Title: They Call It Dysfunctional, I'm Sorry
Chapter: 1/ ?
Author: LivingInImaginary
Summary: It began with a big city and small people. It progressed with best friends. It ended with her sneaking to him late in the night, because she couldn't stand letting either of them go. He doesn't know when he became on-the-sides to Jesse St James, but he won't give it up.
Author's Note: OhMyGod, OhMyGod, OhMyGod. Season finale was epic. It's always epic. Thanks for your wicked response to my story, guys. You are motivation at it's best : )
We get up early just to start cranking the generator
Our limbs have been asleep, we need to get the blood back in 'em
We're finding every day, several ways that we can be friends
eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh
{Freelance Whales – Generator First Floor}
Six months go by in a flash of coffee and grease and studying and cold soup. Rachel always hums around the home; always doing exercises to strengthen her voice (he always says she has a better voice than anyone else in this city, anyway).
One of their phones always ring at six every second night. Sometimes it's Rachel's fathers, sometimes it's Sarah and Rina. Every now and again all four of them will get together and put them on speaker.
"Noah! Have you got a job?" his mother asked the first time they all called. "You better be supporting Rachel! If she's carrying the bills all by herself . . ."
"He is, Mrs Puckerman. Noah is being a perfect gentleman," Rachel grins. Sarah snorts from the other end of the line.
"For your information, squirt, I'm a grease monkey."
"Oh please. That would involve you actually doing something, bro."
"Rachel! How are you going?" Ryan asks, trying to keep the peace.
"Excellent, Dad. I'm getting a medium wage for the hours I work, which combined with Noah's pay, is plenty to live on. We're getting by just fine. My studies are going well, although I don't feel like they're getting me anywhere. I think . . . Well, I auditioned for a very off-Broadway production, and I haven't heard back. Yet, I mean. I haven't heard back yet."
"You never told me that," Puck says after they hang up.
"I know. It's not like I would get paid much for it, and I probably won't be recognised for it or anything . . . We shouldn't get excited over it." But he can tell by the way she bites her lip and her eyes sparkle that she is extremely excited. She squeezes his hand and smiles. "Aren't you working today?"
"Nope. Between Hayden, Joss, Rick and I, I'm allowed a couple of days off. Besides, Rick has a new apprentice or some shit like that. Kid's pretty much a business prick. He's all numbers and logic and stuff. He doesn't just do it; he has to think everything through."
"Like me," she says softly, taking his words the wrong way.
"No. No, no, no. You're better than this guy. You plan things through because you have to, because you're trying to get somewhere. He plans things through to seem important in front of the boss, who doesn't give a fuck about him anyways."
She smiles and can't help but think that he knows her pretty well; knows how to comfort her in his own way. He'd disagree – no one can understand the mind of Rachel Berry (but he's getting pretty close).
Rachel gets dressed in her room and comes out in jeans and a white t-shirt, brushing her hair back into a pony tail. "You should have roller skates, you know," he tells her.
"Oh please, I refuse to work in some tacky sixties diner. What a waste of time. Besides, I like my job. I like the people. Lu and Claire are lovely. Even my boss, Adam, is wonderful. He's never around, but he's nice," she says. He opens his mouth to say something before she cuts him off. "Don't get me wrong though. This is not permanent. I wouldn't forget about Broadway that easy, not when it's so close. I can practically taste it when I walk down the streets, Noah. It's in the air."
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes and tells her to get to work before they fire her. She asks if he'd like to come, and he doesn't have anything better to do, so he agrees.
On their walk to the coffee shop, they talk about her new friends and the guys at his work and even some old friends they had in Ohio. He still calls Quinn and every now and again, asking how Rosie is going. Artie's kind of been helping out around her new apartment, which makes Puck pretty grateful that someone is taking care of his kid when he can't be there.
When they step through the café door, he immediately likes it. It's calm and cosy – a total break from the busy streets of New York. He likes New York, he really does. But every time someone honks a horn, he is this close to losing his shit and slashing their tyres.
"Howdy, darling," says a tall, thin girl rinsing out a mug. "Oh, and what do we have here?"
"Hello Claire. This is Noah, he's the roommate that I told you about," Rachel says, sliding behind the counter and disappearing out the back. Claire gives him a once over before smiling and brushing a thick curl of light brown hair behind her ear.
"How do you do, mister?" she says with a warm smile. It kind of reminds him of the smile the pretty little blond back home used to beam every once in a blue moon.
"Yeah, I'm good," he replies, because he never really knew how to reply to a question like that. Claire crosses her ankles and leans against the bench. "I come from Dallas. My brother died when I was seventeen, so I hightailed it out of there with my friend Luanna and got a job here. I couldn't stand all the 'I'm sorry' and 'what a tragic loss'. People just don't know how to leave you alone about stuff."
Puck nods. "Yeah, I know what you mean. My dad left when I was a kid and now everyone thinks I'm some broken little boy because of it. Sure, I was kind of a delinquent and shit but I never wanted to be like him. I don't remember his face at all."
