Title: A Life Well Loved
Category: Glee
Genre: Family/Romance/Humor
Ship: Rachel/Puck
Rating: Teen
Warning(s): Coarse Language
Word Count: 6,112
Summary: A seventy-three year old Noah Puckerman shares his last day with his favorite granddaughter, reminiscing about life, love, death and all its in-betweens.
A Life Well Loved
-1/1-
The Lima Retirement home wasn't exactly glitzy. In fact, Isobel "Izzy" Puckerman was pretty sure her zayde would've been better off back in New York, being waited on hand and foot, getting his every need looked after. He'd been content in his high-rise apartment with its overwhelmingly breathtaking view up until the last of three heart attacks had finally meant he couldn't be left alone for long periods of time. He said he picked Lima because his son lived there, because his favorite granddaughter was growing up in the almighty bean of a hick town. But the truth was, and they all knew it, Lima reminded him of his wife. It'd been a little over a year since she passed away at the ripe age of seventy-two. Izzy wouldn't have been surprised if they'd died together a la The Notebook, but instead her zayde lived on and his mourning continued.
She stood in the doorway, leaning against the jam, and listened as his old but nimble fingers plucked at the strings of his favorite guitar. The strains of Sweet Caroline were faint, but hung heavy in the air. Not for the first time, she wondered how many people would be honored to stand where she was and see those famous hands move, while she'd been lucky enough to see it all her life. Noah Puckerman was an accomplished musician, making himself a household name in his early twenties and taking the industry by storm with his charm and stubborn arrogance. It helped that he had a tenacious girlfriend in Rachel Berry who got his music incorporated into her plays, and later movies, and hocked it to anybody who would listen. The musician and the Broadway starlet were New York's 'It' couple by the time they were twenty-five and only continued on as unlikely but beloved sweethearts for the rest of their long careers. Surprising everybody who doubted they could make it through the fame, they never separated or divorced or had to face down cheating scandals like so many others. Until Puck's wife, his best friend, died. And though he left the limelight in favor of a solitary life with his friends and family, his music lived on.
"You gonna stare all day, Squirt?" his deep, familiar voice called out. He cocked a grey brow at her and smirked in a lazy fashion. "Can't hug myself, can I?"
She grinned. "You could try but with those old bones, but you might hurt yourself."
He chuckled at her snark and nodded his head to call her over. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him close, resting her chin on his shoulder and inhaling the scent of him that always put her at ease. Truth be told, her zayde was her favorite person. He cursed like a sailor and he never listened when her mom told him he was being rude or crass and he was always honest with her. He knew music, was current on everything from the Beatles to the latest pop reject, and he made sure his eight grandkids had a healthy appreciation for it too. Unlike her cousins, however, Izzy listened to everything he said about music like it was law. If he said the new pop sensation wouldn't make it a year, she would bet money on it, and nine times out of ten he was right. He had a lifetime of knowledge, of the industry, of what sold and what didn't, of who had the drive and who was just wasting time. She listened with reverence to every singer or band that he suggested and she had a bookcase full of stacks upon stacks of CDs and even vintage records that he'd gotten her for Christmas or birthdays or just-because throughout the years. He called her his musical prodigy and she beamed under the praise.
"How're you feeling today?" she asked him, climbing into the armchair across from him.
His room was simple, clean, and most of the time she didn't feel like it was him at all. Back in his home in New York, there were framed gold and platinum records of his many CDs during his career. There were playbills and posters all housed in glass and lit up so best to be revered. There were family pictures and trinkets and living, breathing plants that filled every little corner and inch of wall. Now he had only a room; a bed, a TV, a few chairs, a table, and a small kitchenette that he hardly used. The only reminder of whose room it was came in the form of his pictures and his guitar. On shelves, there were photos of his children, of all four of his kids from babies to adults. Her dad, Joseph, the eldest and only son, and her aunt's Nanette, Abrianna and Danica. As children, they all smiled out from their collective places, in arms as babies or lined up when they got older. They were happy and carefree and living a life in New York's brightly shone spotlight. As the years went on, they grew up and they married and they had children of their own. Izzy's dad met her mother, a nice Jewish girl named Bethany, which her grandparents took as a good sign, and together they had two children, Izzy and her older brother, now away at OSU, Ezra. Her eldest aunt, Nanette, married her high school boyfriend Jordan and they had three sons – David, Nathan and Zach. Her middle aunt, Abrianna, married her partner, Lisa, and together they adopted a son, Levi, and a daughter, Sabrina. And lastly, her youngest aunt, Danica, had a newborn son with her husband Elliot, named Caleb. It was a big family and it made Christmas loud and overwhelming, but Izzy thought they all thrived on it.
