave to Finn, so don't ask." He makes a face and takes a drink of his Coke. "What am I supposed to do with all these?"
"Last year, I gave mine to my nana. Shut up," he tells her seriously when he sees the look on her face, like she wants to comment on how cute or honorable or thoughtful it is.
"It's sweet!" she insists, smiling at him. She doesn't seem to do that often enough, because he's sort of startled by how much he likes her smile, almost like he's forgotten. "Maybe I'll take them to one of the nursing homes."
"See. No harm, no foul." She makes a face. "Big V-Day plans tonight?"
"It's just a normal Thursday for me. What about you? Do you have a new lady in your life to serenade?" she teases. Yeah, he'd gotten into the habit of singing to the girls he wanted in high school (they just always happened to be in glee, or maybe it was a proximity thing), and none of his friends will let him live it down. Which is bullshit since every one of them did it too. (Rachel and Finn tease him the most, and they spent more time singing to their love interests - usually each other - than talking to them, so fuck them.)
He scowls. "No, but my mom always makes lasagna on Valentine's Day, so I'll be going over there to eat and listen to her berate me for not having found a nice, Jewish wife and given her grandchildren."
"Sounds like...fun," Rachel says, and he can tell she's trying to be diplomatic even though she wants to laugh.
"No, it sounds like torture," he corrects, and he really likes the way she laughs. "But she'll send me home with half a lasagna and she won't bug me again till Passover."
"At least she's consistent." The bell rings, and she sighs when she stands and starts gathering the flowers scattered on the table. "I'll see you around."
"Later, Rach."
He spends the rest of the afternoon thinking about glee club and singing and feeling like a pussy for being all nostalgic for it. He takes the long way through the building after school, wandering past the choir room on the way to his jeep, and he smiles when he hears a girl belting out "Oh! Darling" like it'll bring peace to the Middle East or make the object of her affection fall madly in love with her.
Puck thinks two things when he hears that Rachel and Schue are co-directing the spring musical. First, it's going to be excellent. Second, he wonders just how Rachel's going to hold up through all that.
He's coaching baseball this year, but one afternoon he makes his way to the auditorium after practice, standing back in the shadows and listening to Rachel as she talks the cast through a scene. They're doing West Side Story since the school board shot down Rent, and he takes a seat in the back row to watch them run a song.
They have three weeks till the show opens, and if this is any indication, Puck thinks the show is going to be amazing.
He waits around after rehearsal ends, even though he feels kind of like a creep sitting there in the back of the auditorium watching Rachel and Schue talk, but he feels weirdly compelled to talk to her alone.
"Hey," he says, standing as soon as the door closes behind Schue. "Sorry, sorry," he apologizes, seeing her flinch and press her hand over her heart as she turns to the back of the auditorium. He moves forward quickly so he's in the light. "I didn't mean to freak you out."
"God, Noah, you're...lurking in the shadows! Of course you freaked me out!"
"I'm sorry!" He stops in the aisle and watches her slip a stack of papers into her bag. "I really didn't mean to scare you."
She zips the bag and turns to look up at him. "Why are you even here?"
"I was curious about how the show was going, and I had some free time after practice." She nods, and it feels so weird between them that he has to say something else. "It looks really good. I mean, from what little I saw."
"I think it will be," she says. "There are parts that are rough, and it certainly needs some more work, but I think it'll be good."
"How's your Maria?"
If she thinks he won't notice the way he breath catches, she's wrong. "Very expressive," she answers after a moment. She doesn't meet his eyes.
"Rachel-"
"Noah, don't," she cuts him off. "Whatever...just, whatever you're thinking, don't."
"Rachel, you were going to play Maria," he says softly.
"Don't." He just looks down at her, her hands in fists at her sides as she glares up at him. "God, what do you want me to say? That I hate this? That it's killing me? That I'm sitting up every night wondering what would have happened if things were different?"
Even though it breaks his heart, part of him thinks it's good that she's finally saying all of this. She's probably been holding it in since she moved back to Lima, maybe since she'd learned that she wouldn't be able to chase her dreams. That much pent up stuff can't be healthy. "We all have what ifs, Rachel."