Claire nods. She has a gleam in her eye and a blush spreading across her freckled skin. "I like you. You aren't like none of those other sorry losers around here. You and Rachel are good people."
"I know she is. I'm not sure about me."
Claire lets out a laugh that sounds like a peal of bells. He decides that he approves of Claire. Rachel skips back into the room, her long hair in a ponytail and her hands clasped together.
"Noah, this is Luanna," she says cheerfully, flicking a switch on the coffee machine. Luanna's eyebrows are knit together thoughtfully and her legs are swinging off the bench she's sitting on.
"Hiya," she sings sweetly. "You must be the boy Rachel won't shut up about."
Rachel's face pools with blood and she looks at her feet. "Only because I'm so grateful he would come here with me. He's a saint. He's a good friend."
"So, you going to buy something?" Luanna asked, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder. "Or am I going to have to kick you out?"
Puck shrugs, looking around the cafe. It was pretty full, being so early in the morning, and everyone was huddled up together, shivering in their coats. "Yeah, Rach, get me some coffee."
Rachel rolls her eyes, but gets to work anyway. It has to be one of the best he's ever had, and definitely wakes him up.
"See you later, Rachel," he says, flipping a quarter into the tip jar. "There you go. Some extra for your labour."
She rolls her eyes at him and shoos him out the door.
The apartment is boring and quiet without Rachel. After two hours of kick ass crime shows, he decides its time to do something.
"Hey Q," he says into the speaker.
"Hi Puck. Rosie! Spit it out! Naughty! No!"
"How's my little brat going?"
"Being a pain in my ass and chewing on the crayons! Rosie! Drop them now! Oh, thank you Artie."
"Oh, Artie is there," Puck grinned, staring at the ceiling. He could here Artie's deep voice and then Rosie's giggles. It made him miss home; miss his little girl. As cool as Artie was, he didn't really want the guy being her father.
"Yeah, Artie is here. He's being a godsend while you're off entertaining Miss Prima Donna. He'd make a good father, you know."
Puck didn't reply. He just stared at the ceiling for a while, frowning slightly. Quinn finally caught on that she had said the wrong thing.
"Puck, I'm . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"Forget it, Quinn," he growls, a little more harshly than he intended to. "And you know, I'm not just here for Rachel. I'm here for fucking me too. I called to ask about my kid but fuck, Quinn, you just had to play the whole bad-father thing on me. Look, you know I'd be there to help her if I could. But you told me you didn't need help, so I decided it was about time I stop worrying about your shit and sort out my own. Maybe Rachel helps me with that. I don't fucking know, I don't fucking care. Don't do that to me."
"I'm sorry, Puck," she replied quietly. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever," he says before snapping the phone shut. He dials another number instead.
"Hey," Finn says.
"Hey, man. Quinn's being such a bitch."
"Really?" He says it in the same way he says everything – half surprised, half uncertain. "I heard Artie and her were, like, a couple and everything. Do you think they can actually do it together?"
Puck rolls his eyes. "I don't really want to think about Artie getting it on with the mother of my child, thanks. Especially when she's suiting him up real nice to be a new daddy."
"Aw, man, that sucks. Hey, Britt!" he yells. "Do you want a jelly stick? I have one left!"
He can hear Brittany talking animatedly about nothing in particular and Finn replying with just as much enthusiasm. What a load of shit. Everyone was in a relationship but him – not that he wants a relationship. But it's been seven months since he's even seen a girl shirtless (except for that one time he walked in on Rachel getting changed, but he doesn't know if it counts. It was worth being counted for).
"So, you and Brittany going strong, eh?"
"Uh huh," Finn says happily. "I think I love her, man. Heaps."
"Have you told her that?"
"Huh . . . No I haven't. Hey Britt! I got to go man. Talk to you later."
"Yeah, bye bro," Puck says to the beeps when Finn hangs up.
He remembers Luanna's bright eyes and curls and freckled skin and long legs. He has his coat and is jumping down the stairs in seconds, because he's sick of this shit. Why does everyone else get to have someone?
"You're back," Luanna states with a raise of an eyebrow. "Can't keep away from Rachel, eh?"
Puck feels a tinge of guilt. He doesn't even really know Claire. Rachel wouldn't mind him jumping her co-workers, would she? That gets him thinking that maybe Rachel is seeing something. They've been here a solid half-year, so it wouldn't be wrong for her to be seeing someone, would it?
Why is there this nagging feeling deep in his chest?
"Uh . . ."
Before he could come up with a believable excuse for coming back, Rachel and Luanna stumble out of the back room, carrying two bags of cocoa beans and sugar.
"Hello Noah!" Rachel smiles. "I don't get off my shift for an hour, so you should go ahead an order Chinese-"
"Oh, can I come?" Claire asks. "I'm starved, and I walked here. It's getting kind of late, though . . ."
"Uh, yeah, if that's okay with you . . ." Puck mumbled to Rachel (he almost hoped she'd say no, stay). Rachel nods and smiles, taking a hot chocolate over to table eight. She comes back five minutes later.
