If you ask most people how they met the person they love, they'll have a sweet, fateful-encounter story to recount. When Puck met her, it wasn't anything like that. It was kind of unpleasant, actually.
It was the day he moved to Lima, Ohio. The day he first faced his new classmates, who he'd spend the rest of his school years with, since Lima was such a damn small town, with only two elementaries, one junior high, and one high school in the public system.
"Class, we have a new student today."
The teacher was an oldish lady who smiled at Noah even when he scowled as hard as he could at her. He was still unhappy about moving from Cincinnati to this stupid cow town. She had explained to him a hundred times that living in the city was expensive and times were hard since his dad left, but that didn't mean that he had to like it.
"Can you tell the class your name?" Noah realized that it was the second time she had asked him that.
"Noah Puckerman," he muttered menacingly, glaring out at the other fifth-graders from under his bangs, daring them to stand up to the scary new guy.
Most of them trembled just as he had hoped, but a bright laugh cut through the silence.
"Miss Lopez! May I ask what is so amusing?" the teacher lady demanded.
"Nothing," the laughing girl answered, her voice suddenly innocent. She had tan skin and wore her dark hair in a tight ponytail.
The teacher glared at her, and Noah supposed that she had caused trouble in the past. "I expect all of you to make Noah feel welcome here." With that, she dismissed the kids for recess.
Noah dragged his feet and debated whether he should try to be a loner or go establish himself with the boys in the class.
"Welcome to our class, Puckerman," Noah glanced in the direction of the whisper and spotted the same girl walking away from him, giggling once again.
"What's so funny about my last name?" he bellowed after her.
"Bye, Puckerman," she waved, but kept her back to him as she skipped towards the door.
One of the boys stopped next to Noah. "Just ignore Santana," he advised. "She's mean to everyone. Well, except Brittany." Noah glanced at the gangly kid next to him, with light brown hair hanging in front of his eyes. "I'm Finn."
He was holding up his fist, waiting for Noah to give him some brofist. Noah decided that he would be a suitable new friend and returned the gesture.
When he returned to the classroom after recess, a sign that said PUCKERMAN was taped to the back of one of the chairs.
She insists on calling him that as many times as she possibly can, and he hates it at first, screaming at least once a day, "My name is NOAH!"
It takes about a year for him to be worn down.
"Hey, Puckerman," she greeted him on their first day at Lima Middle School.
"Hey, Satan."
She pouted innocently. "Why can't you seem to remember my name correctly?"
"I don't know, maybe because you've never been able to remember mine?" He shifts the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder and starts to walk away. She picks up her pace, walking alongside him.
"I was just thinking, you know, Puckerman's kind of a mouthful. Ew. No unfortunate innuendo intended." She made a gagging motion. "Anyways, is there something shorter I could call you?"
"Here's an idea, try my first name?"
"Some shortened version? Pucker? Maybe just Puck?" She paused, pondering it. "I think I like Puck. Monosyllabic, simple." She put on a discerning expression and framed him with her fingers. "Yes, I do see you as a Puck. It's settled then."
"Buzz off and go back to hell, Satan."
But as he walks away, he can't help but keep thinking about it. Puck. It does sound cool. Just maybe, he wouldn't mind being called that. It was cooler than Puckerman, by any means.
She is nothing if not good at spreading word throughout their grade, so soon, he's universally known as Puck, even to most of the teachers. He doesn't like the idea of giving her credit, but he admits to himself that it is better than Noah. Noah is such a baby name. Puck sounds like a cool, dirty gangster. (It isn't until much later when he has to read A Midsummer Night's Dream in Freshman English that he begins to regret it ever so slightly.)
No, she is never exactly nice to him, hence his nickname for her, but looking back on things, Puck thinks he's been in love with her since seventh grade. All those philosophers saying that crap about there being a fine line between hate and love, they may just have been onto something.
At first, he pursues her because she is one of the first girls to get boobs, but she keeps playing hard to get, and that just drives him insane. He thinks that if he was looking to place blame, then quite a bit of his delinquent behavior was really her fault. He would do anything to get her attention: break the rules, risk self-injury–but he always feels that was worth it.
His head was cold. It was the middle of winter after all, but usually he at least had hair to keep him warm. His mom had bugged him to wear a hat or his ears would get frostbite and fall off, but as soon as he was out of her sight he stuffed the thick cap into his backpack. The whole point of getting the mohawk was so that people would see it.
He strutted down the street, nearing the school, grinning so widely it felt like his face would snap in half. Finn, Mike, and Matt dropped their snowballs that they'd been about to fling at each other and turned his way. "Dude," was all Finn could say. Noah shot his friend a goofy salute but didn't stop to chat or join in the snowball fight. He had more important matters to attend to.
As soon as he got inside, he ducked to the side of the hallway and started rubbing his ears furiously; they felt like damn ice cubes. He kind of wished he had at least worn his hat until he got close to school.
"Something wrong, Puckerman?" Oh, crap. Of course she had to pick this moment to show up. "Or is this just another one of your weird guy things? Should I leave you alone so you can finish spazzing out in peace?"
He opened his mouth to explain, so he could at least keep some tiny shred of dignity, but all that came out was, "Uh, I got a haircut."
She didn't react at all, and that almost annoyed him more than if she had burst out laughing instead. At least that would have been something! He got a mohawk so people would notice him, and she didn't seem to even register any difference.
"Santana! Come help! Finn started throwing snowballs at me and Tina!" Brittany shouted, several snowballs smacking against the door after it closed behind her.
Santana grimaced. "I don't wanna get my hair wet."
Brittany smiled and, covered in slush, hugged her friend tightly. "Now it's already wet. Come on, we've still got time to get them back before class starts!" Santana's hard exterior finally cracked and she let Britt pull her by the wrist back outside, into the fray.
Once they were gone, Puck pouted–not that he would ever admit it to anyone else, but he could never help pouting when he felt snubbed. "I hope you melt, you stupid witch," he muttered, kicking a locker.