The tears in her eyes finally overflow and she swipes at them with her fingertips. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He reaches out and pulls her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her even though she doesn't reciprocate, leaving her palms flat against his chest. "The show's going to be amazing," he tells her. He knows that hearing that will make her feel better than any platitudes he could offer her. They haven't been close in years, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't know her.
He's sitting in his office before school, watching video of his pitcher from the game the night before and making notes when he hears a little tap on the door. He's more than a little surprised when he looks up and sees Rachel there, framed in the doorway in a pair of skinny jeans and a long gray cardigan sweater. "What's up?"
"What's your what if?"
"What?"
She takes a breath and shifts her weight, and he notices the riding boots she's wearing, decides that it's a good look on her. "That afternoon, in the auditorium. You said we all have what ifs. What's yours?"
He puts his clipboard on his desk and sits up a little straighter in his chair. "Beth," he answers simply. And it is that simple. He's never talked about his daughter with anyone; hell, he and Quinn have never even talked about her. "Her birthday's coming up. She'll be nine."
Rachel lets out a slow, shaky breath. "I replay the day of the accident over and over, and what if I would have left five minutes earlier? What if I hadn't stopped for that chai latte? What if it hadn't been raining?"
"You'll drive yourself crazy," he tells her quietly. He knows, because sometimes he drives himself crazy. In fact, the only reason it hasn't happened yet is because he can tell himself that they did the right thing for that little girl when they gave her up. He isn't the rock star he once thought he would be, but if he'd had to support a family at sixteen, he would truly be nothing today.
She smiles, but it's sad, bordering on bitter. "I have been." She rubs her lips together, then straightens her posture. "Will you be at the show tonight?"
"I wouldn't miss it."
She turns to leave, then stops and looks over her shoulder. "Thank you, Noah." She leaves before he can say anything, but he's still smiling when the bell rings for first period.
He makes opening night attendance mandatory for the baseball team (Coach Bieste has been trying to bring together sports and the arts for years, and he's all for it.), and he's leading by example and all that, but he would have gone anyway. Even if Rachel wasn't involved. The fact that she is? Well, that makes him arrive a little earlier than necessary.
He sits between Santana and Quinn, and the show really is incredible. He thinks so, but he knows that Santana's failure to whisper anything nasty into his ear about the kids on stage means he's right.
Puck and Finn are volunteered to go backstage and find her after the show, and they weave their way through excited teenagers and equally excited parents until they find her chatting with "Maria" and her parents. They only have to wait a few minutes before Rachel catches sight of them and excuses herself, coming over with a smile on her face.
"What are you guys doing here?" she asks.
Finn grabs her and pulls her into a quick hug. "Congratulating you on a great show."
"And telling you that we're taking you out for a drink at that girly wine bar you and Quinn are all about," Puck adds. He doesn't hug her because he and Rachel just don't have that kind of relationship.
She glances around, surveying the chaos backstage. "Fifteen minutes?"
Why they're sitting in a wine bar drinking margaritas makes no fucking sense, but Santana is the one who ordered for the table because she's friends with the bartender, so Puck's keeping his mouth shut. He's half-drunk when Rachel slips into the empty chair next to him.
"I heard that you made attendance mandatory for the baseball team," she says quietly, and he nods. "The kids really appreciated it." She traces her fingertip through the salt on the rim of her glass, looking at it instead of him when she speaks again. "I really appreciate it."
"S'nothin'."
"It isn't nothing," she counters, bringing her eyes up to his. God, she has pretty eyes. "It means a lot to me."
She gets up when Brittany starts tugging on her hand, intent on dragging her out on the dance floor for as long as Rachel can tolerate, and Puck's left sitting there wondering if they just had a "moment" or some fucked up shit.
