a/n: I know that technically this would be Monday morning, but I haven't gone to sleep yet, so I'm going to call this Sunday night and say I didn't break my promise :) I'm sorry the wait has been so long, but I'll really try to update sooner for chapter three.
And thanks so, so much to Quinn for editing!
He gapes at her, and he looks as stunned as she feels. "That's not — you —"
She watches him swallow, and his eyes search her face, as if he desperately wants her to grin suddenly and shout "just kidding!" She isn't kidding, though. She wishes she were kidding.
No.
She doesn't. She's perfectly happy with who she is and who her father is. She wishes he weren't who he is. Because how can he be a Hudson? How? How can a boy so goofy, so sweet, so absolutely wonderful, possibly be his son?
This is a disaster.
She opens her mouth, and an arm slips around her shoulder.
It's Noah. "You need something?" he asks Finn coldly, pulling Rachel securely against his side and jutting his chin at Finn. Noah always seems to find Rachel, no matter where she goes or to whom she talks, and then he always seems to feel the need to assert himself into any situation he decides she can't handle herself.
(She didn't speak to him for two weeks after Matt Rutherford stole a kiss from Rachel her freshman year, her very first kiss, and Noah broke his nose a solid five minutes later.)
"I —" Finn still can't seem to find his voice as his eyes dart from Noah and then back to Rachel.
For the briefest moment, they all stand there in silence as people push around them and Coach Sylvester yet again yells for everyone to report to the auditorium immediately. And then Noah, taking a menacing step forward, finally snaps at Finn. "Are you deaf, Guppy?"
And Finn's jaw locks. Rachel can even see his hand curl into a fist.
That can't possibly be a positive development.
"Noah," Rachel intervenes, "don't be a bully. I merely asked Finn if he knew what had happened, but he didn't. Honestly. You always jump to conclusions. Now come on. We need to head to the auditorium." She takes his hand and forcefully tugs him away from Finn and down the hallway. She really wants to glance back at Finn, but she resists.
It's not like anything can actually happen between them now. Right?
The moment she and Noah turn the corner, he stops and moves to stand in front of her, and she knows that look on his face. "What was that about?" he asks. "Do you know who that kid is? You do. You called him Finn. It's Finn Hudson, Rachel."
"I'm aware," Rachel tells him coolly.
"His dad is Christopher Hudson," Noah goes on. "The dirtiest fucking cop in New York City."
"I'm aware of that, too," she says. "And must you use that vulgar language with me? We've talked about this. If you insist on a colourful vocabulary, fine, but please refrain from that kind of talk in front of me. You know it offends me."
He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Look, don't try to keep the peace and lie to me. Did that fudgehead bother you? I know he has beef with me, but if he thinks he can mess with you —"
"He didn't bother me," Rachel insists.
She really doesn't want to talk about this anymore. She doesn't even want to think about this.
"I know his name because we've gone to the same school for several years," she explains to Puck, "and I approached him to ask what had happened, just like I said, because he was the first person I saw. But he didn't have an answer, and I really would like to know what happened, so can we please go to the auditorium now?" She puts her hand on her hip and glares at him.
"Okay. Let's go. But if he does start to bother you —"
"You'll be the first to know, so that you can — without my permission, I might note — intervene."
"Good."
The auditorium is loud when they walk in, and nobody pays any attention to Mr. Schuester, who stands on stage, tapping the microphone and uselessly trying to quiet everyone down. Rachel spots Santana quickly, and she waves and then hurries over, Noah following close behind.
She hears the students talk as she moves down the aisle and then down the row, and thoughts of Finn give way to thoughts of what apparently happened at the school last night. She didn't actually hear anything that the officer told Finn. She was too busy reeling over the realisation of his identity.
What did happen?
"Do you know anything yet?" she asks Santana, sitting down beside her.
"Somebody's dead, apparently," Santana says lazily. She ignores Noah, and he ignores her.
Rachel is more than used to this kind of behaviour; her best friend and her cousin have been in a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship for years, and after all this time she prides herself in her ability to handle them in their off-again stage with ease.
"That's terrible," Rachel murmurs. "But I've heard the same." She has. It's all over the school that somebody was shot last night. It's only a rumour, though. Why would anybody shoot a McKinley student? And in McKinley on a random Thursday night, no less?
But something's certainly happened, or they wouldn't be packed into the auditorium right now.
"Dude probably had it coming," Noah says.
