"Quinn, honey, I'm home." Puck shouted into the dead quiet house automatically as he arrived home.
He got concerned after Quinn didn't answer at least five minutes later, not even with an angry grunt from her curled up spot on the couch like she did some days.
Puck rushed into the kitchen desperately, and then the laundry, then their bedroom, then the bathroom and all the other rooms until he'd covered every inch of the house with his worry.
But there was no trace of her.
Puck told himself to stay calm and eventually convinced himself a whole bunch of shit he knew wasn't the slightest bit true. "She wouldn't have gone out without telling me. She would have left a note…maybe it's on the fridge."
He ripped everything off the fridge, all the magnets supporting Quinn's favourite churches and charities, all the pictures of Quinn and him, all the important bills and documents to be attended to, even an invitation they'd recently received inviting them to a wedding.
Puck sorted through everything hurriedly, becoming less and less hopeful by the second.
He soon realised there was one room he hadn't checked.
Puck was nearly screaming in fear as he shoved their home phone to his ear. It rang, and rang, but all he heard was the frustrating phone company voice on the end of the line telling him that the call could not be connected.
He tried again, same result.
"Oh dear god. Oh dear fucking god." He whispered to himself in panic.
So, he couldn't call an ambulance, his pregnant wife was lying on the ground in the attic dangerously close to death, and he was three kilometres away from the nearest hospital.
He would run, but he knew he'd probably pass out.
That would make two of them.
He would drive, but he knew his car wouldn't make it all the way there without spluttering and dying suddenly because of lack of petrol.
He'd spent it all driving around the state trying to find a jewellery store that had a killer ring he could buy Quinn for their 2-year anniversary.
Puck knew Quinn hated it, but it was time to do something he knew how to do with his eyes shut.
She'd thank him later.
Quinn's limp body in his arms, Puck wasn't even thinking when he locked the door.
His wife was slowly dying, maybe already dead, and all he cared about was making sure the house was secure.
"You Idiot Puckerman." Puck thought to himself aloud.
When he and Quinn had moved in here, Puck had instantly disliked the old dude who lived next door. He had come over on their first night with a proper house to themselves and ruined the moment by offering cheap wine and cheese flavoured crackers.
Quinn was polite, she excelled at that. She even had some of his wine.
Puck couldn't help himself dissing the old dude, making fun of him and adding rude comments.
After that night Puck and his neighbour had become sworn enemies.
Quinn disapproved. But anytime she caught them squabbling and tried to break the verbal fight up before Puck killed the poor guy, her neighbour would greet her in a posh voice and kiss her hand.
It made Puck madder than ever.
As usual, Quinn used her charm to calm him down.
Puck never thought he might actually be glad he met the idiot man next door, but he was now.
His small yet speedy car was always filled to the brim with petrol. And that was exactly what Puck needed.
Puck gently placed Quinn in the passenger seat, pulling the seatbelt over her pregnant belly and securing it in place. He slumped into the driver's seat, and shoved the keys he sneaked away from the old man's house into the ignition.
He was panicking. "Oh my god. Oh. My. God. Shit. Shit. Oh my god."
The car was going all crazy over the road, partly because Puck had never driven a tiny car like that before, and partly because he was terrified.
All he could think of doing was praying. At least Quinn would have approved, even if it was to the wrong god in her opinion.
"Please, oh please god. Please let her live. She hasn't done anything wrong. Why her. It shouldn't be her. It should be me. I'm a terrible guy. She's an angel of a girl. It should be me. Let her live."
~ …two hours later…
Puck skulled his coffee. He'd had four in the last five and a half minutes.
He checked his phone again. No messages. No missed calls. No nothing.
Puck started to think he'd been too nice when he called Quinn's mother – but after all, she had a right to know. Even if she hadn't spoken to Quinn since she married Puck.
Judy Fabray hadn't picked up, but Puck left a message anyway explaining the situation.
That's only because the least he expected from her was to call back. She didn't.
Puck had ditched the old-man-next-door's car outside the hospital where the ambulances were supposed to park. He was nice enough to actually grab the keys before deserting it. Puck was starting to think that when Quinn gets back home that he will make an effort to be regularly nice to the man next door, for Quinn. She would think it as the best for the two neighbours.
Suddenly a hand appeared strongly on Puck's shoulder, interrupting his thoughts.