That afternoon, he and Santana made out in the snow.
After he finally gets her to submit to kissing, it's easy to get her to do it again. What's not easy is to get her to consider him her boyfriend. Sure, recounting what a girl's lips feel like to his buddies is great for his rep, but if he managed to claim the hottest bitch in their middle school, he'd indisputably be the biggest stud in their grade. (Not that he has much competition for that, but all of the girls talk about how cute Finn is all the time and that kind of bugs him.)
Puck adjusted his dark cape and tugged at the leggings (they're not tights) which have grown a bit snug since he's grown several inches in the last year. After a moment, Matt pulled open the door and greeted him; he's dressed as a werewolf with tattered clothes and fake fur everywhere.
"Hey dude," he said. "Welcome to Casa de Rutheford. Nice tights, by the way."
Puck gritted his teeth and entered the house where a bunch of the eighth graders were already partying it up, dressed in costumes of varying degrees of ridiculousness. The room was dark, and the decorations were sick–Matt's halloween parties were always the best in the grade.
He made his way around, saying hi to all his buddies and then some, because hey, it was halloween. He could talk to a few dorks for once. That Kurt kid trembled when he approached, probably fearing some Gotham-style punishment, but Puck just punched him on the shoulder (maybe a little too hard) and complimented him on his intricate Prince Charming costume. Kurt shakily thanked him and added that it took thirty hours to make.
He turned around and dropped the cup of punch he had been sipping when a pair of eyes suddenly appeared in front of him. His heart was pounding as Mike laughed and pulled down his ninja mask. "Scared the crap out of me," Puck muttered and turned away, letting Mike vanish into the darkness once again.
He scanned the room, looking for anyone he'd missed on his go-round, and spotted her sulking in the corner. He sauntered over, pulling his mask back down onto his face.
"Let me guess," she said over the eerie music that filled the room. "You're dressed as... a friendless dweeb?" Her face glowed red from the spooky lighting; it was kind of freaky.
"Batman, actually," he replied, shrugging off the insult. "What the hell are you supposed to be?" She appeared to be dressed in the sort of clothes she always wore... perhaps a tad sluttier, but no costume from what he could tell.
"I'm not dressed up," she muttered. "Halloween is for idiots. Who would want to pretend to be something they're not?" She shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting around to all the others who apparently didn't share her point of view.
"I don't know, but everyone else is having more fun than you."
She didn't answer.
"You just need to loosen up a little," Puck leaned in for a kiss but his mask got in the way. Santana grimaced and he whipped it off, tossing it behind him, then quickly pressing his lips to hers. She slowly melted into the kiss, pulling him closer and sticking her tongue in his mouth. Score!
After a few minutes, when they needed to come up to breathe, he got an idea. "Hey, next year, you should dress up as Catwoman. Our costumes could go together, and all, you know, Batman and Catwoman," he mumbled.
"Then everyone would think we're dating." She said it like it was a dirty word.
"Well, aren't–"
"And are you seriously planning on being Batman for three years in a row? That's just pathetic."
Puck realized any efforts to continue the conversation would be pointless and muttered what may have been a goodbye while walking off to hang out with anybody else.
That summer, she goes off to cheer camp with Brittany, without even so much as a goodbye. He only finds it out from her mother when he calls her house, having stupidly thought that they could maybe hang out a couple of times over the summer. Nothing big, he just wants to see her.
He contemplates sending her a letter, and even goes through the effort to bribe the address of the camp out of her little brother (cheeky little brat made him pay $10 for it), but manages to catch himself before he gets further than Dear SaHey Babe I don't know how to start this, because he remembers that he's a dude and if any of his friends found out that he was actually writing a letter they'd ask him when he grew a vagina. So despite all his hopes and plans–well, not plans, because planning every little date is kind of a chick thing too–the next time he sees her is the first day of high school.
He had trained himself not to think about her much over the summer, but even in that mindset, he couldn't help keeping an eye out for her. He finally spotted her at the end of the day. He almost missed her, because her usual dark, skintight clothes and straight hair falling past her shoulders had been traded in for a brightly colored McKinley cheerleading uniform and a high ponytail.
He shoved his way through the crowd (which was a lot tougher than it had been in middle school–he hated being the bottom of the heap again) and did his best to act casual. "Hey."
She glanced up from her phone, her eyes smoldering. "Hey," she muttered.
"What's with the attitude? Did I do something wrong already? I haven't even seen you for three months."
She seems to relax slightly, but she's still sporting a scowl that would put Ramona to shame. "Keep your pants on, for once, you're not the main annoyance in my life." For a minute, Puck took this a compliment, and grinned stupidly until she glared at him again and continued.
"The cheer coach–totally nutso, by the way–since all her best cheerleaders just graduated, wanted to get a lot of freshmen on the team–including a new Head Cheerio."
"Well, that'd have to be you, right?" It would be a no-brainer. In the movies, the head cheerleader was always the hottest, most popular, and bitchiest girl. Out of all the girls from Lima Middle School, she was easily number one in all three categories.
"Exactly. If you ask anyone from our grade–anyone off the street even–they'd tell you it should be me. But no, it has to be her."
She nodded at a girl Puck had never seen before down at the other end of the hallway, surrounded by a few other cheerleaders. Even from a distance, she exuded a certain presence; she had some sort of natural authority that Santana–despite being smart, aggressive, and manipulative–didn't possess.
"She just waltzes in here, transferring from some WASP-y school across town, acting like she owns the place. And the coach loved her."
"I don't get it..." Puck lied feebly. He actually did get it. If Santana was the portrait of the bitchy head cheerleader from the movies, this girl was a fucking photo. He was pretty sure he'd actually seen her on one of those cheesy high school dramas.
"Because she's white. And blond."
Puck sure didn't know how to respond to that.
"She's the stupid good-girl that all adults instantly love," Santana seethed. "I bet she goes to church every Sunday, pulls straight As, and before you know it, she'll be going steady with a football player."
