A/N: Just a little bit of clarification on this fic:

1) It is AU. Puck & Rachel don't know each other, but ass the story progresses you'll understand the relationship between the characters, how they know each other & such…

2) It definitely will be Puckleberry, don't you worry about that!


The 8:30 bell rang throughout the school. The hallway was crowded with students making their way to their classes. It soon was cleared as the second warning bell rang. Left, was a boy in the wheelchair, waiting in front of a gold-stars-covered locker. He glanced his head left and right, as if he was looking for someone. The boy looked at his watched and sighed as he rolled himself to class.

"Buenos dias Artie," the teacher greeted. "You're late today."

"I know Mr. Schue, sorry." Artie said, making his way towards his seat in the middle of the class next to a blond cheerleader. "Hey Brit."

"Hey Artie," she greeted back. "How was your Monday morning lattes with Rach?"

Artie frowned gesturing at his hand, empty of a Starbucks cup, "It didn't happen. I got to school at 8:15 and waited for her, but she wasn't there."

"What?" said Brittany a little too loudly. Mr. Schue glanced back and gave them a look. Brittany ducked her head and looked at Artie. "Rach has never missed a Monday morning latte with you, like ever," she pointed out.

"I know Brit…"

"Like that one time she was sick, she still came by an dropped it off at your house before you came to school."

Artie nodded, "It's been our tradition since the first day we stepped into this hell hole. I'm a little worried."

The blond girl gave him a sweet smile, leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Don't worry. I'm sure she's just running late or maybe she has an appointment."

'Maybe Brit's right. She's probably just running late.' Artie thought to himself. But somehow he couldn't seem to shake off the bad feeling he had about today.

Meanwhile… later that day, 11:50 a.m. to be exact, in an unknown location…

Rachel was freezing. She groaned as she struggled to get up. She looked around the room, trying to adjust her eyes to the dark. She sees a door, and quickly ran for it, only to find it locked. She looked around again. It was a small room; a tiny table against one side of the wall and on the other side, where she currently sat, a single bed. She looked at the foot of the bed and fought a grey blanket folded neatly. She took it, grateful for whoever put it there, and draped it on herself, covering her tiny body. 'Why me?' Rachel thought to herself, pulling up her knees and bringing it towards her chest, and laid her head on top of it. 'And I didn't take Artie to Starbucks today. I missed Monday morning lattes!" She could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks. 'I just want to go home.'

Footsteps interrupted her thoughts. She gasped as she brought her knees closer, circling her arms around it, trying to hide. She could hear the handle of the door turning and the sound of the door opening. She peeked up and saw a figure turning on the light. The man was about 6 feet, had dark hair shaved into a Mohawk. He wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and had a tray of food with him. He made his way towards the table and set the tray on it.

"What are you doing with me?" Rachel croaked out.

The man turned around, his brown eyes met hers. He walked slowly towards her. She gasped, burying her face into her knees. 'This is it. I'm going to die. I'm never going to see my dads again. I'm never going to see my friends. I'm never going to make it to Broadway. I'
m never…'
The man dropped something beside her. She looked to her side and saw that it was a pair of sweats. "It can get cold down here. You might prefer that than what you're wearing." He said.

She stared at him, "You didn't kill me."

"What makes you think I won't later?" he asked smirking. He made his way towards the door. "The bathroom's over there," he pointed at another door on the other side of the room. "And that's your dinner, " he glanced at the tray on the table.

"You still didn't answer my question," Rachel pointed out.

The man looked back at her, "What question?" he asked once again smirking. "Later Berry," and with that he walked out, closing the door behind him.