Written for the puckrachel drabble meme on LJ - prompt by bewolke
When Rachel read the review her first reaction was that it was all lies. Every single word. Mean-spirited, malicious and catty and completely false.
But that doesn't mean it didn't bother her.
She had flipped shut the newspaper, turned to the Lifestyle section and started reading the advice columns.
But no matter how hard she tried not to think about it , it kept gnawing at her brain.
Rachel cared about what other people thought about her. She always thought it was stupid and that people were lying when they said they didn't. If they said it didn't get to them. Even though she had received glowing reviews from everyone else, it was this one that was sticking in her mind. This one she was choosing to believe.
Now on stage, she felt self-conscious. How ridiculous did she look? She was thinking about asking Kurt to bring a secret video camera into the theatre to videotape her performance for later viewing.
Puck wasn't oblivious to the something that was going on with Rachel. It seemed like every hour of the day their apartment was filled with the sound of her warming up her voice. Do Ray Mi and all that bullshit.
Honestly, it was driving him insane. He was used to her singing all the time, but this was overboard. She was getting up at the crack of dawn.
The day before he'd caught her singing to herself in the mirror and staring intensely at her reflection and pouting.
Tonight he'd come home to her watching a tape of some Broadway musical.
"Hi, Noah" she'd greeted him warmly. "How was your day?"
"Okay." He grunted. "But if that goddamn contractor for the Hubert building doesn't call me soon, I might take his fucking tool kit and shove it up his fucking..."
"Noah!." She scolded, and then patted the seat beside her. "Come sit. I need your input."
He sank into the couch.
"Look closely at Laura Bell Bundy's face." She'd paused the video. "Would you say she looks happy enough? Or should she up the facial expressions a bit?"
He gave her his patented Rachel Berry you are batshit crazy look. "Baby, what is up with you?
She paused the tape, and walked towards the kitchen. "I don't know what you mean." she shrugged.
Puck sighed. "You've been acting really weird lately. I mean…weirder than normal." Rachel frowned. "I really don't think you need to get up at 4AM to sing your kumbayayas while I'm trying to catch some Zs."
"Noah." she protested. "I'm sorry, I just have a lot I need to work on."
He looked at her incredulously. "At 4AM?"
Rachel pouted. "I'm sorry, maybe it was insensitive of me to not think of how it might wake you up. I'll find someplace else to rehearse…"
"Baby…" Puck walked towards her, pulling her into his arms. "Why do you suddenly need all this extra practice? You're amazing."
She swallowed, and it all came out of her in a burst of word vomit. "Do I make stupid faces when I sing?" Puck's brow furrowed. "Does my voice squeak? Do you think it looks like I'm trying to hard? Be brutally honest. I need honesty."
Puck stepped back a little and rubbed his eyes. "What in the fuck are you talking about?"
Rachel rushed to the coffee table opened her planner, pulled out a newspaper article she'd cut out of the paper and shoved it into his hands.
His eyes focused on the underlined words.
Lead Rachel Berry was quite disappointing. She has poor vocal technique and her throat makes painful squeaking noises. Berry also makes painfully exaggerated faces while she's singing. Her performance as Belle was just not believable. Simply put, she was overdoing it.
He scoffed. Who the fuck did this reviewer lady think she was and what fucking Broadway show did she see? Because it sure as hell wasn't one his girlfriend was starring in…
"Babe. Are you fucking kidding me? You cut this out and kept it?" Rachel frowned again. "You know this isn't true, right? You're fucking talented as hell, ask anyone. Ask the director who gave you the fucking part…Why are you letting this get to you?"
"I just…I started noticing all the things she said. I mean I do make faces when I sing, and I tend to be a little dramatic, but I always thought that was perfect for Broadway but now…"
Puck grabbed Rachel around the waist again. "Baby. It is perfect for Broadway. You're perfect. It's one thing if you want to try and improve your voice or whatever for yourself, but don't do it for…" Puck read the name on the article. "Veronica …Peabottom" He snorted. "Peabottom? Jesus Christ."
"Look baby…" He looked at Rachel " the way I see it, if you ain't hated on, you ain't doin shit. She's probably just jealous that you're so hot and talented and on your way to being famous."
"But Barbra Streisand…" Rachel began.
"Do you think people don't hate Barbra Streisand? I know a lot of people who hate Barbra Streisand." He laughed.
She scrunched her face at him.
"But she's still a legend." He added. "I like your faces. On the stage," he wagged his eyebrows, suggestively "you make great faces other places too."
Rachel couldn't fight breaking into a smile. "Noah." she swatted him playfully. "Thank-you." And then she kissed him softly.
"You can't let the haters get to you, Rach." He opened the garbage can and held the article over it. "I think this belongs in here."
"Nooooo!" Rachel squeaked, yanking it from him. " I think I'll keep this." She giggled. "I'm not ready to let it go just yet."
Thirty some odd years later after Rachel Berry had become a seasoned Broadway veteran, a platinum recording artist, and the star of a few Hollywood movies, that review still hung above her piano.
Beside her Oscar, Grammy, and Three Tonys, of course.