"Hey. Slow down. Your family's Christian, right? You're damn smart yourself–or maybe the right word would be crafty," she glanced down, and he put his arm around her shoulder, "and hey, you've already got a football player for a–" he hesitated, not wanting to say 'boyfriend', "–guy." That last part technically wasn't true; Finn had convinced him to try out for the football team, and he'd agreed since he hadn't had anything to do for the last couple weeks of summer, but he hadn't technically made the team yet. He said a silent prayer right then that he would make it so he wouldn't end up looking like even more of an idiot.
"And the most important thing: you are so much hotter than her." He went in for a kiss, but she ducked the other way.
Oh, well. Once he had that football jersey, she wouldn't be able to keep her hands off him.
Luckily, he does make the team, but unlike the Cheerios coach, Coach Tanaka doesn't seem to have any preference for freshman; who he puts on varsity seems to be based purely on size. Finn, the lucky idiot, has had a ginormous growth spurt and now that he's practically six feet, gets to play almost as much as some of the upperclassmen. Puck, not having the advantage of some gorilla genes in him, ends up having to run a lot of laps and fetch a lot of water for the varsity players. Still, nobody outside the team has to know that, so he still gets to act like a high roller when he wears his jersey on game days.
He doesn't get to play in very many games, but even when he's stuck on the sidelines, he gets to watch Santana out there with her short skirt with the spankies underneath, whipping those pompoms around all seductively. Sitting out isn't so bad when he at least has a nice view to keep him from getting bored.
But when he finally manages to score, it's not on the field, though he still has football to thank.
"And that's the game! The McKinley Titans win!"
Puck stood up and howled with victory–not that it was really his victory, since he'd only gotten to spend thirty seconds on the field and hadn't touched the ball, but it was still his team, and he had to show some support.
In the midst of the uproar, he glanced over to the cheerleaders and immediately spotted her. While she'd never been one to give a damn about sports, he guesses it was part of her job description as a cheerleader to get all hot and bothered now, and she was certainly playing the part well enough. A massive grin stretched across her face, and she leaped into into Brittany's arms, who lifted her in a gleeful hug.
After the obligatory victory tackling and shouting with his teammates, he made his way over to where they were; Santana and Brittany had been joined by Quinn, who was blabbing about routines and technique and a bunch of boring stuff. She abruptly stopped when he snuck up behind Santana and tried to grab some boob before she slapped him away. He settled for simply wrapping his arms around her and resting his head on her shoulder.
"So, the guys are planning a major blowout in honor of the victory–Travis Goldd's place, since his parents are away–and I think your company would be more than welcome there."
Quinn gave him a withering look and told him that partying was "irresponsible and un-Christian".
"What do I care?" he laughed. "I can't speak for Jesus, I guess, but Abraham, Moses–they were all about the partying. In fact, it's a requirement to let loose and shake your thing. Why do you think they invented Bar Mitzvahs?"
Quinn rolled her eyes and walked away, but Santana said, "Screw her. We're in."
He slung one arm around her shoulder, she linked her other pinky with Britt's, and they began walking in the general direction of the Goldd house, simply following a good distance behind the boisterous mob that was the rest of the team.
They walked quietly for a while, then Puck decided to try his hand at conversation. "So I have a question. Why do you hang out with the Virgin Mary over there? Talk about a buzzkill. I thought you hated her guts anyway."
"I do. But you know the saying. Keep your friends close... but your enemies closer."
Brittany pouted. "I like Quinn." After a moment, she added, "But you and I are closer than you and Quinn... does that mean I'm your even bigger enemy? Like your arch-nemesis?"
Santana slipped away from Puck for a minute and stopped walking abruptly, looking Brittany directly in the face. "You know that's not true. You're different. You're a special case."
Puck suddenly felt like a little kid fighting for a parent's attention. Except that would have been a little creepy, so he pushed that thought out of his mind and just grabbed Santana, pressing his lips against hers and running his tongue along her teeth roughly.
"What the hell?" she growled, breaking the kiss.
"Come on. We can hear the music; they party's already started. Loosen up, go with the flow."
She relented, and Brittany grinned, skipping ahead toward the brightly lit house that the team had obviously already reached, if the Metallica blasting down the street was any clue.
The party was hardcore. It was the first honest-to-god high school party that any of them had been to, and Puck was determined to make the most of it.
He had to wait until all the upperclassmen were already half wasted before he could snag a cup of beer, but he made sure to get a drink for Santana while he was there.
He found her sitting in a corner. "No dancing?"
"Nope."
"Why not? You've got the moves."
"Not in the mood. Plus, I'd rather just... watch..." she trailed off. Amongst the guys who were grinding with the older cheerleaders, Puck caught a glimpse of Brittany, thrusting, twirling, and gyrating. Puck had known that she liked dancing, but he'd never really seen her going all out. He had to admit, it was impressive, and before long, she had attracted eyes other than the two of them.
It was cool, but Puck started to get antsy just sitting there, especially after he'd sucked the last few drops out of his red plastic cup.
"Hey." He poked Santana on the shoulder. "Let's go do something. I'm bored as shit."
"Nice try. You're wasted. You had one cup of beer and you're totally wasted. Remind me again why I hang out with you?"
"Jeez. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bread–I mean bed."
She looked away from him, and he whined, stomping his foot. He huffed as she remained steely. Obviously she held her alcohol better than him. He turned his attention back to the dancers. Brittany seemed to have made some friends with her mad dance skills. In fact, she was buddying it up with Travis. He shuffled and bounced next to her, looking like a damn idiot, but she grinned and tried to help him out by guiding his arms to the beat. He laughed and leaned over to plant a sloppy, drunken kiss on her.
"You know what, this is getting boring. Let's find another room," Santana said suddenly, grabbing his arm and dragging him through the crowd.
She finally came to a halt at a dark bedroom that appeared to be empty, at least until they came across a guy crouched in the corner, retching.