"Old," he told her. And with a smirk, he added, "Hopped up on the good stuff though, so the buzz is nice." He winked before putting his guitar away in its worn case.
She laughed. For a seventy-three year old man, he made a lot of frank jokes and drug references that she probably shouldn't think were funny. In fact, her mom would no doubt tell her that she shouldn't encourage him. And were it anybody else, she would honestly list all the reasons why illegal drugs, for any purpose, were wrong. But when it was her zayde Puck, she made exceptions. He had very little left that made him smile, a ghostly sadness seemed to haunt him this last year, and so she encouraged it wherever she could.
That thought in mind, her hazel eyes drifted toward the calla-lilies he had blooming in a box outside his window. "Flowers are coming in nice," she mused.
He glanced over at them, a fond smile tugging at his weathered mouth. "Yeah… They're blooming all right… Guess they're nicer to look at then the bud that cranky ass nurse killed."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "They warned you, twice I might add, to get rid of the marijuana… Your doctor didn't even prescribe it!"
"You sound like your bubbe, Kid." He grinned before mimicking, "'There are rules for a reason, Noah!' … 'Stop mooning the police, Noah, it's not polite!'"
Izzy giggled. "You didn't moon the cops…" Still she found herself raising a brow, skeptical; her zayde wasn't known for being proper in any respect.
He cocked a brow right back, rather smug. "They were lucky they got a peek, Kid. I was a fine specimen."
"Mom says you were a man-whore." She shrugged, because this wasn't news in any way, shape or form.
Puck smirked and tipped his head in recognition. "Best in Lima."
"Before bubbe," she said. It wasn't a question, really. Anybody who knew Puck, who knew his Berry, knew that he would never have stepped out on her.
"'Course… Berry would've castrated me if I'd ever cheated on her…" He laughed under his breath. "And then you'd've never been here…" He sighed, shaking his head in faux-mourning. "Sacrifices, Midget."
"I'm perfectly sized for my age group, zayde," she sighed, rolling her eyes and leaning back into the comfort of the big armchair.
He snorted. "You're short… Pocket-sized… Not much taller than Berry."
"Yeah, well, Ezra got your height." She lifted a shoulder. She rather liked her small, dancer's body. "Guess it skipped me."
"Short's not bad," he told her. "Long as you got the Puckerman pride to back you up."
"In spades," she boasted.
He nodded, his old hazel eyes staring at her a long moment thoughtfully. "How's school going?"
"Better… I think New Directions is going to make it this year." Excitement welled up in her and she leaned forward, a smile brightening her face. "I can feel it!"
He grinned knowingly. "I believe you."
Drawing her knees up, she rested her chin on them and quirked her head to the side wonderingly. "I saw your trophy in the case at school… I can't believe we might be the first choir to win since you guys…" She shook her head. "What'd it feel like? When you guys finally got everything you worked for?"
His eyes turned away, jaw ticking ever-so-slightly in memory. "Wasn't about the trophy, Iz… Wasn't even about beating those Vocal Adrenaline douches… It was about showing everyone else, and maybe even ourselves, that we weren't losers… What we did and felt and how we showed it, it mattered…" He grinned softly. "You wouldn't know it with Berry smirking at the VA bitches, but… Later, she cried, told us all that we were special 'coz we were part of something special…" He laughed under his breath, his smile wider than she'd seen in a long time. He shook his head. "Told her she was a sap, but she just laughed… Said I was proud on the inside." His eyes landed on her once more, his smile fading. "She was right, like usual."
Not for the first time, Izzy felt a warmth fill her chest. There was something that happened to her zayde's face, to his voice, even to his mannerisms when he talked about her bubbe. It was like he was transforming, becoming the man he was with her. They weren't so different, Noah and Puck. But when bubbe Rachel was alive, he was nicer, gentler; he took his cues from his wife when he was supposed to shut up. Since she died, he and Izzy's mom had been getting along less. Bethany thought he was rude, obnoxious, that he said things children shouldn't know or hear. Izzy thought he was honest, that he didn't sugarcoat things. She liked it.