Rachel smacks his arm. "How can you even say that?"
He snorts and shakes his head at her, and the room starts to quiet as Coach Slyvester begins to prowl the auditorium aisles and Headmaster Figgins steps out on stage.
"Hey," Santana whispers, leaning towards Rachel. "What happened to you last night?"
"What happened to me?" Rachel repeats quietly. "I'm not the one who disappeared before ten. What happened to you?" She raises her eyebrows expectantly at Santana, who only grins lecherously. "Nevermind," Rachel goes on quickly. "I don't want to know."
Santana starts to laugh, but Sylvester quiets her in an instant, and then suddenly Figgins starts to talk, and he uses phrases like "shocking turns of events" and "do not despair, but" and "any information you may have could be of use." Students finally start to hurl questions at him, though. What actually happened? Is someone dead? Who is it? Mr. Figgins only splutters inarticulately.
And then Christopher Hudson walks out on stage.
Rachel doesn't like to hate people, but if she were ever to hate anyone, she would hate Christopher Hudson, and she won't even try to deny that. She knows all about that man, and all the terrible abuses he commits as a police officer. People like that make her sick.
Her mind flickers briefly to Finn, but she can't think about him right now. She can't.
"Last night," he announces, "at around 11:50 pm, Matthew Rutherford was murdered in his bed."
Chaos erupts, but Rachel doesn't hear anything anyone says. Matt? Her first kiss, Matt? The boy she helps tutor in math on Mondays and Wednesdays, Matt? Sweet, quiet, innocent Matt? Her stomach churns, and her heart pounds, and Chris Hudson only goes on, asking anyone with information to report immediately to the police.
Classes are cancelled for the day, and they're released a few minutes later, free to return home. "I can't believe this," Rachel says, still reeling. "I can't believe a murderer would come into our school and kill someone. What if he comes back? What if —?"
"Nobody'll touch you, Rach," Noah says. "And Hudson shouldn't have gone off and told everybody about the murder and freaked everybody out. Isn't this a school? What kind of shitty police officer is he?"
Along with half the school, they spill out into the parking lot, where at least half a dozen limos, sent by worried parents, are already lined up and waiting to take students home. Rachel turns automatically towards where Noah parked his SUV, only to freeze when she sees the car.
Two police officers stand by his SUV.
Rachel feels Noah stiffen beside her, and she grabs his hand and glances at Santana, who looks furious as her eyes narrow at the two men. Rachel looks around for a teacher, for anybody at all to help, but she finds no one before Noah starts forward again, towards the SUV. He tears his hand from Rachel's grasp as he goes, but she still follows helplessly after him, and Santana does, too.
They're tall, the police officers, one with a face like a frog, the other with small, crooked blue eyes, and both with scowls, and they straighten when Noah, Rachel, and Santana approach.
"Can I help you?" Noah spits at them.
"Mr. Noah Puckerman?" the taller man asks.
Rachel reaches for Noah's hand again. She knows what these police want. People often assume the worst of Noah simply because he takes care of his own. And the police always try to mistreat him under orders from that vacuous cow, Hudson. That man probably thinks Noah is to blame for what happened to Matt. He might have once punched her old flame, but Noah would never kill him.
The very idea is — it's — it's absurd, and it's outrageous, and it's absolutely unimaginable!
"It's Puck," Noah says, his voice tight. "You wanna bring me in?"
"No!" Rachel protests. She surges forward. "You have absolutely no reason to talk to him," she tells the police. "None! This is absurd, and it's outrageous, and it's —"
"It's fine, Rachel," Noah interrupts, and he stares hard at her, silently reminding her what her papa always told them. She shouldn't say anything. That's a rule. The police can twist whatever a person says to make him or her look guilty. She nods at Noah. She won't break the rule.
"If you refuse to come with us voluntarily, Puckerman —" the frog man starts.
"I'll come," Noah says.
Nobody listens to Rachel when she protests. Noah promises her that he'll be fine, that he'll call her papa, that he'll see her in a few hours, and then the police start to walk him to their squad car. But Noah can't simply leave with the police, like he's some sort of criminal —
"He'll be fine," Santana promises Rachel over and over again, even as she steers Rachel towards her limo. "He'll be fine, just like he always is. Chris Hudson just wants to piss off your dad and look like he has a suspect to prove that he doesn't have shit for brains."
Rachel nods and tries to believe that.
But she can't. This is all too much.