Rachel and Finn sit with him and his mom when Abby graduates, and Puck is totally proud that his sister doesn't blush when the three of them cheer like lunatics when she walks across the stage. Rachel had argued with them when they suggested it; she didn't think that embarrassing Abby was the best way to show their love, and she questioned the professionalism of three teachers showing such blatant favoritism. Truthfully, though, Puck was supposed to think Abby was the best, and Finn had been around for basically her entire life, and Rachel seemed to think that was a good enough reason to go along with them.
Puck's mom insists on having a ridiculous barbecue/graduation party after the ceremony, which Puck gets Abby out of after an hour. Who cares if most of their family is there? The kid just graduated, and she deserves to go hang out with friends at some completely ridiculous party. He orders her to call Santana for a ride when she's ready to come home (because he isn't stupid enough to be the coach who picks up a drunk student at a totally illegal party, even if it is his sister) and tells her that she can crash in his spare room if she doesn't want to deal with their mom. Basically, he's the coolest brother ever.
Rachel is the last one to tell Abby goodbye, giving his sister a hug from her place at the picnic table next to Finn. "You really shouldn't encourage her to drink," Rachel tells Puck quietly after Abby walks out of the backyard.
"She's going to drink," he says flatly. "I'd rather know that she's going to get home safe with someone I trust than worry about her driving or getting in a car with some idiot."
She smiles, though he can tell that he doesn't want to. "I guess that's sensible. In a completely inappropriate way," she adds. He just shakes his head at her. Sometimes, he thinks that she hasn't changed at all.
Just a couple of weeks into summer, Puck realizes that he's actually missing Rachel. They didn't interact much during their first year of teaching; her classroom is in a different part of the building than his office, their departments rarely overlapped, and they had different lunch periods. Last year, however, they had the same plan period, so they saw one another most days in the lounge or just walking through the halls.
And he can admit, if only to himself, that he might have put himself in her way from time to time.
He's always liked Rachel. At least, since he took five minutes to get to know her instead of just assuming she was a freak. And yeah, she was still a freak, but she was a freak with redeeming qualities. She's different now, more relaxed and and quiet, and while he doesn't love the reason for the changes, he doesn't hate the person she's become at all.
He calls her late one afternoon in June.
"You know that crazy Mexican place downtown?" he asks when she answers. He doesn't bother announcing himself.
Apparently she's used to his lack of manners (That's what she would call it.), because she just says, "Rosa's?"
"Yeah, that one. They have a five dollar margarita pitcher special and a vegan menu," he tells her. Yeah, he's started noticing when restaurants have vegan options on their menus, and it's entirely Rachel's fault.
"Are you asking me to go to dinner with you?" she asks, and he can tell she's smiling.
"It's like, six blocks from my house," he explains. "We can get drunk without worrying about driving home."
"All right," she says, and he's so shocked that she agreed that easily that he doesn't say anything for a minute.
And that's how Margarita Mondays start.
The week before school starts, Lima's having a straight up heat wave. It's all anyone can talk about, and he and Coach Beiste have cut two-a-day practices for the football guys so they don't end up with some kid in the hospital for heat stroke.
Rachel knocks before she lets herself into his house on Monday evening. He's sitting on the couch in just a pair of jeans, soaking up the AC and watching Sports Center. "Put on a shirt, Puckerman,"' she orders "This is our last chance to get drunk on a Monday night until next summer, and I intend to take advantage of it."
He's grinning when he turns to look at her. Rachel Berry has definitely relaxed since high school; since they started this thing, he's gotten to see her tipsy on a weekly basis, and she's totally adorable when she drinks. It turns out that she has a kinda dirty sense of humor that only comes out when she has a little too much, and he really digs it.
He sort of freezes when he sees her. She's wearing these super-tiny denim shorts and a floaty black tank top, and her hair is up in a messy knot thing, and he knows that he hasn't seen her show this much skin in years. It's not like he's forgotten that she's hot. He sees her basically every day during the school year, but she's all buttoned-up and professional there. This super-casual look might fucking kill him. "Looking good, Berry," he manages after a moment.
He thinks she's smiling a little when she points down the hall toward his room. "Shirt," she orders again.