"Scram, Quasimodo," she snapped, actually kicking the guy in the ribs. He scampered away and she shut the door behind him.
She turned to him, her eyes glinting in the dim light coming through the window and the cracks around the door."Now that we're alone." She grabbed his head roughly and shoved her tongue down his throat, apparently returning the favor from earlier.
"Finally, you understand what the point of a party is," he breathed, moving his hands up and down her back as she continued macking on him more aggressively than she ever had before. Soon, they had toppled onto the bed (Puck didn't want to think about who it might actually belong to) and were sharing their first ever horizontal makeout session. His mind was buzzing, but he still felt himself struggling to roll with the punches as she pulled at his sweaty t-shirt, trying to get it over his head. It took him a minute, since his limbs were starting to grow clumsy from the liquor, but he managed to tug it off and dumped it on the floor.
He was emboldened from the booze, so he decided to risk a smack and get her shirt off, too. To his surprise, she didn't sigh and turn away, but instead assisted him in his plight, peeling it off quickly and then reaching for his fly.
Whoa. This was moving fast. Puck felt a little out of his depth for a minute, but then thought, Hey, I'm going to have sex, and that feeling was replaced by adrenaline and a major hard-on.
She had unzipped him and was now starting to attend to the tent he had pitched in his pants. He couldn't form coherent thoughts other than repeating the mantra I'm gonna have sex, I'm gonna have sex.
He finally managed to regain some semblance of thought when she paused and shimmied out of her skirt.
"H-hold on," he slurred. "Are you sure?"
"Shut up," she replied. "Unless you want to bow out."
But... I'm gonna have sex, right? "No way. Let's go."
And that was that. And it was awesome.
Once he's finally able to proudly strut the halls as a non-virgin, he decides that sex is officially awesome and he isn't gonna let it stop at one time.
So he's pretty flabbergasted when Santana wants to join the Celibacy club.
"Are you serious?"
"As a heart attack."
"But... the Celibacy club? Isn't it already a little late for that?" He shot her what he hoped looked like a knowing glance. "Besides," he continued, raising an eyebrow, "I was hoping that maybe what happened that night wouldn't be a one-time occurrence."
"If you can keep your head above your dick for just a minute," she snapped. "You can relax, because that club is a joke. Quinn Fabray started it, and she's the only one who actually follows the rules. To everyone else, it's going to be just the unofficial official club for the jocks and the cheerios. The A crowd. Which is why I'm not letting us get left out of it like losers."
He thought about it for a minute. "So I wouldn't lose my badass rep?"
She snorted. "You can't lose what's not there, bucko."
Gritting his teeth, he asked, "And we can still do the nasty?"
"If it means so much to you, I might be persuaded."
"I'll consider it."
"I'll take that as a yes, since you've got the same capacity to debate the pros and cons of an issue as a poodle." She sauntered off down the hallway. He watched her short skirt sway back and forth.
So they join the club. And she's right, it turns out to be basically a glorified perving session for everyone except Ice Queen Quinn, who's determined to try and convert the lot of them to the ways of the Lord.
Finn actually starts buying into it, and Puck is seriously concerned about his friend, until he learns it's only because the dude has a major crush on Quinn. Then he's just filled with an odd sense of pride when he sees them walking down the hallway, the cookie-cutter, wholesome high school couple, since he'd been beginning to grow worried that Finn would never get a girl to go out with him. But before long, the two of them are going strong and the new "it" couple of the freshman grade.
Meanwhile, things with him and Santana are starting to get a bit rocky. The sex is great, oh boy, is it great, but she starts growing more distant, more abrasive, and that's seriously saying something. It makes him grow more frustrated, too, but not enough to break it off.
And maybe he's crazy, but the more she pushes him away, the more he wants to be with her. He figures there's something wrong with his brain that makes him a huge sucker for pain and rejection. Whatever it is, something keeps drawing him back to her, time after time.
"Hey," he drawled, wrapping his arms around her, getting as much time close to her as he can before that little timer went off in her head and she inexplicably decided she'd had enough.
She rolled away from him, to the edge of the bed, as far away as she could get. Apparently she was already done. Fine. He told himself he was done, too.
After less than a minute she was already out of bed and getting dressed. Within five minutes she was done fixing her hair and makeup and walked toward the door without so much as a goodbye. So he decided to take some initiative.
"Leaving already?" he asked with disdain, or at least that's what he was going for.
She didn't even look at him when she replied, "Well, the good part's already over. What do you want me to do, read you a bedtime story and tuck you in?"
God, what a bitch. "Just wanted to say, don't get run over on your way home," he fired at her. "I'd hate to have to find a new girlfriend on such short notice."
"I'm not your girlfriend."
Since they're apparently still not dating, Puck decides that he doesn't need Santana; he can find other girls to give him what he wants. The MILFs are just some harmless fun, but Quinn Fabray is a challenge he gives himself. He figures, what with all of Santana's issues with that girl, nothing would piss her off more than if he managed to get with her. He doesn't think it out very much, and kinda forgets that Quinn is his best friend's girlfriend of six months in his stupid crusade.
But he's successful. In record time.
He never thinks much about that night other than feeling reckless, proud, and satisfied. Not until Finn tells him that Quinn's pregnant. Fuck. That's not what he had signed on for, not at all.
Needless to say, from there it all goes to shit. He does regret it, and wants to do anything he can to help Quinn. He doesn't wanna be a deadbeat dad like his was. But she pushes him away, too. He hates it. He hates knowing that he should be doing something, taking responsibility, but she won't even let him.
When he's pissed off, Santana's always there. Not to offer comforting words. Just her body. When she leaves, he always ends up feeling worse. So why doesn't he ditch her?
He tries to distract himself from both of them with another challenge: Rachel Berry. She proves to be much less of a challenge than he thought. All he has to do is sing her a song and she's all over him. She's not afraid to admit that she likes him, either. See? he tells himself. The problem isn't you. It's her.