She starts the day with the revelation that the man of her dreams is the son of the worst man in New York City, then she finds out Matt Rutherford was murdered in his bed at her school, and now her cousin has been taken by the police, probably as a suspect for that murder.
This is a nightmare.
And what if they try to interrogate him with physical violence?
She wouldn't put that past Christopher Hudson.
"He. Will. Be. Fine."
Rachel glances at Santana and nods again. But —
She only panics more and more as the twenty minute drive passes. As soon as the Limo drops her off, she races into the house. "Daddy!" she shouts. "Daddy!" She runs into Mrs. Proctor, the housekeeper, who points her to his office. She knocks and then pushes open the door, too impatient to wait for permission to enter. "Is Noah okay?" she asks immediately.
But then she pulls up short only when she realises her daddy isn't alone: Mr. Ryerson and Mr. Tanaka are both there, and so is Howard, and even her papa. They all go silent when she bursts into the room, and her dad looks at her from behind his desk with soft surprise in his gaze. "Princess," he greets quietly, a question in his voice.
Noah obviously hasn't called her papa yet, despite his promises to her.
Wait. What if the police haven't let him call her papa?
"I — I'm sorry, Daddy, but I need to talk to you. And to Papa. It's about Noah."
He smiles. "Of course." He glances at Mr. Ryerson, Mr. Tanaka, and Howard. "We'll finish this later," he says. "You know what I need, Sandy. Ken. And I'll expect to hear from you by tomorrow night, Howard."
They all nod and leave, and Rachel smiles politely as they pass her. She doesn't much care for Mr. Ryerson or Mr. Tanaka, but they're family, and her daddy raised her to treat family well. She still smiles brightest for Howard, though, because he might not be family, but he's always so sweet. Howard shuts the door behind himself, and her daddy beckons her further into the room.
He looks concerned. "Shouldn't you be at school?"
"Did something happen, Peaches?" her papa asks. "Did somebody bully you?"
"No, Papa, it's Noah — the police took him! Didn't he call you, Papa? He said he would!" She looks back and forth between her fathers, watching as her daddy straightens in his seat and glances at her papa, who shakes his head curtly.
"It's that awful Mr. Hudson," she cries. "He probably won't let Noah call a lawyer! He was at school this morning, and I know he told his officers to arrest Noah and —"
"To arrest him?" Papa asks sharply. "They arrested him?"
"Yes — no — I don't know!"
"Okay, okay, calm down," her papa says, and he takes her gently by the hand and pulls her into his lap. She takes a few deep breaths as he rubs her back gently. "What happened?" he asks.
"There was a murder last night at school," she tells them. "It was Matt. Do you remember Matt? I tutor him — I tutored him, and last night somebody killed him in his bed at McKinley, and they released us from classes today, and then in the parking lot these police officers came, and they were at the SUV, and they told Noah he had to come down to the station with him. He agreed, but he said he intended to call you, Papa. But he didn't, did he?"
"They probably haven't let him," her daddy says, his mouth a thin line. "Go now," he tells her papa. "And contact Moraski, see what he knows."
Her papa nods, and Rachel stands to let him stand. He'll help Noah, right? He gives her a small smile and leaves, and she watches the door snap shut behind him.
"It'll be okay," her daddy tells her, pulling her attention to him. "I promise." He smiles.
"Matt was murdered, Daddy," she whispers.
"And that's terrible," Daddy says, nodding. "His family must be devastated. But a smart soul worries first about his own family, and for us that's Noah, isn't it? And Noah will be fine. We'll sort this mess right out, just like we always do. Okay?" He touches her hair affectionately.
"Okay," Rachel says quietly.
"Remember," he goes on. "Bad things happen to good people, but —" He raises his eyebrows.
"But the best people make sure nothing happens to their people," Rachel recites.
He smiles. "And who always takes care of his people?"
"You do, Daddy," she says, and she finally smiles, too, as she looks up at him, wearing his favourite brown pinstripe suit and a pair of round, red-rimmed glasses, his hair thinning at the top. He looks like he always does. He looks like the man she adores.
"That's right. I always take care of my people. Come here." He stands, and she steps forward to hug him tightly, because she always feels so safe when she hugs him.
Noah will be okay. Her daddy would never let anything happen to him. He never lets anything bad happen to any of his family, and she can always count on that. Christopher Hudson might be the most terrible, corrupt man in New York, but Rachel can always count on her daddy.