They finish the first pitcher before they even get their food, and Puck decides it's going to be a good night. Rachel has never been the pusher before, but she keeps goading him into refilling his glass, and she's the one who orders the third pitcher when she's halfway through her black bean enchiladas and he's almost demolished an order of tamales.
"I'm drunk," Rachel announces when they're walking out the door. He groans when they step out of the air conditioning into the hot, humid evening, and he notices the goosebumps that cover her arms at the change in temperature.
"Me too," he agrees easily. Their arms brush as they start down the sidewalk toward his house, and maybe if it wasn't so fucking hot he'd put his arm around her. "It looks good on you."
She looks up at him through her eyelashes. "You mean when I'm all sweaty and my hair is a mess?" she asks, and he knows that shouldn't be hot. But fuck if it isn't, because now he's picturing her sweaty with messy hair naked on his bed. He think better of saying that though, and they walk in comfortable silence for nearly a block before she speaks again. "Tell me another what if."
They've been playing this game, if you can call it that, all summer, and Puck hasn't decided whether or not he likes it. Sometimes, especially when they're drunk, they start saying stupid shit, and it's hilarious. Like, what if Quinn had dated Karofsky in high school? Or, what if Puck's mom had married Burt instead of Finn's? Sometimes, it's just fucking depressing, like when they talk about his dad or her mom. Once, Rachel asked what if there had been no glee club, and as innocent as it seemed, it was like the mindfuck of the year. It drove him crazy for days.
"What if you hadn't broken up with me sophomore year?" he says after a while. He's thought about it before, a little, mostly just enough to think about what it would have been like to get to sleep with her back then, but he's not entirely sure why he's saying it now.
"I probably would have lost my virginity to you instead of Finn," she says, and he chokes on air. Seriously, because he's choking and there isn't anything in his mouth but his tongue. He's thought that before, but he sure as hell didn't expect that to come out of her mouth. She doesn't seem to notice that there's anything wrong with him.
"I probably would have hurt you," he counters, knowing that she'll know he means emotionally. Fuck, other than slushie in the eye, he never could have physically hurt her.
She nods slowly as they turn the corner onto his street. "You would have broken my heart, yes. Spectacularly, I imagine." Her little flat sandals are silent against the concrete of the sidewalk. "Because I would have fallen in love with you."
He's too drunk for this conversation.
"I'm too drunk for this conversation," he tells her seriously. He starts digging in his pocket for his house keys even though they're a good hundred yards from his sidewalk. She looks up at him curiously. "It's your turn."
She's quiet as they walk up to his house, and she leans against the doorframe as he slides the key into the lock. "What if we didn't have margarita Mondays?" she asks, pushing into the house ahead of him. She moans a little bit, because they're finally out of the heat, he assumes, and he's picturing her naked again.
"I would have drunk way less tequila this summer," he answers easily. He tells his fucking stupid drunk brain to watch its mouth and leave it at that.
"I would have spent Monday night sitting at home watching reruns of House and Gossip Girl." She flops into an armchair in his living room like she always does when they get back to his place and they've been drinking, propping her feet up on the coffee table in a way he never would have expected of her three months ago. He wonders, not for the first time, if that walk makes her leg hurt, but he's never asked. She's slouched down in the chair, all relaxed and calm, and he likes it.
He lies down on the couch, his head propped up on the arm and one foot on the floor. "That blonde chick is hot."
She makes a little noise like she agrees, and they lapse into silence. He likes her like this, quiet and relaxed and, yeah, a little drunk is good too.
He knows it's over when she walks into the lounge at lunch on the first day of school. She sits across from him with this crazy pink lunch bag and tell him all about the changes to her schedule, and even though he listens to all of it, he only really cares about the fact that they have lunch together now.
He managed to ignore his less-than-platonic feelings for her all fucking summer, and a twenty minute lunch every day gets him all excited.
He's totally fucked.
He's walking out to his jeep after practice one afternoon when it all kind of comes to a head. He walks out past the football field, and two students sitting up in the bleachers catch his eye. He doesn't recognize them; he's too far away, and who they are doesn't matter anyhow. It's a boy and a girl, and they're sitting side-by-side, holding hands with their heads close together. Puck sort of freezes when the boy reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind the girl's ear, and it's completely fucking ridiculous that he thinks of Rachel in that moment, that he thinks that is how things should have happened that day on the bleachers all those years ago that he's supposed to have forgotten about by now.