He breaks it off with Rachel. He tells her it's because she won't let him past first base. She thinks he's in love with Quinn.
He latches onto that, decides to pursue that since he's got nothing else going for him. He tells himself he'll be a good dad whether Quinn wants him to or not. He hears that she needs money, so he offers her money. But she won't take it.
When she asks him to babysit with her, it sounds like the break he's been waiting for. It does go pretty well. He can start to see himself loving her, raising a family with her.
But then his phone buzzes.
"Who are you texting?"
"Um... Mike Chang," he lied.
It was the first time Santana had contacted him or acknowledged his existence at all (other than the occasional disgusted glance) in weeks. She chose an awfully bad time to suddenly be interested in him again–he was with his baby mama!–but he couldn't ignore her. He had never been able to.
He couldn't help but wonder if she knew what he would be doing at that time and deliberately chose to inform him that she wasn't wearing any underwear while he was fucking babysitting.
While Quinn bitched him out for letting the kids tie them up, his thumbs tapped out a reply.
He doesn't know why he keeps sexting Santana throughout the night. Just like he doesn't know why he keeps sleeping with her. But big surprise, he's fucked up any chance he had of actually having a girl who likes him because of that cold-hearted bitch.
He's pissed. Mostly at himself, but he needs to take it out on someone.
"What the hell?" he shouted. "Why would you tell Quinn that we were sexting?"
"I don't know, maybe because it's true," she replied without even flinching. Seeing the anger on Puck's face, she added, her voice sickly sweet, "I just don't want anyone getting in the way of us."
Well, it doesn't really matter because after that, Quinn wants nothing to do with him. Even when the rest of the club find out that he's the father, she's adamant and insists on "doing it on her own".
So it's easy to fall into the same rhythm with Santana again. Comforting, even. At least some things will never change.
Sure, he's upset when his mom and that idiot doctor shave off his mohawk. But given how little she'd reacted when he first got it, he didn't think she would care so much that it was gone.
He wanted her to reassure him. To be there for him. "I'm still Puckzilla, right?"
He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up, given how well he knew her. "Actually, I'm not sure if it's the missing mohawk or the whining, but I am so not turned on by you right now."
Good, he wanted to yell. Maybe for once we could do something other than sex. Like we used to. But he doesn't.
He doesn't have a clue why he tries to seduce Mercedes, of all people. He doesn't care that much about popularity anymore (kinda started to give up on that when all the hockey players started calling him Baby Daddy), though it is humiliating to be tossed into a dumpster by a bunch of nerds.
But then when she finds out about his new interest in another girl, she's furious. I thought you were the one that just dumped me, he wants to scream. Make up your mind.
He ditches Mercedes before too long. He tells her and everyone else it's because she quit the Cheerios. But it's really so he can go back to the cycle he knows all too well.
Ironically, the first time Santana shows any signs of affection to him at all is just after his child is born.
He isn't lying when he tells Quinn he loves her. He can't believe that that little baby sitting in front of them is her–their child. But both him and Quinn know that it's not enough. They're in high school, she's giving up the baby, and there's not enough to keep them together happily ever after, even though he's sure that both of them wished it were that simple.
He stays there, staring at his daughter, long after Quinn leaves.
"So this is the kid, huh?" Puck saw her reflection next to his in the glass. She looked, well, stunning. She was still all dressed up from Regionals, of course. It seemed almost rude for her to look so perfect, when Quinn who just had a freaking baby was standing on his other side not long ago. She was beautiful too, but in a completely different way.
"She looks like Quinn," she added. Puck wasn't sure if it was her intention, but he couldn't help picturing a different baby. One with darker hair and mocha-colored skin. And call him crazy, but he would have sworn that she was picturing the same thing.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"Wanted to get away from the rest of them. They're all out there, freaking out about whether we won Regionals or not. Like it's more important than this." She gestured to Beth.
"And you think 'this' is more important than winning?" Puck was incredulous.
"I could care less if we won some dumb singing competition or not."
Puck gave a low chuckle. "Shut up. You care almost as much as Rachel does. If not, more... even if you won't admit it. You fight hard for what you want. I like that about you." Fuck. Here he is, standing in front of his newborn baby, confessing how much he likes another girl, who hates him.
He expected her to roll her eyes and leave after that, but she doesn't. After a minute she said quietly, "Everything is different now, isn't it?"
"Not really," he replies. "Quinn is giving her up for adoption."
"That doesn't mean this didn't happen," Santana murmured, but not as if she was going to hold a grudge, just with some sort of quiet regret. He was surprised at her. Why was she so invested in this?
"Sorry," she said, and left him alone again.
Sorry for what?
That's the Santana he knows he wants. The real one. The one who almost never shows up, especially in the last year. But he knows that something has changed between them after that conversation, apparently for the better, because despite nothing happening over the summer other than a couple of their standard hookups, when school starts again, Santana tells everyone that they're dating.
She still won't talk to him about anything real. But he figures it's a step in the right direction.
Things actually do seem to be improving. Until one night, when after the football team wins, he gets wasted. Completely trashed. And he tries to steal an ATM. That's right, the whole damn machine. He's convinced that he could have pulled it off had he been sober, but he ends up crashing his mom's car and getting sent to Juvie.
He decides to look on the bright side; it's not the worst thing that could have happened. Even though there are completely crazy fuckers in there who can kick his ass, no one from school knows that, and when he gets back, his badass rep will be higher than ever.
He manages to get out on an appeal after a couple weeks, so long as he does some stupid community service. That'll be a drag, but at least he gets to see Santana again.
"Did you miss me?" he asked her, trying to make his voice gravelly and low like when a sailor or ex-con from the movies finally gets to see his girl again.
He was honestly expecting her to shove him away and make some gay prison joke, but instead she hugged him. "Of course I did."
He didn't let go, expecting her to end it, but she didn't pull away from the embrace either. And that's when he knew something was different. Maybe not wrong, but definitely different.