That will never change.
She pulls back to smile at him, wiping her few stray tears.
"I need to make some calls now," he tells her, "but why don't you bake a batch of cookies for Noah? Papa will surely take him back to the house, and you can greet him with some cookies. That would be nice, wouldn't it? Let's see. He loves the peanut butter chip best, doesn't he?"
"Daddy, those are your favourite," Rachel says.
"Oh, well, if you'd like to make them —" He shrugs innocently.
"Daddy!" She giggles despite everything, and he taps her nose.
Aunt Julia stops by the house soon after, and Rachel knows her daddy must have called her to tell her what happened. Rachel adores her aunt, a small, thin, bony woman with thick, curly, black hair and a smile that reminds Rachel of Noah, but her aunt tends to panic easily.
She certainly beats the cookie dough a little too hard while they wait.
But Papa does bring Noah home, and Noah hugs her and tells her "those police bitches" couldn't "do a damned shit" to him, which only makes her shake her head in exasperation. Where did he even learn language like that? She offers him some cookies, and then she starts a second batch when Noah disappears into her daddy's office with her fathers.
Is he really okay?
It seems like it.
He emerges from the office after a little while, and Mrs. Proctor makes popcorn, and her dads and Noah all watch Funny Girl with her. Daddy even sings some of the songs. Of course, the boys want to watch Fast and Furious after that. She falls asleep half way through the movie.
The rest of the weekend passes as if nothing even happened.
She does her homework, has a pedicure with Santana, and beats her fathers at Chinese Checkers three times in a row on Saturday night. She goes to dance classes, does Jazzercise with Aunt Julia, and makes Noah go for a Sunday morning run with her.
Of course, when she arrives at school on Monday, the illusion shatters.
Her daddy might have assured her that Christopher Hudson only arrested Noah to make trouble, that Noah is in no real trouble, yet here at school that isn't what matters: Matt is dead.
The whole school is abuzz with what happened. The boarders who spent the weekend at the school don't know any more than the commuters like Rachel, and no matter how normal the teachers try to act, people want to talk about Matt, about what happened, about the police. Of course, plenty of people have heard that the police talked to Noah Puckerman, but Rachel turns her nose up at that kind of talk, thank you very much.
And then she walks into seventh period and realises she has biology with Finn Hudson, and everything becomes even more complicated.
She squats down and reaches her hand forward tentatively.
"Hello Eustace," she murmurs. "Hello. I'm Rachel. It's so nice to meet you. You're such a handsome turtle, Eustace. Is this your favourite creek?"
How can somebody who names a turtle Eustace and then talks to him incessantly be bad?
Finn watches her for a minute, and then he glances over his shoulder. Most of the class have moved down to listen to Mrs. Martin explain something or other about the creek. But Finn doesn't even pay attention in this class ever anyway, and this is, like, the perfect chance to talk to Rachel.
He knows she saw him earlier.
She walked into biology, and she looked straight at him, eyes round with shock.
Apparently they've been in this class together for two months, but they've never noticed each other. That's not so crazy, though. There're twenty something other people here, too, and Finn usually sits with Sam and ignores everybody else. But, well, at the same time, he feels a little weird that he never noticed Rachel, with her shiny hair and her pretty smile and her infectious giggle.
He definitely noticed her today.
And she can't pretend she didn't see him. She's been trying to, though.
After she simply stared at him for a solid minute, her wide eyes suddenly darted in the complete opposite direction, and she went to sit at an empty lab table at the front of the room. He couldn't see her face anymore, but he could see how tightly she held her back, and he wondered if she spent all weekend like he did — freaked out.
He still wonders.
Mrs. Martin took them outside for a "fun" lab in "the great outdoors," and he's basically stared at Rachel the entire time.
She totally saved his ass from Quinn, and then they danced and talked and kissed twice, and they made a date for this Saturday, too, and then suddenly Matt is dead and Rachel is the daughter of a murdering mobster maniac and what the fuck? Seriously?
It just seems so wrong for Hiram Berry even to have a kid.
And, okay, Finn totally knew Hiram Berry had a daughter. Plenty of times before, during rants and raves, his dad has mentioned that the jackass has a whole family and a nice big house in the suburbs and even sends his precious little girl to private school. But for that precious little girl to be Rachel? Finn did not see that mindfuck coming.
Because Rachel is pretty much the coolest girl he's ever met, and she's part of the mob. Or is she?
