a/n So this isn't particular to any pair. its more of a reflexion of something i went through and did myself. minus the sex and getting pregnant part. i was thinking about the past the other day and this came to mind and i started typing. here was the ending result. Just needed to get it out of my head and on to a page and than decided i wanted some feed back so apply it to any pairing you want. i like to think its puck and rachel while puck is with lauran but thats just me.

It wasn't cheating. They weren't doing anything. Just lying there watching a movie. Sure his arm was casually slung around her waist, holding her against him and maybe they did snuggle a little closer than one would expect. But it wasn't cheating. It was nothing they hadn't done before she left, before he got a girlfriend. It felt easy being together like this, like they had always been. But it wasn't cheating.

So than why did she feel like she should turn to face him?

I can't be second fiddle. You can't wash her off of you and then hold me. Her mind screamed at her to say her thoughts out loud. This is us, this is easy but this was before. Before so many things. You have her now, you can't hold me and pretend that she doesn't exists, I can't. The words played in her head but she lacked the courage to say them. Why now? Why after months of almost no contact, months after I came back waiting for my best friend and getting nothing, why now?

She angled her head to look up at his eyes.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing," She replied forcing the voice in her head to shut up, "Just thinking."

"About what?" He pressed.

"Does she know I'm here?"

"No, why?"

"Just wondering." She turned back again so her spine curved into his chest. His arm once again fell lazily over her, his fingers tracing slow patterns where her tank top rode up along her hip. Her skin shivered and the whisper of his touch, not the touch of a friend but the caress of a lover. She knew she should leave, or move his arm, or do something, but she didn't.

They're not cheating she told herself once again. They lay there together clinging like their sanity depended on it. She knew she should say something though.

"I'm not second fiddle." She whispered barely audible, turning to face him once again.

"What?" he asked confused.

"I can't play second fiddle." She repeated a bit louder. But before he asked another question she rolled to her original position and closed her eyes.

As his hand tightened around her waist drawing her closer to him she though she heard him whisper "I know" into her ear.

They weren't cheating; after all they were just friends.

After the first movie ended they put in a second, ignoring that it was late and they both had school the next morning. As the action movie reeled by on the screen they settled back to their chosen positions. His arm around her, possessive and protecting, her hands clutching his arm, holding and hoping. After the first half hour the sound of the movie fades to the back of her mind. It's been a long week for her and she's tired. Feeling more relaxed and secure than she felt in weeks she allows her body to slowly drift off to sleep.

A few hours later, long after the last words of the movie died away she wakes up again, still cradled in his arms. His breathing is soft and slow, his right arm tucked around her waist, his left netted in her hair that spread itself across the pillow. She wakes him up tells him she has to leave. The cool night air kisses the naked flesh of her arm as she lifts the blankets. Pausing at the door to grab her shoes she silently slips from the house as if she never entered to begin with.

It wasn't cheating. She told herself again the first time he kissed her. After all he only kissed her cheek, no matter his lips lingered a moment longer than the social norm, no matter that they embraced just a bit tighter than nessacary for two people; just friends after all.

Tuesday nights became their nights. They always met at his house for a movie. Sometimes it was early afternoon; they'd meet at fourish watch the movie and then eat supper together. Other times it was late, Tuesdays when one of them had to work. Than it would be sometime after nine when she'd enter the silent home to walk quietly down the stairs and into his room. She'd settle herself next to him and let him hold her, let herself be held. Sometimes he would pick the movie sometimes she would, it didn't matter. They'd watch what ever they played, sometimes slipping into the stillness of sleep, still holding each other. Than when the movie finished or when her phone alarm went off at one thirty she would lift the blankets, untangle her limbs and slip out of the house as silent as a ghost.

Friday nights he had date night. She never thought of her as his girlfriend, because than she might think of herself as the other woman. But she wasn't the other women, after all they weren't cheating. She many have questionable morals in a lot of things but not this. She never touched another woman's man and she never played second fiddle to anyone.

When he kissed her, really kissed her, she still told herself it wasn't cheating. But she began to avoid them whenever she was with him. It hurt to see her on his arm. That was her spot, even if only on Tuesday nights. They didn't speak much when she came over on Tuesday's. They didn't need to, they just held on to each other tightly both avoiding the moment when she had to let go and leave once again.

The first time they had sex she still tried to deny they were cheating. It happened like everything happened for them, slow with the fire of passion building. They still didn't speak much past the moans and small cries of pleasure. They moved together and even if it happened to be the first time it felt like the dance they long ago perfected finally had the perfect ending.

But after it was over, when her phone rang calling her home, she finally had to admit it was cheating. It couldn't be anything else. Still she told herself she wasn't second fiddle. At least on Tuesdays she wasn't.

Because she used the pill they never overly worried about condoms. Sometimes they used one, sometimes they didn't. Then she got strep throat and went on antibiotics making the birth control more likely to be ineffective. So she couldn't be too surprised when the test showed positive. She stared at the little pink line wondering what she would do now. Soon she could leave, go to the college that accepted her in a few months she could leave without telling a soul about the child growing inside her.

She never told him. Only he could be the father, he took her virginity and he was the only man she had been with. Instead next Tuesday after they both came in cries of passion she asked him if he would ever leave her.

"I can't, not now." He said as he ran his fingers through his short hair. A movement she herself had done so many times before had done a few moments before.

She nodded mutely and turned back on her side to cuddle into him. Her choice was made, she would hold him the few more times she had left, and then she would be gone.

So she left without saying a word to anyone. Her new roommate found out when her loose cloths could no longer hide her figure. Her roommate took her shopping, helped satisfy her cravings, held her hair while she puked and her hand in labor.

When she held her daughter for the first time she wondered what she would tell her when her baby girl asked why she had no father. Would she say it was because she was selfish, that she couldn't play second fiddle anymore? Would she say she just couldn't do it anymore? Watch her daddy be with someone else and only come to her on Tuesdays?

Years passed and her baby girl was now seven years old when a knock on the door came. She opened it to find him in her door way and she knew, if he asked, she would play second fiddle again. She sighed deep in her chest and held open the door to let him in.