"How old were you when you knew?" she asked quietly.
Puck's brows furrowed in question.
"That she was it," she explained. "That bubbe was gonna be your one…"
He smiled, leaned his head back and glanced at the wedding picture that perched across from his bed. He reached his hand back, his gold wedding ring glinting faintly, and rubbed a hand down his head to trace the long absent strip of hair that was once his signature look. "Sixteen," he answered, almost reverently.
Izzy frowned, confused. "You guys didn't get together until your senior year…" she reminded. He might have had three heart attacks, but he was still as sharp as ever. There was no Alzheimer's reaching out and trying to steal him away.
"Yeah… But I loved her long before that…" He shook his head, frowning. "I was just a messed up kid, though. Knocked up my best friend's girlfriend. Time I noticed Berry and God sent me a sign, I didn't take it seriously enough." He swallowed tightly, furling his age-spotted hands. "Got her for a week before she dumped me to pine after Finn… Year later, she was trying to get back at him, so we hooked up, briefly. But I couldn't hurt Finn twice and I didn't just want her for a little while… I wanted all of her…" He half-smiled, almost sad. "So I walked away and I waited and when the Finchel show was finally over, I took my chances. Somehow, I made her love me back and it stuck…" He grinned. "I was a stupid shit for a long time but when I grew up and I still loved all that crazy, I knew I was done… Married her before Broadway could convince her she needed someone more educated. Knocked her up with your dad and then your aunts and somewhere along the way she realized I wasn't going anywhere and she didn't want me to…" He stared longingly at their wedding picture, where a couple of young, attractive Jews were smiling up at each other like the world had given them everything they could ever ask for. "Got fifty-three years together, too…" He laughed briefly. "My ma would'a been proud."
Izzy played with the frayed ends of her jeans, trying to take in the information overload. "Mom says you and bubbe fought a lot… but you were inseparable."
"You can't have that much passion and not fight, Izzy-Bee… We were both stubborn and proud and she was so damn beautiful…" His voice caught. "I was selfish sometimes, didn't want to share her. That's all she wanted… Share herself and her song and her talent to anybody with eyes and ears." He nodded. "So yeah, sometimes I held on too tight and we fought, but in the end she was always my Berry and no spotlight was gonna change that." There was a fierce determination in his face, as if were still fighting to prove that, to show everybody that fame or not, Rachel Berry-Puckerman's life began and ended with her family.
"Do you ever wish…?" She frowned, not sure how to word it. "I mean, that maybe you'd died first?" She lifted her brows. "So you wouldn't have to miss her?"
He was quiet a long moment, drumming his fingers along the thread-bare arm of his chair. "For awhile, I did… Hurt so damn much not having her there…" He shook his head, eyes on the floor. "It was the little things… Woke up to have my coffee and missed the smell of that shitty tea she drank… Couldn't sleep right the first few weeks, I was so used to her humming next to me that the quiet was loud…" He looked up at her, that same haunting look of loss clouding his aged but handsome features. "She was always the stronger one – didn't matter how much I worked the guns, she was the one who carried us… But y'know, I don't think I could've died, peacefully, and left her behind…" He smiled faintly. "Took me too long to get her for to go first."
Izzy couldn't be sure if that selfish or selfless, maybe a bit of both. She didn't think there was anything wrong with that. A smile tugged at her lip. "I hope somebody loves me the way you love her, zayde… One day..."
He shifted in his seat, because as honest as he was he still got a little weird when it came to blatant feelings. "How's it going with that Jeremy kid?" he wondered, voice a little gruffer. "He try 'n cop a feel yet?" He pointed a finger at her. "You remember that technique I taught you, Iz? Ball's'll be so high, he'll choke on 'em…" He smirked at the idea.
"Zayde!" she cried, flushing. "Jeremy is a complete gentleman!"
"Bullshit," he scoffed. "Y'know kid, me n' Berry couldn't keep our hands off each other when we were your age…"
Izzy sighed, hating the blush that crept up her neck and infiltrated her face.