Her dad might be, but that doesn't automatically mean. . . .
It's all he's thought about all weekend.
His mom went on a business trip (and, yeah, he knows what those are actually about), his dad spent the entire weekend at the station, and Finn had the house to himself. He played a little Halo with Sam and Mike on Saturday, but otherwise he spent the entire weekend with his mind on her.
Her dad had Matt Rutherford killed. He probably even had Puckerman do the job. Along with half the school, Finn saw two detectives take Puck in — and he saw Rachel freak out when they did, like she couldn't believe anybody would dare blame Noah. Finn kinda wanted to go to the station and see how that turned out, but then his dad would've trapped him there.
He stayed at his house instead, and he thought about Rachel.
It's totally pathetic, but she isn't a part of the mob, is she?
She probably honestly thinks Noah is innocent, and so is her dad. But then why did she look so horrified when she found out who he was? Wouldn't he just be any random guy to her? Wouldn't his dad? If she's not, like, a part of the family business or whatever, why would she care about his family's business?
He needs to know for sure.
He makes sure yet again that they're alone, because he totally doesn't want to explain this to Sam, and then he walks slowly towards her. "Hey."
Her head snaps to him. And she shoots up to her feet suddenly and crosses her arms over her chest.
"Are you here to arrest me?" she demands sharply.
He balks. "What? No. I'm — I'm in this class, too. You saw me earlier. I mean, I know it's hard to believe I'm in AP bio, but I am. I swear." He cuts his own ramble off short then, and she only continues to stare at him suspiciously, like he's the one whose dad is a fucking killer.
"What do you want?" she asks.
"I wanted to talk to you," he replies. He does. He's not sure what there is to say to her, but he can't just not talk to her ever again. That would be so messed up and stuff, and everything at McKinley and in his life is already messed up enough.
"You're Finn Hudson," she says.
"Yeah."
"And I'm Rachel Berry."
"Yeah," he repeats. "And I still wanna talk to you. Just for, like, a second, okay?"
"No," she says. "It's not okay. You're Finn Hudson. Your father arrested my cousin simply to spite my father just three days ago! And I don't know what game you meant to play on Thursday, but I'll have you know that I —"
"I didn't — I'm not playing a game. I'm not. Seriously. I'm not, and I wasn't. And my dad probably wanted to talk to your cousin 'cause, you know, there was a murder at school."
"Noah had nothing to do with that," she snaps.
And he believes her. Or at least he believes that she believes that.
It's not just that he wants to. That look in her eyes? How imploringly she stares at him, like she's willing him to believe the same because it's true, and she knows it, and she can't believe anybody in the whole wide wouldn't know it too? That's not an act.
Her dad might be the worst fucking man in New York, but she's not a part of that.
"Okay," he says. "I don't even know — I don't wanna talk about that. My dad brought him down to the station, not me — it's not like I'm a police officer, too. And, I mean, I haven't even talked to my dad since, like, Thursday morning." He pauses, but she doesn't say anything. "You can't even talk to me?" he says
"What is there to talk about?" she asks, but her voice isn't so sharp and guarded anymore.
He shrugs. "I'm not good at this stuff."
It's quiet, and he runs a hand over his hair, frustrated. He wants her to say something. She only stares at him. "Look," he says, "all I know is that I met this super cool girl at the dance, and I fell really hard for her, and we were even gonna go out, but she apparently hates me now 'cause her dad hates my dad, and I just. . . ."
"I don't hate you," she says softly. "But I just — Finn, my family is the most important thing to me. My cousin and my aunt and my daddy? They're my whole world. And my daddy really, truly hates your father. He says he's the most corrupt cop in New York City."
"I'm not my dad, Rachel," he tells her. He's not.
"No, but even if you're not your dad, you obviously don't think so highly of my dad. I don't even want to imagine what kind of lies your father has fed you. And would your father really want you to date me?"
He doesn't really have a response. She's right. He can only imagine if he went to the office after school and announced that he'd started dating Rachel Berry. He knows that, he does, and this whole conversation is just a reiteration of everything he argued over with himself during the weekend. But —
"We can't go out on Saturday. I'm sorry." She won't meet his gaze, and he simply watches her as she turns away from him to say goodbye to Eustace, and then she walks past him, back towards the edge of the woods and the school. "Come on," she says. "The bell rings soon. The rest of the class has already probably already returned to school."