He doesn't get it. From what he can gather, nothing big happened while he was gone. Except that new kid Sam joined the glee club and was apparently dating Quinn, though she was playing hard to get. What the hell had happened to Santana? Not that he's complaining–suddenly she's much more willing to spend time with him, she even talks to him a little bit more. But it's downright weird.
He asks everyone (except Santana of course) if anything happened, but no one seems to have a clue. Quinn is the only one who has even the slightest idea.
"Listen, can I ask you something?" Puck mumbled, approaching after everyone else has left the choir room.
"What is it?" She snapped, her ponytail bouncing behind her.
"Did anything happen while I was at Juvie?"
She gave him a condescending look. "A lot of things happened while you were at Juvie, Puck, would you care to be more specific?"
"Did anything happen... to Santana?"
Quinn got venom in her eyes when he said that. Apparently the two of them hadn't become the best of buds while he was away, at the very least.
"Define what you mean by 'anything'", she answered, guardedly.
He shrugged weakly, suddenly uncomfortable. "I dunno... she's just been acting weird since I got back and I have no clue why."
She looked really pissed off and Puck wondered if maybe the 'anything' had to do with Quinn. She told him slowly, "Around the time we were doing the duets project, she and Britt got into a fight, but they made up pretty quickly. That's all I know."
This was the biggest lead he'd heard yet. "What was the fight about? Who started it?"
"I said that's all I know," Quinn growled, and stormed off.
He hangs out with Artie for community service–definitely better than picking up crap from the highway–and finds out that the dude is actually pretty cool. He has some serious self-confidence issues, though.
"What's getting you down, man?" he asked Wheels while they were doing homework in the library. Well, at least Artie was doing homework.
The kid sighed and replied, "I really like this girl, but I don't think she likes me."
Puck slumped. "Been there, my friend. Who's the gal? Maybe I can help."
"Brittany."
Puck brightened up. "Not bad, dude. Have you talked to her at all yet?"
Artie looked down. "Actually... we slept together, but then Santana told me that she was just using me. I got mad and dumped her, but I wasn't really thinking... I really do like her."
He thinks this is perfect. Brittany and Santana are best friends. Brittany does seem to take to Artie very well. And now they can double date together. Puck feels like it's sort of cheesy, but he's never been able to do this kind of couples stuff before. He'll never admit it out loud, but it's actually really enjoyable.
Santana doesn't seem to agree, though.
"Why were you so bitchy tonight?" he grumbled as they walked home from Breadstix. "Is it that time of the month?"
"Shut up, dickwad," she answered. "I just don't see why we have to hang out with them all the time."
"What the hell? You love Brittany."
For some reason she turned away and didn't respond immediately. He didn't get it. Were her and Britt in a stupid girl fight or something? Or...
"Do you have some sort of problem with Artie?" She didn't answer that, either. "Come on, babe," he urged, stepping closer to her. "Give the guy a chance. He's my bro. I know he's kinda nerdy but he's cooler than he seems at first."
"Okay," she said. "Yeah. I'll give him a chance." The words sounded off.
They patch things up after that fight, managing a couple weeks of semi-normal couple kinds of stuff, but he screws it up big time at Finn's and Kurt's parents' wedding.
"Who cares baby... I think I wanna marry you." In that moment, everything felt just right. He had Santana on his arm, they were dancing down the aisle together, and she was grinning like crazy. Naturally he was, too, because he hadn't seen her smile like that in a very long time.
He wanted to pull her close and whisper in her ear. He wanted to tell her that he thinks he wants to marry her. Maybe not in those words, because he wasn't a sap like that, but the idea was seeming more appealing by the second.
Suddenly, she was pulling away from him, and he grew alarmed. Was something wrong? After about a second of panic, he recalled that it was all part of the choreography. She spun out of his arms just as Brittany did the same with Artie, and the two of them ended up next to each other, beaming and artfully flicking the ribbons they were holding.
Before he knew it the dance was over, and even the ceremony went by pretty quickly. Soon, he was seated next to Santana at Table 5, sipping at a glass of Pepsi. All the other glee clubbers were up and about, dancing or chatting, but the two of them were content to sit at the table together.
"You look beautiful," he told her. The red dress shimmered next to her caramel skin.
"Thanks," she murmured. "You're a total stud in that tux."
He laughed and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, placing it behind her ear. He noticed that she was staring off into space. "Hello?"
"Oh, um, sorry," she stuttered. "Just looking for Mr. Schue. I have a pool going with Mercedes and Tina over how long it will take before he finally hits the open bar and gets wasted because his life is such a mess."
Puck grinned. "What did you bet?"
"Fifteen minutes."
"I love you."
It slipped out before he even realized what he was saying. Not that he didn't mean it, but after he saw the look on her face, he wished he could take it back. She looked shocked, guilty, and above all, terrified.
"I have to go to the bathroom," was all she had to say to that. She got up and quickly walked away.
He didn't see her for the rest of the wedding.
And suddenly, things seem to be back to how they were the previous year. Santana ignores him completely for the next few weeks. She happens to let it slip in front of the whole glee club that she slept with Finn last year. Not that Puck really cares about the sex–fair payback for him sleeping with Quinn, but he hates how she's reverted back to just being a miserable bitch. Aren't people supposed to be happy when someone loves them? Apparently that's not how it works with her.
If she wants to play that game, fine. He's all too happy when Rachel comes to him complaining about Finn. But he can't go through with it in the end. He doesn't want to sink to Santana's level.
That's around the same time he begins to notice Lauren. She's a total badass and plays hard to get like nobody's business, which totally grabs Puck's attention. He figures insufferable bitches are just his type. At least Lauren receives his advances with a little bit of emotion, rather than the same fucking indifference every time.
And big shocker, once he starts to show interest in someone else, Santana wants him again. What is her problem? She starts turning her Bitch-O-Meter higher than Puck knew it could even go, and before long, the rest of the glee club notice it, too.
"Actually, you're just a bitch." Lauren just took a new level in badass, Puck had to admit.