"Seriously…" He nodded quickly. "'n Berry was like you. She wanted candles and flower petals and boom-box serenades. But, y'know… you meet the right person and it's not about grand gestures or picture perfect moments. You've got chemistry and history and counting stars in the back of a beat-up truck while you share a grape slushee…" He grinned reminiscently. "You got somebody who wants what you want even if they're not showing it the way you do. You got a messed up kid who falls for the school's pariah and picks her over his reputation…" He stared at her earnestly. "Sometimes you fall in love with the wrong guy, 'coz you're the right girl for him and it's just taking him awhile to figure it out."
She smiled lightly. "Zayde… Not everybody meets their soul mate in a high school glee club after Babygates and slushee facials… You guys were the exception, not the rule."
"It was one epic fucking exception, Isobel…" he told her, eyes warming. "Don't ever rule it out."
Her smile faltered. "I'm no Rachel Berry…" she confided, shoulders slumping a little. "And Jeremy's definitely not a Noah Puckerman."
"So maybe he's your Finn… Or Jesse…" He shrugged. "Doesn't mean you won't find your Noah, kid…" He winked at her then. "And you're more Berry than you know."
Self-consciously, Izzy reached for her nose, the only one of bubbe's four children and eight grandchildren to inherit her noticeable schnoz. "The mirror aggress," she muttered.
He grinned. "You make it work, Shortstack."
Her eyes fell and she played once more with the frayed threads of her jeans. "Tell that to the Cheerios…"
He scowled. "Hey, any Cheeri-Hoe gives you a hard time, they're just jealous… You're smart and talented and you're going somewhere. Screw them!"
"Pretty sure that's John Cooper's job," she scoffed, half-rolling her eyes. "Coop's the equivalent of you in your man-whore glory."
He shrugged knowingly. "Give him a few years, you'll probably find he's got layers."
She shook her head, her eyes darkening. "He underestimates himself. If he'd just let his guard down he'd realize that he's leading man material and Glee could really use him! When he sings…" Her voice softened. "People just stop and stare! But he…" Her eyes thinned with confusion and irritation. "He just shrugs it off and he – Ugh! If I could, I'd bottle even an eighth of the talent he has and give it to the less fortunate so they could feel even an ounce of what I do when I'm on stage…"
Puck stared at her thoughtfully, a wry smile twisting his mouth. "Man-whore's got you pretty riled up, Iz…"
"Please," she scoffed. "I'm only thinking of Glee! If he would just invest himself a little more…"
He raised a brow. "He knocked up a Cheerio yet?"
Startled, she looked up at him with wide yes. "No! Not that I know of. Why would you—" She paused, frowning. "Oh! Zayde! Aside from his loose sexual compass, he is nothing like you. He's rude and crude and brutish!"
Puck laughed warmly. "He's rough around the edges. He's real. No pansy-ass gentleman is gonna make you feel half as good." He frowned then. "I'm not saying bone the guy… Seriously, I'm not saying that." He stared at her protectively. "In fact, I'm saying don't bone the guy, or any guy, ever…" He shook his head. "But maybe don't write him off either, Iz… Most of my bullshit came from my dad and a lot of it was a front. Your bubbe got all Dr. Phil on me and saved my ass from a lifetime of prison sentences. Sometimes, you just need someone to tell you it's gonna be okay, that life doesn't end after high school."
Wrapping her arms around her legs, she sighed. "If he's an onion, whatever nice guy he has in him is buried behind a lot of layers…"
He grinned. "Fun's in the peeling."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever…"
A nurse paused at the door then and looked between them. "Time for your meds, Noah."
He flinched, eyes glancing at her. "You must be new," he said, his voice dark.
Izzy quickly intervened. "Um, Nurse…" She peered at the nametag closely. "Maggie?" She nodded. "It's Puck, not Noah…" she explained.
Maggie looked down at her files and frowned. "That's not what it says on his papers… I realize I'm fresh-meat, but I'm still fully capable of reading."
Good mood turned fowl, Puck turned to stare out the window at the blooming calla-lilies, a scowl twisting his mouth.