She's right. He follows her, and they don't talk. There's nothing left to say.
But as they emerge from the woods she finally looks at him.
"For what it's worth," she says, "I really liked you."
He nods. "For what it's worth, I still really like you," he replies. It's the truth. "Rachel —"
"Goodbye, Finn."
But he isn't going to settle for that. He grabs her arm.
"Rachel." He isn't really sure what else to say, though.
She must see something pitiful in his gaze, because her shoulders sag, and she looks up at him sadly. "Nothing can happen between us, Finn. Besides, even if we weren't who we are, even if our fathers weren't who they are, we still wouldn't work, because you're still hung up on your last girlfriend. Quinn, remember? And I don't want to be a rebound."
He shakes his head, but he can never put his thoughts into words fast enough, and she goes on.
"Before we met at the dance, we didn't exist to each other. We passed one another in the halls, and we had bio together, and we probably had classes together last year or the year before that, too. But we didn't care, because I had my friends and you had yours. Let's go back to that, okay?"
He still can't really think of the right words, and she turns away and continues the trek back to the school. She's already a solid twenty feet away when he finally murmurs the words. "But we did meet." He frowns to himself.
The bell rings. It's actually the last bell — classes are over for the day.
He makes his way into the school, picks up his backpack from the bio classroom, and talks a little with Sam, who thinks the lab was totally awesome and wants to know why Finn disappeared. By the time Finn actually starts through the parking lot towards his Ford Explorer, most of the school has cleared out.
He pops the trunk, shoves his stuff in the back, shoves the door shut again —
— and somebody rams him in the stomach. Finn stumbles backwards, slamming against the side of the car, and looks up to see Noah Puckerman, with two thuggish kids beside him, Karofsky and Azimio. Finn starts forward only for Azimio to pound him in the stomach, and when Finn takes a swing at him, Karofsky punches him in the fucking throat.
"What the fuck?" Finn growls. He doesn't know where any help is, and he doesn't really care.
He glares furiously at Puckerman, who glares right back.
"You think you can mess with her, and I won't notice?" Puckerman says, and he steps forward, face contorted. "And I won't care? You think I'm stupid, Hudson? Do I look like a fucking retard to you?" He cracks his knuckles and then abruptly shoves Finn in the chest.
Finn shoves him back before Azimio or Karofsky can stop him.
They pin him against the car an instant later.
"Get the fuck off me," he hisses. "I don't even know what you're fucking talking about."
"You don't know?" Puckerman scoffs. "What? You think I didn't see you come out of the woods behind school with my cousin? I saw you in the hall on Thursday, and I saw you in the woods, and if I see you with her again —"
"We have bio together, you jackass," Finn snarls. "Mrs. Martin took us outside for a lab." He surges forward furiously when Puckerman simply starts to shake his head at Finn, and Karofsky tightens his grip on him. Finn elbows him in the side, fury coiling inside him. "Get. Off. Me."
"Or what? You'll tell Daddy?" Puck laughs. "We've never come to blows before, Hudson, but that's because you, unlike your daddy, mind your own business. Or you did." He steps close to Finn, nearly spitting in his face as he talks. "I know how this goes," he says. "I know you'll be the next dumb, dirty cop that uses his shiny badge to stick his nose where it shouldn't be, and you and me are gonna have some problems."
Finn grits his teeth and simply stares back at him. He isn't scared of Noah fucking Puckerman, with his dumbass mohawk and his thugs for friends.
"But if you try to stick your dick where it shouldn't be, I will fucking kill you." He jabs Finn in the chest, as if daring him to try to fight back.
Finn curls his hands into fists. "I didn't know you cared so much about my dick, Puckerman."
Puckerman starts to laugh, and then he hits Finn so hard in the stomach Finn doubles over.
Motherfucker.
"I'm only gonna say this once more," Puckerman snarls. "Stay away from Rachel."
He punches Finn again, and Karofsky and Azimio both get in another hit, and then they're gone, just like that, and Finn clutches his stomach and leans against the car. He can barely breathe. He looks around, and he sees a few people, but nobody will even look in his direction.
People in this school do mind their own business.
But, what, Puckerman thinks Finn'll take that shit lying down? No. Fucking. Way.
He's at the police station in twenty minutes.
"He's in his office, Huddy!" Detective Green says, and Finn nods. He finds his dad on the phone, his nostrils flaring as he grunts every couple of seconds. He sees Finn, nods at the chair, and then says loudly, interrupting somebody, "I agree completely. It's a priority, don't you worry. Children first, isn't that right?" And he violently hangs up the phone.
