AN: Filled for the P/R drabble meme at LiveJournal. Can be considered part of the BTY universe or not. Don't worry, I'm still working on BTY. It will be updated...eventually.

Puck doesn't know what he's doing here, how he managed to find him. All he knows is that one minute, he's minding his own business, fixing up Mrs. Klein's blue Jetta, and the next, he's face-to-face with a tall man with longish dark hair and a smirk on his face.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" is the first thing out of his mouth.

The man doesn't respond at first, only flicking his cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out with the heel of his boot. He ticks an eyebrow in a familiar way before speaking in a mocking drawl.

"That any way to greet your old man?"

Puck grits his teeth but manages to suppress the actual greeting he wants to give. The one involving his fists meeting his father's (no, his sperm donor's) face, gut - hell, any part of him. No way was he going to risk his job at the garage for this lousy piece of shit.

"Well, old man, I asked you a fucking question."

Eli Puckerman tips an imaginary hat to his son, acknowledging the point. "Nothing much. Was just passin' through Ohio. Thought I'd see my son, simple as that."

Puck laughs darkly. "That's it? 10 years and it's just, 'Oh hey, son! Thought I'd drop in for a chat!'" He shakes his head in disbelief and mutters, "Motherfucker."

Eli squints his eyes into the midday sun and chuckles. "Something like that. And the fact that your Nana Connie might've let it slip that you knocked up a girl." Now it is his turn to shake his head. "God, it's like fucking history repeating itself."

"So what, you came to offer your condolences?" he says, sarcastic.

"No," Eli's eyes meet their mirror image. "I came to offer you an out."

His face stony, Puck listens to the man go on. "My band got a gig as Aerosmith's opening act. We'll be touring around the US and Europe—"

"I'm thrilled for you."

"—and we could always use an extra guitar. I assume you still play?" He turns an appraising eye towards his son decked out in coveralls and grease. "I know you're not a loser, kid. Those hands have better uses than fixing transmissions. C'mon, I'm giving you a chance to leave it all behind. You and me? It'll be like a fucking Hallmark reunion special."

The silence is heavy for a few minutes as Eli's words sink in. "Thanks for the offer but no thanks," Puck finally says.

The older Puckerman's tone turns hard. "You might want to think carefully about that decision, boy. Is this what you really want? Stuck in Bumfuck, USA, because you got some stupid high school girl pregnant?"

His jaw clenches and he is thisclose to letting his father have it when a silver Prius comes screeching into the garage. The car door opens and he hears her voice before he sees her, already dispensing a hundred apologies a second. He shakes his head in amusement. She may look like this petite, perfect, innocent bundle of crazy but the woman was hell on wheels. No, seriously...he had the whiplash to prove it.

It scared him sometimes, how much he loved this girl, his girl. She had been his from the time he had tumbled her onto frilly sheets under the guise of working on mash-ups. When they found out about the baby a month after graduation, he was waiting for her to hate him for everything that she was being forced to give up (Broadway, stardom, a way out of Lima). Instead, she had turned to him, with tears masquerading as stars in her eyes, and smiled. But look what I'm getting instead.

Now, as she bops into his line of vision, a whirlwind of brown hair, big brown eyes and purple socks, he had to smile. Really, the decision was a no-brainer.

"See that girl over there?" he says softly, with a tilt of his head towards the girl in question. "That's my wife. That baby in her belly? That's my kid. And as far as I'm concerned, the only loser I know is the one who left his family because he was a fucking coward. So thanks for the generous offer, Dad...but I'm not leaving them for anything."

He walks away then and refuses to look back at the man who had ran away one long ago night when he was 8 years old. Within seconds of turning around, his arms are full of Rachel Berry.

"Noah! You left your lunch at home and—" He interrupts her with a kiss, full of passion and possession. When he finally pulls back, he is met with blown pupils and a questioning gaze.

"What?" he asks defensively. "Can't a guy kiss his wife?"

She snickers in response and threads her arm through his, leading him towards the car and the lunch she had packed herself. She chances a glance over her shoulder, sees the man in the leather jacket walking away and watching them with an unfamiliar look.

"Noah, who was the guy you were talking to earlier?" she asks quietly.

"Nobody, babe," he replies as he reaches down to caress her small bump. "It was nobody."

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