Izzy managed to move the nurse into the hall and quietly explained, "The paperwork's right, but nobody, and I truly mean nobody, but his wife calls him Noah… And since she passed, he's been even more firm with that… So I realize you're just doing your job and maybe this is your first day, but this is one lesson you really don't want to screw up…" She raised a brow very reminiscent of her zayde's. "That man in there is Puck or Mr. Puckerman. And trust me, he might look old, but he will make your life a miserable hell if you screw it up again…"
Maggie looked from her back to the elderly man still staring out his window. While his scowl and the tone he'd used had been full of warning, she couldn't imagine what a seventy-three year old man could do to her. Still, it was her policy to be polite and understanding. "I'm sorry… I won't do it again."
"Thank you," Izzy breathed, nodding. When she stepped back inside, she retook her seat.
"Mr. Puckerman?" Maggie asked, following after her. She placed a paper cup filled with various colored pills down on the table. "I just have a few of your meds here… If you'd like some water—"
He raised a dismissive brow at her. "'m in here 'coz my heart's broke, my legs work fine." He set his jaw. "You know where the door is."
Maggie flushed but nodded, stepping back out into the hallway to continue her rounds.
"Zayde…" Izzy rebuked softly.
"Your dad called me the other night," he said, changing the subject. "Spent the first hour telling me I could move in with you guys…" He half-smiled at Izzy. "Bet your mom's been real cheerful."
She smiled. "She'd get over it you know… Especially if you'd stop swearing just to get on her nerves…"
"Can't help it." He shrugged. "Sometimes, when she's yelling at me or telling me to stop acting so childish… I can close my eyes and it sounds just like Rachel…" He reached a hand up and rubbed his chest absently. "Not the same voice and there's not half as much affection under all that pissed off bitching, but… Hell, maybe I'm just taking what I can get."
Izzy felt tears cloud her eyes and ducked her head. He just sounded so heartbroken…
"Hey, don't cry, Izzy-Bee," he sighed, sitting forward.
She sniffled, rubbing at her face. "I just… Some part of me wants to love like you do, to know what that feels like, and another part is scared to… Because loving like that has to hurt…" She shook her head. "I know you had a lifetime together and I know you would never trade it for anything… But I see you now, without her, and I want to hate her for dying and leaving you behind."
"Don't say that!" Reaching out, he dragged her over and into his arms.
She cried, burying her face in his shoulder and breathing deeply. He smelled like the oil he used to give his guitar a shine and the leather strap that often sat across his shoulder, he smelled like ink and paper and she knew that if she looked at his fingers she'd find the stains of him working on a new song. He smelled like love and friendship and he felt like the man that taught her family were the arms that would always catch you when you fell. The man who sang to her all her life, wrote songs about her and dedicated CDs in her honor. The man the whole world saw as Noah Puckerman – musical genius - and she saw only as her beloved zayde.
"You're dying… aren't you?" she murmured, voice wrought with tears.
"We're all dying, Kid, some of just take longer to get there," he sighed.
"No…" She leaned back and stared down at the weathered, tanned face she'd always linked to honesty and love. "No, you're dying and soon… I can feel it." She stared at him searchingly. "Don't lie to me!"
His jaw ticked and he reached up to swipe at her tears. "Your dad wants me to move in with you guys… like a hospice…"
She shook her head. "Why? What… What's so wrong that you—"
"I'm seventy-fucking-three, Isobel…" He smiled faintly. "I lived my life, I made my mistakes, I learned, I grew, I fucked up and I made up, I raised my kids and I spoiled my grandchildren…" He brought her face close so their foreheads touched. "I miss my wife… I miss her smile and her non-stop talking and I miss hearing her call me Noah…" His eyes reddened with unshed tears. "I miss being your age and knowing I had all this time left to spend with her and doing nothing but enjoy every fucking second she wasted on me." He laughed under his breath. "I'm old and tired and this heart of mine is done…"
"There are transplants, there are options," she argued on a cracked voice. "There—You can't just give up. You can't—" Her face darkened with anger. "You're a Puckerman! We fight and we argue and never cut and run and you're—"
"Dying… There's a difference, Iz."
"No…" Inhaling deeply as her chest ached, she shook her head. "Just no."
He smiled faintly. "You can't change this just by wanting it different… And if anybody could, it'd be you. You're just like her and you're stubborn and mad at me and you'll spend too much time calling me names and telling me to wise up, but Izzy…" He sighed. "One day, you're gonna find your Noah and you're going to know that it was worth it… That I died because it was time and it hurt too much and I'd accomplished everything I never thought I could and am still surprised I did…"
"That's a cop out…" she spat emotionally. "You blame it on love and losing her but you're giving up. You're leaving me!"
