Title: They Call It Dysfunctional, I'm Sorry
Chapter: 1/ ?
Author: LivingInImaginary
Summary: It began with a big city and small people. It progressed with best friends. It ended with her sneaking to him late in the night, because she couldn't stand letting either of them go. He doesn't know when he became on-the-sides to Jesse St James, but he won't give it up.
Authors Note: Been meaning to post this for a long, long time.
Moats and boats and waterfalls,
Alley-ways and pay phone calls,
I've been everywhere with you
We laugh until we think we'll die
Barefoot on a summer night
Nothin' new is sweeter than with you
{Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes – Home}
"Yes, thank you Mr Schuester. I'm very proud of how we went this year in nationals. Two consecutive years of winning is wonderful. I only hope the new bunch can keep up with out my talent, and that they aren't as insufferable as my teammates over there. And would you believe I haven't been attacked by a slushy in two months? We've made glee club cool, Mr Schuester, I'm positive of it. No longer will we have to go through- Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr Schuester, there's someone I need to talk to."
"Okay, Rachel," Will says as kindly as he can, although the relief was clear on his face.
She grabs Noah Puckerman's hand, her robe trailing behind her in the breeze. "Congratulations, Noah!"
He gives her a smile and wraps his arm around her. "Yeah, surprised you all, didn't I?"
"Not me," she beams. "I believed in you, Noah, and look where you are now!"
"Yeah, well, Mom still doesn't believe I'm graduating. She reckons you're a godsend. Thanks, you know, for all the tutoring and shit."
"No problem. But if you were looking for a way to repay me, I know of one. I have a proposition for you!"
He nods, sliding into his car. "You coming? Because I'm all ears. I'm thinking pizza."
"Yes," Rachel nods, waving to her fathers. "They'll meet me at the house. Anyway, as you know, I-"
"Wait, so, this deal . . . Does it involve me and you and a bed?"
She smacks him over the arms and continues. "As I was saying, before you interrupted me with one of your deplorable suggestive jokes-"
"It wasn't a joke, babe."
"Stop calling me that," she scowls, waving to Dolores the Librarian as they back out of the car park. "Anyway, I plan on moving to New York as fast as I can. I'm going to study the Art's in one of NYU's best courses, and do a little study in media. Anything that will strengthen my abilities, I'll take. I'll talk around, see if I can get into anything off-Broadway until I graduate, where I'll push my way into all the glittery lights and fame and make myself a star. I want you to come with me."
"Me? Why?"
"You're probably my closest friend these days, ever since Jesse broke up with me for the sixth time. I mean, Quinn and Finn and Brittany and Santana and Mike and Matt are all lovely, but I don't really feel any connection with them. And there's no way I will ever live in the same house as Kurt or Mercedes. It would be too painful. Besides, my fathers know your mother quite well from their young days as Jewish students and they'd want someone they can trust taking care of me."
"The Berry's trust me? The guy who egged their house for three years and threw slushies at you every day?"
"Threw being the operative word, Noah. I trust you now. They don't really know who that was, anyway."
Puck raises and eyebrow. "I thought you'd be, like, a massive big mouth, Berry. I mean, you have no problems complaining about me to my face, and to everyone else's face."
"I complain about everyone, Noah. It's pure fact."
He nods with a chuckle. "Yeah, okay. Say I agree, when are we going to- ?"
"As soon as possible. I've already spoken to your mother numerous times and, in her words, 'it will be so lovely for him to have some responsibility, to take care of you'. I, of course, told her she was wrong – I don't need taking care of. But she agreed, Noah. I think it would an amazing adventure for us."
He cringes at that. "I don't know, Berry . . . An amazing adventure . . . It sounds kind of lame."
"Don't be silly. It'll be fun! You aren't really going to let me go all alone, where creepy old men may be lurking behind every dumpster in every dark alleyway I stumble myself into? Just a helpless, tiny thing like me?"
"Damn it, Berry," he sighs, frowning. "You're too good."
"I know," she smiles. "Turn off here, you can get some pizza and we'll discuss living arrangements."
He groans, but takes a left anyway.
Three days later, she's on the phone to him at seven in the morning. "Thank you, Noah. You have no idea how much this means to me."
He empties out his shirts, pants and underwear drawers into his suitcase and shrugs. "Yeah, well, I guess it won't be so bad. As long as you don't talk all the time, Rach."
"Get used to it," she laughs, folding her favourite blouse neatly and placing it in the bottom of the bag. "Do you think you'll get a job?"
"I don't know . . . I might be part of the mafia or something."
"Oh please, Noah. Seriously, what would you like to do?"