"You know who that was?" he asks. Finn shakes his head. "Your headmaster. Fellow won't leave me alone. Like I'm not police! Like I don't have work to do! Like I won't solve a fucking homicide if he doesn't remind me that he and the school are under pressure. I'll tell you something — I'll tell you something! He doesn't know what pressure is! Ha!" He leans back in his seat, only to sit up again an instant later.
"And he's had phone calls, he tells me!" he cries. "You know who called him? You know who picked up a goddamn phone and whined to Headmaster Figgins about the safety of his daughter? Hiram Berry! Can you fucking believe it?"
Finn offers kind of a half shrug, half shake of the head, and that seems to satisfy his father.
"I'll tell you, kid," his dad says. "I've caught hell for this murder. It's been a shitfest since Friday morning — all weekend long. And damn if that boy didn't know something. Had to. Had to! He was my fucking golden ticket, I tell you! And Berry went and fucking killed him." He pulls a bottle of scotch out from his desk and starts to pour himself a glass.
"But he thinks he can pull one over on me? I'll show that bastard. I'll show him. I brought his nephew in on Thursday. Noah Puckerman, you know. Made him sweat. We've got squat on him now, but we'll get the kid. We'll get him. I'll bring that whole fucking family down, see every last little baby with the name Berry behind bars." He downs his glass.
"Hell, by the time I'm through with them — you wait and see, by the time I'm finished with those bastards — they'll be nothing left of 'em. I'll even make sure I squeeze every last fucking drop of dirty money outta him, too. His precious perfect little darling daughter'll be living at the fucking Salvation Army. How do you think he'd like that?" He laughs a little. "Mobster aren't gonna live in luxury in my city. I don't think so, son. Not my city."
Finn stares at him. He can't think of what to say. Has his dad met Rachel before?
Does he actually know anything about that precious perfect little darling daughter? Does he know how sweet and earnest and completely innocent she is? Does he know that she can sing so good, and she loves Broadway, and she names random animals Eustace?
"What's with you, huh? You look like you can't take a shit."
Anger rises up in Finn at the reminder, as if the dull thud in his whole torso weren't reminder enough, and he opens his mouth to tell his dad exactly what did happen. But his dad doesn't give him the chance.
"You rough housing with your boys? Sammy Evans, right? Gale Evans's always done right by me. Good woman. Good judge. And, let's see, that Asian boy, too? Right? Marty, isn't it? You play a little ball with 'em? Take some hits? Boys'll be boys, huh?" He grins.
"Yeah," Finn says. "We were . . . it was just — football, you know."
He doesn't know where the lie comes from. It just happens.
"Sure, sure," his dad says. He starts to pour himself another glass of scotch. "Your mama asks any questions, I'll cover, huh? Boys'll be boys!" He chuckles and leans back in his seat again.
Finn swallows thickly. Why did he lie? Puck beat him up and threatened to kill him. But —
Rachel.
His dad wouldn't even really be able to help Finn, and all he would do is fan the fire, and he would have to find a way to leave Rachel out of this mess. Because she really is out of this mess, Puckerman and her dad and that whole Polish mob have kept her out, and Finn can't bring her in.
He can't.
"I'll tell you, kid. This case — this'll be the case of my career, I swear to God. Berry thinks he can kill my witness and cover his ass, does he? Thinks he can fuck me and I'll bend over and take it, does he? I won't, you hear? I won't!" His cheeks flush as he finishes his second glass. "No, I'mma fuck that man right fucking back. And you'll help me, huh?"
"I —"
"That's why you're here, isn't it? I'mma put you on Puckerman," his dad says. "He did the job. I know it. And we let him go — told him we were good Americans who believed a man innocent until proven guilty. Load a shit. I know he killed my boy Matty, I know he did, and all I need to do is find the proof." He slams his hand down against the desk.
"And once I do?" he says, repeating the words with spit flying, "once I fucking do?"
He smiles grimly, and then suddenly he rams his finger against the desk like he did the glass. "Once I do, it'll lead me to Berry," he says, "and I'll put that motherfucker outta business." He pours himself yet another glass of scotch, and Finn watches in surprise when he pulls out a second glass and fills that, too.