Honestly, it was ten years ago, and ten years is forever when you're only twenty-five. And he had forgotten about it for a while; it was only recently that he started waxing nostalgic about that part of his life. Recently, like when he started doing that what if bullshit with Rachel.
He's back inside the building before he realizes that he's moved, and his feet are taking him toward Rachel's classroom, though he doesn't remember deciding to go there.
She's sitting at her desk, tapping away at her computer with a focused look in her eyes. Her hair is pulled away from her face and she has the sleeves of her sweater pushed up a bit.
"I don't want us to be a what if," he blurts, startling her.
She gasps a little and looks over at him before closing her eyes for a moment. "You scared me."
"I'm sorry." He isn't, not really. He just wants her to realize what he just said, and he sees her expression change when she does. She looks a little...blank. Fuck.
"What?"
"I don't want us to be a what if," he repeats quietly, taking a few steps so he's right beside her desk with its color-coded blotter calendar and and little brass name plate. "I saw these kids, and they were in the bleachers, and it made me think about you. Rach, I don't want to wonder about us any more."
She turns her chair so she's facing him, but she stays seated, blinking up at him. "Noah, I don't understand."
He swears under his breath, running a hand over his face before he looks down at her again. "I'm falling for you again or whatever, and I just-" He cuts himself off because he's never been good at using his words. He leans over, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair, and presses his lips to hers softly, gently.
It takes her a moment to react, one hand coming to rest on his forearm when her lips begin moving with his. He pulls away and takes a step back because he wants her too much and they're at school. He shouldn't be doing this here at all; he isn't entirely sure of why he is.
"Noah," she whispers. She's looking up at him with wide eyes, her lips just slightly parted. "I don't understand."
He laughs a little, humorlessly. "Me either." It's the truth. He doesn't understand it. All he knows is that he doesn't want to wonder any more. He doesn't want this to be another thing that he questions; even if it ends terribly, he wants to have the closure of that ending.
He decides that he hates the what if game.
"I don't want to have to wonder what would have happened if we'd really tried to make it work, Rach." He watches her take a shallow breath. "So you think about that." He starts stepping backwards, moving away from her and toward the door. "Get back to me."
He knows he's being an asshole.
It's been five days since he talked to Rachel. Confronted Rachel. Poured his heart out to Rachel. What the fuck ever.
He's trying to give her space, and he knows that seeing her will just make him crazy. He's basically hiding out in his office at school when he isn't with classes or at practice; he hasn't been in the teachers' lounge once. He kicked Finn out of the house Sunday afternoon for talking during the football game, and he chewed Abby's ass when she called and told him that she was procrastinating instead of doing her reading for her college class. (So he's an asshole and a hypocrite. Awesome.)
He's been shouting at his wide receivers for at least five minutes when he realizes that they're still panting from the drills they were running before. He's being too hard on them, taking out his frustrations on (mostly) innocent kids. These five guys are the only ones still out on the field; Bieste dismissed the rest of the team a while ago. "Hit the showers, guys."
When he turns around to head into the building, he sees a lone figure sitting in the bleachers, dark hair blowing in the breeze. He crosses the track and goes up the steps slowly, watching her watching him, then sits beside her without saying a word.
"Hi," she finally greets.
He rests his forearms on his thighs and clasps his hands. "Hey."
He hears her take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I've been thinking about what you said," she begins, "and I think you're right." He glances over at her, and she's sitting very still, gazing out across the field. "Wondering about this...it sucks, honestly."
He grins up at her. "It does suck."
"I don't want to jump into anything," she tells him seriously, and he nods. "There's just a lot more at stake now than there was back then."
"I don't care," he tells her honestly, smiling when she huffs out a breath. "But whatever you want, Rach."
She smiles, leaning into his shoulder a little bit. "I want you to take me to dinner."