"So Berry how was kissing a gay guy?" he asks her intending to tease her about her drunken escapades. "A little life experience for you?" he laughs.
"About the same as kissing any other boy," she tells him and there's a tone in her voice that lets him know she didn't get the joke. "It ended the same at least," she continues, "he didn't want me," and with that she lifts her face enough he sees a bitter smile.
She's gone before he can think of anything to say. He forgets about it and figures she does to. Just another time Berry took an insult he didn't mean.
It takes him awhile to realize. There is something going on with her he's sure about it. She hasn't sung lead since her drunken duet with Blaine and that was at least a month ago.
She hadn't even said anything when Finn and Quinn purposely made out in front of the whole club. She didn't say anything, she didn't storm out, he's not even sure she flinched. And it was bad—like even Santana had glanced back at her to see how Berry was reacting.
But she had just taken a sip from her water bottle. Which that's another thing, she's had a water bottle glued to her side at all times. It's reminiscent of when she'd lost her voice and was hydrating. But she has her voice now, she's just not using it.
A million little things finally add up for him when she stumbles on a dance move during a Saturday rehearsal. She giggles, the girl who wants everything perfect giggles while everyone else gasps. He knows, but to make sure he figures he had to get her bottle.
"Hey, San. I need a favor," he tells the only one he thinks he can trust.
"Sorry, Puck, I'm with Sam and we're trying for the whole being exclusive thing. He doesn't really. . ." she starts.
He interrupts before she can tell him anymore, "I need you to distract Berry."
"Why?" she questions, eyes narrowing.
"So I can get her water bottle," he tells her.
"I'm not really down with you putting something to her water," she begins.
He again interrupts, this time more reluctantly, "I'm not, I just. . .I don't think its water, San".
"Oh," she says, then, "oh. No, you don't think. . . It would explain. . .okay, I'll do it."
So as she talks to Rachel, he sneaks the bottle and sniffs it. No smell. So then he swipes a sip. And yeah, he knew but now, there's no denying it.
Later, when Santana comes up and says "So?" raising her eyebrow in their universal language leaving Sam beside her lost, he merely nods in confirmation.
"What do we do?" she asks.
"I don't know," he tells her.
So he tries to talk to her.
"Hey, Rach. . .I'm worried about you," he stammers into the conversation figuring head on is the way to approach this.
"Excuse me?" she questions haughtily
"I. . .at our last rehearsal, I took a sip from your water bottle," he tells her.
She looks shocked first, then furious, "How dare you, Puckerman! You had no right! Don't you dare touch my private property again!"
"Rach, wait. I want to help you."
"Well, I don't want or need your help, Puckerman," she sneers as she walks away. He thinks that's the nastiest he's ever heard her speak to anyone.
Santana's been running into Rachel, making her drop all her things for the last week. He's about to confront her about the fact they already know she has a problem and San's making it worse when he watches it happen one day.
He'd been about to intervene when Santana saw him and shook her head so he watched. And saw Santana exchange Rachel's water bottle for her own.
She whispers, "Locker room," as she walks by him.
"We both know she won't confront me and say anything, so I've been giving her successively diluted bottles every day. I figured it would help."
"And?"
"She figured it out around the third day," Santana informed him disappointed. "Sometimes I'm lucky and I get the right bottle and sometimes it's just water."
"Wait, how you'd know she figured it out? Are you drinking it?" he asks, worried he's dealing with two problems.
"No! That third day, she had this grin on her face as she gathered her things, so I tried it and it was water only. Later, she just had this cocky look on her face, so I've been trying it daily. But just a sip, I promise. Although, now I pretty much know what I got by the look on her face. Today, I got the water."
"We're in over our heads. We have to tell someone," he realizes.
Santana nods, then offers, "Shue?"
So they go to him after school. They're both worried he won't believe them. And yeah, it's far-fetched, but they start at the party (that he convinced her to have) with the alcohol (that he convinced her to drink) and the kiss (that he didn't get to participate in).
"Guys, it kind of makes sense. She has been acting different. But she's much too smart to . . .I just don't think Rachel would. . ." he stumbles.
"Try this," Santana says holding out a water bottle.
He does, "It's water."
"Yeah, now at rehearsal switch it with what she carries. Then tell us if you don't taste the vodka."
Shue follows the plan. He looks devastated after.
"Rachel, Puck and Santana, I'd like you to remain after rehearsal," he requests. Once everyone's gone he turns to begin, "Rachel. . ."
"They're lying," she begins fidgeting.
"I tried your 'water', Rachel. We're past the point of denial. Now, either you get help willingly or I tell your parents. Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell or Hiram and Leroy. Your choice."
"I need it. You don't understand."
"Rachel."
"I need it," she continues crying now, "They don't hate me anymore. I can't do that, be this without it." He feels Santana flinch at his side.
"Berry, I'm sorry I ever convinced you to take a drink. But you don't need it, it only holds you back from being amazing," I try telling her.
"No one likes me when I'm 'amazing'," she says the last part with sarcasm.
"I do."
"Puck. . ."
"No, I miss the girl who called me Noah. Who believed we could all do better and be better, because she pushed herself to be and do better. This fraud is a lackluster imitation and I want the real thing."
"Want?" she questioned and the tears came again. "No one wants me. I'm ManHands. TreasureTrail. You want Lauren, you only want to leave me."
"Berry. . .you. . .that's not," he struggled for words. Then unable to explain he kissed her, and continued to kiss her despite Santana and Mr. Shue's objections. "That. . .whenever I've kissed you, it's like this jolt and I can't think. Like I'm out of control, like thunder and lightning, but I come back to you no matter what storm it foretells. So yeah, I want the girl who'll that'll mean something to and I can't have her if you need Vodka just to make it through the day."
"Noah?" she asked raising her hand to her lips.
"Mrs. Pillsbury or the Mr. Berries and then we talk about being wanted," he said.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath asked, "You'll help?" upon opening them. Upon his nod, she picked, "Mrs. Pillsbury."
"I'll be helping to hold you accountable," Santana told her as close to an offer of friendship as she could allow.
"Thank you," the girl they'd lost but was slowly finding her way back said, then took Puck's hand as the small coalition journeyed to the counselor's office.
"Emma," Mr. Shue began when they got there.
"Stop," Rachel interrupted. They all turned to look at her worried she was already backing out, "I have to do this," she explained. She gave Noah's hand one more squeeze and took a deep breath before saying, "Mrs. Pillsbury, I have a problem and I need help."
Years later, she would still attend the AA meetings even when she became a star and had paparazzi following her. Interviewers asked her about it, "I got over my head once, and the boy who became my husband, and a girl who I count as a sister now, along with a caring teacher caught me before I drowned. I go still because it's important to tell your story, and it's important for anyone out there who's struggling to know it's okay to get help. In fact, it only makes you stronger if you can realize you need help and then accept it."