"Something badass . . . But not like, climbing a ladder to save a fucking cat or anything. I'm not being paid for that shit. Maybe I could be a cop . . . I'd get a gun, then."
"The thought of you carrying around a gun and trying to save lives terrifies me, quite frankly. You'd probably get into a fight with a serial killer or a rapist. Then we'd have to run away to Mexico and change our names so he wouldn't catch us . . . Oh, Noah, please don't become a cop!"
"Whatever, Rachel. Stop being such a drama queen."
"Another thing you'll have to learn to live with."
"Really living together, eh? That's going to be scary."
"We'll have an apartment with separate rooms. It's not like we'll have to share a bed or anything-"
"I wouldn't have a problem with that."
"Noah!"
"Just telling it like it is. Besides, you kind of set yourself up for these, Rach."
There was a pause while Rachel checked her wallet to make sure she had everything and he sat on his suitcase to zip it shut – a task proving to be difficult. "Sarah! Get your scrawny ass in here and close my suitcase! Bring that huge dictionary that weighs, like, a hundred kilos."
Rachel can hear the sound of a bag being zipped up and a muffle of complaints from Sarah Puckerman.
"Shut up, twerp, or I'll sit on you."
"You're fat ass would crush me instantly, you pig. And get off the phone to your girlfriend, Mom wants to know if you'll lick the bowel. She's baking cupcakes."
"She's not my girlfriend, Sarah! What have you been telling her? She'll never stop yapping off about it now. Oh, god. I bet she's looking through the baby pictures . . . I'll be down in a second. Get the fuck out of my room, Sarah! Hello?" he adds.
"Hello, Noah," Rachel replies cheerfully.
"Yeah, I'll, uh . . . I'll see you this afternoon, okay? I have to go help my Mom."
"That's very noble of you, Noah."
"Yeah, whatever," he grumbles, hitting the end button.
Rachel spends the next hour studying Manhattan, the apartment they could be staying at and NYU. She decides the best plan of action is to put three quarters of her money in the bank as soon as they get out of Noah's car and find him a job before she ends up paying all the bills for the next five (ten? Fifteen?) years.
She's jumping up and down and flitting from room to room when Puck's beaten up old car rolls into her driveway.
"Noah!" she squeals, flinging her arms around him.
"Come on, get your suitcase. We got to get a move on," he says, waving to Arnold and Ryan. "S'up, Mr Berry's?"
"Oh, hello Noah. Lovely to see you," Arnold says happily. "I was just packing Rachel some lunch. I don't suppose you'd like some?"
Puck eyes the sandwiches hungrily. "Uh, yeah, cool. Ma says hi. Wants to know if you'd give her a call, she wants you to go over for dinner tonight and swap 'I remember when my child . . .' stories or something like that."
Rachel takes the two paper brown bags, kisses Arnold and Ryan on the cheeks and follows Noah out the door.
"What the hell have you got in here?"
"Everything. It's not like we're staying overnight, Noah."
It washes over him now that he's totally about to move in with Rachel Berry. He sees a list in her hands and the triumphant little way that she's walking and okay, this might not be so bad.
They stop at a MacDonald's (much to her complaint) and order some fries. They listen to an old radio station and he raises an eyebrow when she sings along to Bohemian Rhapsody.
"I try to get the full experience out of any song. It's what any devoted artist would do. Mama . . . Ooh ooh ooh . . ."
"Righto, crazy face."
That earns him half an hour of the cold shoulder and the very worst glare she could muster.
"Noah! Look! New York . . ." she breathes, her palms pressed against the window and her eyes bright. She's been preparing herself for this day for years, ever since her daddy whispered the blessed word in her ear – Broadway. Ever since she knew how to Google and ever since her parents took her to her first musical, this had been all she had been waiting for.
"We're really here, baby," he grins, kissing her forehead and parking on the side of the road.
They spend that night searching for an apartment. The first was too dark; the next too expensive; the third had no bathroom; the fourth had an atrium (the fuck is an atrium, Berry? I can't afford this fucking place); the fifth was next to a train station; the sixth had been host of a knife fight where two people were killed; and the seventh was just disgusting, even by his standards.
"We'll just- We'll look tomorrow," she says, stifling a yawn and stretching (and of course, he notices the way her shirt rides up). "Thank you for letting me sleep on the bed, Noah."
"Yeah, whatever," he replies, settling onto the couch.
The next morning they get a coffee from Starbucks and trail around the city. The first apartment they come across happens to be perfect. It's cosy and comfortable without being too small. It has two bedrooms and one bathroom but if he promises to keep everything sanitary, then this will be the place they live in from now on.
She settles her bags in that afternoon, wrapping her small arms around his waist. "Oh, Noah, this is perfect. This is wonderful. I'm in New York . . ."