"Sure, Noah. I won't be out of here for a while."
Claire swings her legs over the counter and jumps off. Wrapping her coat around herself, she takes Puck by the hand and leads him outside. It's much colder than usual, and the lights of New York are bright and almost comforting in such cold weather.
"So, Noah-"
"Puck. My name's Puck. Rachel only calls me that because she thought it was a ridiculous nickname or something."
Claire laughs that airy laugh again and shrugs. "I know an awesome Chinese place down the road. Do you like honey chicken?"
"Who doesn't?" Puck grins.
(Okay, he could get used to this girl.)
"Excuse me for asking," she murmurs in her Texan drawl, "but are you and Rach an item or anything? I don't mean to pry, but Lu and I have been awfully curious. She says you're just great friends, but Rachel is a strange creature and too hard to crack. She's got some acting abilities, that one. Why, first day and she was lying to the boss! Little white lies to cover my ass, but still . . ."
"No, Rachel and I are just friends. Strictly. Not even, like, friends with benefits."
"Hah! Friends with benefits are the best, though," she says with an easy wink. She's almost as smooth as he is.
He nods. "Definitely."
She starts speaking French to the Chinese waitress, which causes a whole lot of confusion and laughter on their part. On the way out, she starts singing Japanese, earning a few frowns from the elderly Asians in the restaurant.
"Oh, that was hilarious!" she laughs. He nods, smiling up into New York's sky.
"Do you want to come back to the apartment to eat this?" he asks, starting to think that he might not even try to get in this girl's pants at all. (But then she drops her wallet and bends over and well come on, he's a dude). Clair skips up the stairs two at a time, a mysterious/cheeky/pleading/playful/wicked smile playing on her face.
He follows her up, dropping the Chinese on the bench.
(She tells him she wasn't hungry anyway.)
Rachel sighs, rubbing her hands against her calves. Tonight was the busiest she's ever seen the place. She was so ready to flop onto her bed, maybe eat the remainders of any Chinese food Noah left behind. Every day was ten times better with him than it would be had she left for New York alone. She knows it. She can feel it.
"Noah?" she calls. The lights are on, the heater running. She hates walking home so late; especially when it's so cold, but Noah hadn't left her any choice. He never answered his phone. "Noah!"
"Oh, God . . . Fuck . . . Don't do that, or we'll never get anywhere . . . I swear, baby . . ."
Rachel's eyelashes flutter and she lowers her eyes to the ground. She knew it would happen sometime. She was living with Noah Puckerman for Christ's sake. But still . . . Not now, not tonight. Her stomach turns as she remembers Claire leaving with him for Chinese. But she wouldn't do that, would she? Claire was better than that. Claire was wholesome and good and she didn't do one night stands, especially not with her co-worker's roommate.
Rachel decides that this house? It's not home tonight. It's been invaded; her world alienated. This wasn't a feeling she liked at all. Sliding back into her ballet flats, her eyes flicker to the brown camel boots lined up next to her own. She trudges out the door, slamming it shut behind her, only slightly (very) agitated.
It's even colder than it was twenty minutes ago, and she can feel her lips turning blue. She waves to Luanna in the café window, who is packing up for the night. Lu brushes her fingertips through her golden hair and waves back, giving a small grin. Rachel wonders if she knows about them.
She shouldn't jump to conclusions. It's always been a terrible habit of hers. Noah might have gotten Chinese, and they could have gone their separate ways. He might have gone into a bar, picked up some girl and gone home with her. That would be better, right? Rachel couldn't be mad at him if that were the case.
But she still felt mad.
When she turns into Central Park, she doesn't feel the flutter of her heart like she usually does. Central Park is almost like the heart of New York, a basic feature. She's dreamed of biking down the pathways in fall and strolling through on a cold winter's day for years now. It would be the cure to any hangover, the perfect way to start any morning. She and her co-star, when she finally made a Broadway production, would fall in love and sing Singing in the Rain, copying every move exactly while it poured down on them. The man she fell in love with would be equally as demanding and lovely and talented as she is.
(Not a boy who spent half his life screwing girls he barely knew. Emphasis on boy, because apparently, those ones never grow up.)
What she hates more than him right at this moment is herself. Damn it, why did she have to be so mad over this? What proof did she have it was really even Claire?
She thinks back, remembers the brown boots, and throws her head in her hands. It was most definitely Claire.
"Rachel Berry?"
Her eyes roam upwards, into the familiar face she knows so well.
"Jesse?" she asks, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "You're- You- Here! You're here . . . In New York . . ."
He laughs the same laugh she remembers so well, takes her hand in his and leads her through Central Park.
Maybe Central Park is exactly what she dreamt it would be.
(Should have dreamt it would be. Dreams change, though.)
We keep on churning and the lights inside the house turn on
And in our native language we are chantin' ancient songs
Then when we quiet down, the house chants on without us
{Freelance Whales – Generator First Floor}