"Excuse me, you've just got eyes for my man."
He was sick of this shit. "First of all, I'm not your man." See how she liked her own medicine.
He did think the insults the rest of the club start flinging her way were a little harsh, but... they were all true. And she was asking for it. That doesn't mean he enjoyed watching her storm out with her poker face cracking. Most people probably didn't notice, but he saw a flicker of the real emotion underneath.
But even that doesn't prepare him for what comes next.
She strutted down the hallway, smiling like she was better than everyone around her, which, he recalled, was her modus operandi, after all. She was holding a scrap of paper up in the air.
"What's that?" he asked suspiciously.
She shot him a patronizing look. "It's a receipt. I went to Jared." He saw the diamond-studded heart-shaped necklace she was sporting. "You can reimburse me," she added, "We'll have dinner at Breadstix and then we can consider this settled."
Was she fucking serious? Was she running for most Ridiculous Bitch in the world or something? "Um, no," he said flatly. "And consider what settled?" She had better have something damn good to say for herself.
"Look, you made your point," she muttered. "I'm sort of a bitch." Sort of? "But I'm willing to change."
Part of him wanted to scoff. Part of him wanted to punch her. And a big part of him wanted to accept her offer.
He wanted to believe that she would change. Hell, she did change.
But then she changed back.
Her fighting Lauren was pretty much a clincher, though. Who the hell did she think she was? Did she even listen to what she said? Did she even care about anyone else? What kind of jerk goes around offering to change and in the same breath starts picking a fight?
Just like before, he didn't enjoy watching her get hurt. But he couldn't argue even a little bit that she didn't deserve it.
He focused on Lauren from then on.
If there is an upside to all that bullshit that happens around Valentine's Day, it's that Santana finally seems to make up her mind and leave him alone. It's good, he tells himself. And at least he has Lauren, who he has to admit, is pretty cool.
He finds himself still keeping tabs on everything she does. Force of habit, maybe.
She starts dating Sam. Poor bastard, but better him than me, Puck thinks.
Then Karofsky. Even better. They deserve each other.
Somewhere in the midst of that is that performance... the one that he reads too much into. It almost has him begging at her doorstep again, but he manages to get a grip on himself just in time.
It wasn't like her to do something like this.
She usually didn't perform if she didn't have to, and when she did, she made a point of being flashy, sexy, and proving that she could give even Rachel a run for her money vocally.
But this wasn't flashy, or sexy; Santana wasn't even singing the lead. She and Brittany were backing up Ms. Holliday. He didn't get why, though, because she'd done that song earlier in the week that was supposedly in the name of Sex Ed (God, the things Mr. Schue would say and do to get his perverted jollies), and this was almost the complete opposite of that performance.
They were singing about love, and mountains, or something, and Puck wasn't really listening to the lyrics, but watching Santana's face.
He thought he'd seen every damn face she could make over the years, even if most of them were fake, for the purposes of manipulating him, but this was a new one. It was... vulnerable. Gentle. Scared.
For a split second, she made eye contact with him, and part of him thought, oh crap, she's singing to me.
But then Lauren rested her head on his shoulder, and Santana turned to look at Ms. Holliday again, and he managed to regain his senses. Like that would ever happen. Like she would ever apologize to him. Like she'd do it through a song like this.
But if not to him, who was she singing to?
From all his careful looking-but-not-really-watching, he can't help noticing that she seems... subdued. Every now and then she'll pipe up with an insult directed toward someone or other in the glee club, but there's not the same malice that was there before.
And it drives him insane.
What if she really has changed? he wonders. It's so frustrating. He can't seem to forget it. He needs some damn closure.
One night, he's a just a little bit buzzed; he decides to do something stupid that he'll probably regret, because he's bored as hell. So he goes over to her house.
"Hey baby," he said, smoothly as he could, as she answered the door. "Can I come in?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "Sure."
She led him to her bedroom, and partially in anticipation, partially by reflex, he started taking his pants off.
"Um, Puck, can we not...?" she whined, looking away.
"Oh, sorry," he replied, re-buttoning his jeans. "Forgot that you have a boyfriend. How's that treating you?" he asks, as loudly and obnoxiously as he can manage.
She sat down on her bed, saying nothing. He flopped down next to her.
"Answer me honestly. Does he love you?" Puck asked bluntly. He wasn't expecting an answer, a smack on the head, maybe.
"No."
Puck shifted to look her in the eyes. "Do you love him?"
She was quiet for a moment but answered once again, "No."
He had a bit of a queasy feeling in his stomach and feared that he wouldn't like the next answer. "Do you love me?"
A longer pause this time. "I wish I loved you."
As usual, her response hurt more than anything else she could have possibly said. Why couldn't she just have said no? Why did she have to torture him like this?
He's ready to yell something incoherent at her, get up, and leave, when he notices she's crying.
"Puck, I'm–" she struggled with her words, tears rolling down her face. He'd never seen her this torn up before. "I'm gay, Puck."
And something clicks into place. It's the missing piece, that little black hole that was sitting in the middle of their relationship, over all these years.
It hurt, but at the same time, it's just what he needs. Now that the last spark of hope was extinguished, he could finally move on with his life.
He shifts closer to her and puts his arm around her. "It's okay."
Her head was buried in her arms now, and she sobs something that sounded like "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too. But it's okay."
He opened his arms, and let her fall into them. He felt a little numb to the situation, his senses dulled by the suspense finally having fallen. He finally had his damn closure. And, he thought with a mental chuckle, he finally felt like the stronger one in their relationship. He felt like if he let go of her, she'd fall apart, but if he held her too tight, he might break her like a toothpick.
It wasn't a very nice feeling. It made him a little nauseous, even, like he was standing at the top of the Empire State building, looking down over the edge. Why did some guys actually want this?
She continued slowly sobbing in his arms, and the reality of the situation finally dawned on him. "It's Brittany, isn't it?" he asked.