He takes her late-night shopping, buying a couch and two beds and food and lamps and all the essentials they could possibly need. They don't get home until past midnight, when he can't find his keys and they wake up the half of the people in the building.
They stay up until five in the morning, losing screws and failing to understand instructions. Finally, though, their little apartment is set up. He's too tired to cross the hall and get changed, so he curls up into bed with her, clothes still on and spanner in hand.
Rachel has a dream that they invest all their money into lottery tickets. They lose over five thousand dollars and have to move out onto the streets, where she collects tin cans and busks for money. But of course, all the fumes from the trucks and cars she's inhaling ruin her lungs and voice, so nobody gives them money anymore. Noah kills a man and they get wheeled away in the back of a cop car, hair disgusting and dirt strewn across her bony cheeks.
Rachel wakes up panting, skipping to the bathroom and washing her face, hands, legs and neck before deciding just to shower to get the horrible feeling of dirty unworthiness off of her skin. She changes eagerly, waking up Noah as soon as she has a shirt over her head.
"I'm going to get a job," she tells him, brushing her hair back and watching him stretch in the mirror. "I can't survive on the money I brought. We can't survive on our money, Noah."
"We've been here a day! We've still got a while until all the money goes."
"We spent half of it on this apartment alone! Add all the furniture and food and we really don't have that much left!"
"Okay, okay," he sighs. "We'll get jobs."
On their way to Starbucks, she notices a little cafe down the road and, more importantly, the sign in the window advertising that they need help. Her eyes light up with the wide windows and cushiony chairs and large bookshelves lining the southern wall. "This is it," she tells him excitedly. "This is definitely it."
He leaves her to hand in her resume and drives around town, trying to find anything that sparks an interest. When he realises that his engine is overheating, he swerves into the nearest mechanics.
"S'up, man?" he asks the guy in the blue overalls.
"Hey, buddy," the guy replies, kicking an old tyre out of the way. "What's going on here?"
"Car overheated. I would've fixed it myself, but I'm low on money and I don't have any tools."
"Huh," the mechanic nods, taking a look at the engine. "This won't take a minute. So, you uh . . . You say you need a job, eh?"
"Yeah. My roommates riding me about it. We just moved in uptown."
"Right, right . . . And you're good with cars?"
"Well, yeah. I've had this one for a while and never had to take it to get fixed before, I've done it all myself," Puck murmurs, studying the rusty EJ Holden partially hidden under a white sheet. "This wasn't made here, was it?"
"Nah, mate. I got it from an Australian friend of mine."
"Cool."
"You want a job?"
"Can I have a job?" Puck asks with a raise of an eyebrow.
"Sure, you seem like a good guy. Plus I've been looking for help for a while. A lot of people bring their cars in, but no one seems to want to work here. Everyone's trying to make it out there, ya know?"
"Yeah, I know. My name's Puck."
"Puck? Righto. I'm Rick."
He gets home late that night, a new pair of blue overalls in hand and grease smudged across his neck. Rachel's hair is falling out of her ponytail and she's untying her black apron. She smiles, hands him a coffee and sits down at a table.
"I got a job," they say in unison.
"This calls for a celebration!" he grins, dragging Rachel out the door. They buy cheap wine and sit on the rooftop of the building, singing at the top of their lungs We are the Champions.
He wakes up in the morning on the floor, shirtless. Rachel is wearing her very best dress with slippers on her feet, her body splayed across the carpet in the most unusual way, hands and legs all in different directions.
"Rachel, baby, come on. Let's get you into bed," he grins, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
"I'm not tired, Noah! Let's par-ty!" she squeals, scrambling over the couch.
"Rach . . . C'mon, it's like five in the morning. Time for sleep."
"Sleeping is for losers. I'm not a loser, Noah, I'm a winner!"
"Yeah, okay, Rach. How about you go win in your own bed," he sighs, grabbing her and pulling her over his shoulders. She yells protests at him before he drops her on the bed, but a little too hard. She goes flying off and lands on the floor in a fit of giggles.
"I flew! I flew like a bird!"
Puck groans, places an arm around her shoulders and walks her to the bed. He lays her down gently, kidding her cheek. She wipes it with a frown. "Are we friends, Mr Puckerman?"
"The best of friends," he smirks.
"Excellent. I was worried you don't like me."
"That's because you're a drama queen, baby," he says with a sigh, shutting the door on his way out. "Good night, Rachel!"
"Goodnight Noah!" her muffled voice sounds from her closed room.
Ahh Home. Let me go home.
Home is wherever I'm with you.
Ahh Home. Let me go ho-oh-ome.
Home is wherever I'm with you.
{Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes – Home}