He gripped her hand tight. "I'm not leaving you," he argued thickly. "And don't ever fucking think that."
"Y-You—"
"Isobel…" he breathed. "Y'know, from the second your dad put you in my arms, I knew… You're gonna be one hell of a girl… The kinda girl that does awesome things and changes lives. The kinda girl I would always be proud of." He tugged lightly on her dark hair. "You're made up of some of the most amazing people and there's still something that's just all Izzy… And I love that about you." He smirked. "I'm not supposed to go on the record and say who my favorite grandkid is, but kid you had it in the bag the second you smiled up at me and told me you wanted a Mohawk and you didn't care if girls shouldn't…"
She sniffled, laughing. "I rocked that," she admitted.
"You did," he chuckled. "Your mom and bubbe kicked my ass for weeks."
"Daddy liked it."
"Your dad grew up with a Mohawk until Rachel stopped letting me have any say in his hairstyle." He smirked. "He brought that shit back in high school though."
Wiping at her face, Izzy nodded. She'd seen the pictures and even if her dad was wholesome and clean-cut now, he was a total rebellious badass when he was a teenager.
The proud smirk on Puck's face said he was remembering those days as well.
She stared at him a long moment, at the worn lines that wrinkled his face and the grayish white of his hair. Not for the first time, she noticed that her zayde was old and the vibrant life he'd once owned with all of himself had faded. "How… How long?" she wondered.
He looked up at her, familiar hazel eyes softening. "There's no set timeline… We're waiting on the next heart attack to finally do me in."
Hopefully, she wondered, "So if you just take it easy… If you're calm and—"
"You've got Nationals coming up…" His mouth twitched. "I want you to rock that shit… I want two wins in a row by the best of the Puckerman's…"
She stared at him a moment, but nodded, even though she knew he was telling her he wouldn't be there long enough to watch her blow the roof of the house at Nationals, less than a month away.
"I'll visit more often," she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.
"I'd like that," he agreed, patting her shoulder.
"Zayde…?"
"Yeah, Izzy-Bee?"
"Will you play me her song?" she asked, hopefully.
"You know I rock Neil Diamond," he agreed.
With a sniffle, she wiped her face and took the seat across from him.
Guitar in hand, he leaned back and closed his eyes, with reverenced his fingers plucked the long familiar strains of Sweet Caroline. His voice – a voice that had sold millions and awed billions and was still respected widely – was deep and warm and wrapped around the lyrics of their song with such passionate adoration that Isobel didn't swipe away the appreciative tear that rolled down her cheek, she just hummed along.
And now I, I look at the night, whooo
And it don't seem so lonely
We fill it up with only two, oh
And when I hurt
Hurting runs off my shoulder
How can I hurt when holding you
A week later, she would play the same song at his funeral and she would smile the whole way through, even as she cried and her heart hurt, she would sing for her zayde and her bubbe, for Noah and his Rachel.
The following day, she found herself sitting in the choir room, her zayde's guitar case leaned against her knees. He asked that she keep it, take care of it, and she promised she would. She hadn't let it out of her sight since he died that same afternoon, a hand clutching at his chest but a peaceful smile twisting his mouth. Even now, remembering that he'd been ready, that he'd been content to leave, she felt her heart ache. She swiped viciously at the warm tears that clouded her eyes.
A noise at the door drew her attention and she looked up to see John Cooper staring back at her. He awkwardly checked the hall, looking like he'd like nothing more than to cut and run and avoid the tearfest. She chuckled under her breath. Sometimes, and she kind of hated to admit it, he really did remind her of the man her zayde once was; the man her parents and her bubbe had told her about, before Rachel and their family had softened him up. "I won't smother you with my tears," she promised.
He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped further into the room. "You, uh… okay?"
"Sure," she sniffed sarcastically. "These are obviously very happy tears." Her face screwed up at his useless question.
"Oh wow, I suck at this," he muttered. "Um… Look, I heard about, uh… About your zayde… Noah Puckerman was like, legendary! I've got all his music…"
She looked up at him. "Zayde," she repeated. "You're Jewish?"