Puck turned around to see a worn out doctor wearing a crisp business suit and a white jacket. He had a grim frown on his face, and he looked relatively upset and distressed.
"Noah? Noah Puckerman?"
"Yeah. That's me." Puck grabbed his disposable coffee cup and threw a perfect shot into the nearest bin sadly.
"I think you better come with me, to somewhere more…." The doctor thought for a second before deciding on an appropriate word. "…less-public. Wouldn't want to, er, embarrass yourself, right?"
"Yeah, whatever. Right."
The doctor led Puck to a small office in the ward Puck knew Quinn was in at the moment. There seemed to be paper everywhere, and the doctor could barely even rest his arms on his desk without knocking over a mountain of important documents. Compared to the doctor's immaculate look his office didn't fit in well.
"I have some bad news."
"How bad?"
"Very, very bad. I suspect you'll punch me afterwards so I'm going to put on this helmet now." The doctor shoved a signed football helmet onto his head, flattening his sweaty hair right down.
Puck chucked in less than amusement. "Shoot."
"Look. I'm really sorry…but your wife is not with us anymore. She was pronounced dead fifteen minutes ago."
Suddenly, Puck's whole world went blurry. He couldn't hear, see or breathe after the words '…wife…pronounced dead…'
They repeated again and again in his head like some sort of sickening horror movie killing scene. The kind that repeats in your head hours after the movie and gives you nightmares.
'Wife. Pronounced dead.'
'Your wife has been pronounced dead.'
'Remember your wife, Quinn? She was pronounced dead fifteen minutes ago.'
'Quinn is gone. Your wife is gone. Gone forever. Pronounced dead fifteen minutes ago.'
And the baby. The baby was gone too. Puck was beating himself up inside.
"LET ME SEE HER." Puck shouted at the doctor, standing up and clenching his fists.
"Sure, but it is only a dead body."
Puck shot a deadly glare at him.
"Right this way sir. I'm sorry for your loss."
"No you aren't. This is your job. You don't care at all."
Puck sat at the side of the hospital bed, his hand clutching Quinn's.
She may be dead, but Puck still felt that connection with her that he'd never had with any other woman but Quinn. He still hadn't cried, but he'd punched a doctor accidently and knocked over the piles of important papers in the doctor's office.
Quinn always told him that, when he got sad he showed his sadness in anger or rebellion. He never believed her until now.
Puck shook his head and kissed Quinn's pale, lifeless hand.
"Get your dirty Jewish hands off of my daughter." Quinn's mother stared at him icily from the armchair in the corner of the room.
Puck snorted. "You shouldn't even be able to call her your daughter anymore. On second thought, why are you even here?"
"Because she's my daughter, whether you like it or not. And you were stupid enough to call me."
"Yeah, well I didn't expect or want you to come. You should have been there for her all along. You had no reason to abandon her like that."
Judy Fabray stood up and hooked her bag over her shoulder. "You know what? You're the one who killed her, aren't you. You, you…poisoned her or something. Something unsuspicious like that – but I, however, can see past your innocent look. I bet you're the one who killed her."
Puck's jaw dropped as she left the room. He desperately wanted to punch her. Or possibly do more damage than that. At least now Puck was alone with Quinn.
"Your Mum's a bitch to me, you know."
Suddenly a machine Quinn was hooked up to started beeping. Puck was alarmed, as he thought they'd probably taken the machines off her by now. He presumed it would stop, but the sound just got quicker and louder.
He jumped out into the hall and shouted out for a nurse. "SOMETHING'S BEEPING!"
Four nurses and a doctor rushed into the room at once, and started pulling out machines and looking at files and shouting at each other, shoving Puck out of the way to the back of the room.
Two seconds later something amazing happened. It was two hours ago Quinn was pronounced dead.
Quinn shot up in the bed, sitting with her back strait and her eyes wide open. "Omigod, Puck."
Puck smiled.
"How did you manage to die and come back to life?" Puck whispered gently to Quinn.
She was laying in her hospital bed, astounded nurses busily doing things around her as she had a quiet conversation with Puck.
"I didn't die. I just…I don't know. I didn't die. I wouldn't do that to you."
Another nurse entered the room, holding a small bundle of pink.
Quinn reached out her arms, and clutched the tiny baby near her chest. She was born early, but she was perfect.
Nothing was more perfect than that moment.