She didn't answer, but she didn't have to. He should have seen it before, he should have. It was right there. He just hadn't wanted to look.
But oddly, he didn't feel snubbed, or insulted, or even that mad about having been used by her for so long. Even though part of his brain really wanted to shove her away and tell her to go die in a hole for everything she'd put him through, he didn't.
He just felt sad that the world could drive someone like her–one of the toughest people he knew–to this state, just because of who she loved.
It was downright sad.
Her tears slowed gradually, and after a few minutes she was almost silent again. He gently lifted her shoulders off his lap. "Hey. Shh. Are you gonna be okay?"
She scoffed. "How the hell am I supposed to know what the hell will happen? If I knew that, I wouldn't be in–in the fucking closet, right?" She blinked a few times and muttered under her breath, "But honestly, it's because I do know what will happen. Where the hell did I put the makeup remover..."
"Hey, hold on," he pulled her attention back to him. "I meant, are you going to be okay right now. Tonight. I don't want to leave you like this. Do you want me to stay the night?"
"Puck..." she growled.
"No, not for sex," he retorted in a whiny voice. "I know you think I'm an idiot but I do know what gay means. And, after what happened last year, I'm not one to sleep with another dude's girl. Even if he is just her beard."
He looked around. "Here. I'll sleep over here on the floor if you want me to."
She didn't say anything, which he knew was basically equivalent to her begging him to stay, so she was still a wreck on the inside, even if she looked it much less after she cleaned off her smeared mascara.
He laid down in her room while she brushed her teeth, remembering the stuff that had happened there. Not just the dirty stuff, but times they'd been hanging out. He was going to miss that.
Though, he supposed, there was no reason why they couldn't still do that. Might take a bit of creative explaining to Lauren, but they might even have an easier time being friends now that there was no foolish bit of hope left in him for something more.
She returned to the room, turned off the lights, and collapsed onto her bed.
"Life sucks, you know?" she said.
"You are gonna be okay," he replied.
"What?"
"You said earlier, that you don't know how you're gonna end up, and I'm telling you: you're gonna be okay."
"Shut up. You have no idea of all the crap I'm going through right now."
"It doesn't matter. You're Santana Fucking Lopez. The girl who gets what she wants by any means necessary. The girl you can't help... falling for."
"This isn't as easy as that."
"So? You'll have to adapt, sure, but if there's anyone in this world who could fight their way through a shitstorm and come on on the other side with a–a hot blonde on their arm, it's you."
She was quiet for a few minutes, so Puck hoped she had finally accepted his reassurances and fallen asleep.
However, some time later, he thought he heard (maybe he was starting to fall asleep, too) "You're a good guy, Noah."
And with that, he sighed and drifted to sleep.
They do grow closer in the days, weeks after that. Puck quickly realizes that it's because he seems to be the only person she's come out to, besides Brittany, and she can't really hang out with Britt for the time being without major awkwardness, so he's a friend by process of elimination, at least.
She won't tell him the whole story of what's going on between the two of them, but Puck manages to at least put together that Brittany was who she was singing that song to. Which he would have realized earlier if he hadn't been wallowing in self-pity.
He expects himself to start falling in love again, because now he can talk to the Real Santana almost whenever he wants (except some times when she's 'not in the mood to talk', which must be code for PMSing). But instead, he kind of falls in friend-love. Like, why didn't they just do this from the start? They kind of clicked. They would rant to each other about how stupid the world was, and fuck society, and don't you wish you could just grab a pack of cigarettes and take off, but you don't do that because you always remember what, and who, you're leaving behind.
She is over at his house, one day, brainstorming for a possible number they might do together in glee club.
He doesn't notice that she left her iPod there until she was already gone, so he texts her that he'd bring it to school tomorrow. But in the meantime, he doesn't see anything wrong with looking through it. It feels like he is snooping in her diary or something, but it's just music, so he rolls his eyes and turns it on.
He first starts absentmindedly scrolling through the albums she's got. Not many surprises, from what he knows about her and her taste in music.
When he's done with that, he clicks on "Playlists". There are a few normal ones: glee, homework, workout, but then, at the bottom, one playlist that is simply titled ".". His curiosity is piqued, and he looks inside.
Come to my Window – Melissa Etheridge. You Oughta Know – Alanis Morissette. Landslide – Stevie Nicks. Songbird – Fleetwood Mac. Dancing Queen – ABBA.
Well, he's stumped. He can't figure any common denominator there. He thinks it's just a sad song playlist, but Dancing Queen doesn't fit with that. Funny, actually, she had suggested that they perform it together at the prom, but he tells her that no way is he singing ABBA, and told her to find a chick to do it. She grunted and said maybe she wouldn't sing it after all.
He notes that Songbird is from the Rumours album, which they just finished their project on in glee, but Santana didn't perform it for the club; she didn't perform anything.
He decides to listen to the only song there that he doesn't already know.
I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills, where the landslide brought me down.
Holy crap, he does know this song. And now, he's pretty sure he knows what that playlist is about.
He needs to make sure that she doesn't go back on singing Dancing Queen. Damn, he kept messing stuff up. Though it wasn't all his fault; if she would just talk to him without him coercing her, then he wouldn't have to make stupid blunders like that.
He's trying to think of how he can give her the confidence to do it without her getting freaked when he gets an even better idea.
As he plugs her iPod into his stupid, slow computer and types "free disney song downloads" into his web browser, he just hopes that this doesn't spook her even more.
But it has to work. It works in the movie, anyway.
When he finally has the song, he drags it onto the oh-so-mysterious playlist with a grin. He felt like Cupid or something, and it was a pretty cool feeling. He wanted the two of them so sort things out... they'd be a cute couple. And Santana wouldn't be all miserable.
He holds the iPod in his hand gingerly, just praying that once he gives it back to her, she'll listen to that playlist soon. Hopefully, before the prom. So she can hear the kind of encouragement Puck can't give her himself.
It don't take a word, not a single word, go on and kiss the girl.