He half-grinned. "Finest Jew in Lima…"
She giggled. "Only since Puck died." Even at seventy-three, he'd still boasted.
"So…" He crossed, taking a seat next to her. "I heard it was really sudden. Like… a heart attack or something."
"The fourth and final," she corrected. "He was…" Her eyes fell. "He was tired, I guess. And he… He really missed my bubbe…" She felt another wave of tears coming on and shook her head.
"Rachel Berry, right? I mean, I don't like that Broadway shit but my ma is all over it… She legit cried when your grandma kicked it. I mean, no offense or whatever… She had a killer voice and like, I looked her up and when she was younger…" His eyes widened with emphasis. "She was hot as hell…" He reached out and shoved her shoulder playfully. "Kinda like you, Iz."
She scoffed. "My grandmother was a classy woman with an unmatchable voice and superb acting skills, Jonathon Cooper!"
He smirked at her. "Whatevs, Puckerman… You should see what Google Images brings up; your bubbe was a MILF…" His brow furrowed. "GILF?"
"Aside from the fact that she is very much dead and that I highly doubt, regardless of your many sexual escapades, that necrophilia is high on your list, I will kindly take that as a compliment…"
He shrugged. "She was cool shit. I mean, she'd have to be to get with Noah Puckerman. Dude was such a BAMF!"
"I'm well aware," she admitted, eyes glancing away. "You…" She smiled. "I bet you would have loved to have seen him a few weeks ago. He…" She giggled. "He'd been keeping this completely illegal and very frowned upon grow-op of marijuana in his room…" She shook her head, a burst of laughter escaping her sweetly. "He just… They told him he had to get rid of it and I agreed, but it was just so… so…" Her smile slipped. "It was so much like him." Her face fell. "And now he'll never do anything like that again…" Her heart broke a little more.
Suddenly, the warmth of Coop's hand covered hers. "'m really sorry he died, Isobel… I mean, I didn't know him personally or anything, but I admired him and I know… I know you and him were tight… I mean, I saw you guys at temple sometimes and you were always smiling and laughing with him and he was always like really proud of you, y'know?"
She stared up at him with watery eyes. "Yes… He was… He is the best man I've ever known."
"I'm totally hotter though, right?"
She giggled. "You're incorrigible."
His brows furrowed. "Is that like a smart way of saying I'm fine?"
She shook her head. "Not even close… Although, I have it on good authority that you may have layers and thus, somewhere beneath your ridiculous wordplay and the arrogant way in which you conduct yourself, I believe there is a very good and noble person… You've only proven it with your actions today…" She smiled faintly. "You know, John, I know the school regards you as a sexual deity and someone to be admired and sought after, but… Should you ever need a real friend to talk to, I want you to know that I'm open to fill that position."
He stared at her a long moment. "So you cry on me, question my badass rep and then offer me friendship?" He cocked a brow. "Your crazy isn't like catchable, right?"
She smiled. "You can make fun of me all you like, but you just showed me your true colors and they were very compassionate…" She reached for her guitar case and ran her fingers along the smooth groove of the handle. "My hand in friendship has been offered and even if you don't take it today, I have faith that one day you might… There's more to you than meets the eye, John."
He eyed her curiously. After a long moment, he said, "People call me Coop, y'know?"
"I'm well aware," she agreed, smiling. "But Isobel Puckerman is not sitting here with Coop… She's just been comforted by John and she wants him to know that she appreciates his concern."
"Uh, yeah… okay…" He scratched the back of his neck before turning in his seat to face the empty choir room. A few minutes later, the chatter of their glee peers could be heard approaching the room. "Hey, Iz?"
"Yes John?"
"I'll probably be a real shit friend, but… Y'know, if you're offering…"
She grinned. "I am."
"Cool."
"Very."
Isobel couldn't say she didn't miss her zayde with all of herself, the ache had hardly faded, but his advice and the life he lived would help her along in her path. And while she couldn't honestly say that John Cooper was her Noah, she knew that one day she would find him. She would be somebody's Berry and she would love with all of herself, because if nothing else her zayde had taught her that while the heart could and would hurt, the pain was worth it. And if in sixty years, she died with even half the love her zayde had for her bubbe, she would die a happy, content woman.
[End.]