"You've gotta sniff around, kid," his dad tells him. "He goes by Puck, this little punk. You sniff around, and I wanna know everything about Puckerman, wanna know what mistake he might've made. And it'll be his last mistake, isn't that what they say, huh? You'll find that mistake. This one's on you, you hear?" He hands Finn the fresh glass of scotch. It doesn't happen often, but his father has given him a drink before.
"We'll bring those bastard Berrys down together. How about it?"
He raises the glass. Finn raises his, and they tap glasses.
"We'll bring 'em down, son. We'll bring 'em down."
But Finn isn't so sure he wants to help with that. At all.
She loves Sherlock Holmes.
If the books were ever made into a musical, she isn't sure which role she would take, but she'd certainly enjoy the thrilling tales come to life on the Broadway stage. And every story is better on the Broadway stage.
She smiles a little to imagine herself Sherlock on stage, singing the name of the criminal to Watson, and turns a page in The Hound of the Baskervilles as she takes another sip of her Virgin Strawberry Daiquiri. Gus doesn't put Virgin Strawberry Daiquiris on the menu, but he always makes them special for her whenever she asks.
"Hey."
Her eyes fly up to land on Finn Hudson. She's never seen him here before, but here he clearly is, a to-go cup of coffee in his hand, and he's staring at her as he waits for a response to what she suspects is his standard greeting.
"Hi Finn," she says. It's only been two days since they talked in biology in Monday, but already how terribly she treated him in their brief conversation has managed to fester into guilt inside her. Still, neither she nor he can ignore the heart of the matter.
"Can I — can I sit?" he asks. "With you?" He nods at the booth.
She should say no, shouldn't she?
"Of course." She gives him a small smile and closes her book. She avoids his gaze, though, as she smoothes the skirt of her pink and purple checkered dress and tucks a little of her hair behind her ear. She finally does look at him, though, in his jeans and his green sweater, so adorable yet so simply handsome, this giant boy who claims to like her despite everything.
"I've never seen you here before," she says.
"Yeah, I don't really . . . I actually came here to find you."
"Oh."
"I mean, at the dance, you told Quinn — I mean, I know it was only a lie, but you said we met on a diner at fifth, and I thought maybe it wasn't completely a lie, or, like, it came from somewhere, you know, so. . . ." He clams up and take a sip of his coffee.
"I do come here a lot," Rachel says. "But you really shouldn't have gone to so much trouble. First of all, if you really need to talk to me, school remains a perfectly acceptable medium for that. Second of all —"
"You avoided me at school all day yesterday," he cuts in. "And I need to talk to you, just you and me, with nobody else around. It was a shot in the dark to try this place, and I actually went into a couple of other places, but. . . ." He shrugs.
He is very lucky that she comes here so often, but maybe she should wish he were a little less lucky. She takes a sip of her Daiquiri, and she knows he wants her to say something, but she isn't so sure he wants to hear what she needs to say.
"We've talked about this, Finn," she says.
"Yeah," he says, "but I kind of have some more stuff to, like, contribute to the conversation."
"Finn —"
"What you said about how you would be a rebound?" he starts, apparently unwilling to hear her necessary interruptions. "That's not true. It's — it's not that when you met me, I was all hung up on Quinn, 'cause I wasn't. I was, like, it was — I was hung up on the fact that Quinn cheated on me. Not hung up on her. Does that make sense?"
"It does," she says. "But —"
"Quinn's really pretty — like, totally hot and —" He stops, this look on his face, and she bites back a smile despite herself. "And she's popular and everybody likes her," he finally goes on, "and she liked me, and that made me feel so awesome, but she never actually treated me that well. Like, it was like she always wanted to make me into this perfect boyfriend, or something, and. . . ."
"I'm sorry," she tells him. She is.
He smiles a little at her. "I know. But I just — I need you to know that when I asked you for help at the dance, it wasn't to make her jealous. It was just to make her leave me alone. I just wanted her off my back, you know?"
She nods.
"Rachel, I had more fun with you at the dance than I ever had with Quinn."
She really wants to smile now, too. It's so wrong, but how can she not when he says something like that to her? She knows they can't be together, and she's firmly avoided even the idea, but how can she avoid that with him right here in front of her?
"That night, I felt like — I don't even know," he says. "You're just really awesome, and —" He pauses, catching her gaze again. "I'm not hung up on her," he says. "I'm really not. Right now? I'm hung up on you."
How can he say something like that to her? "Finn —"
"I want to be with you, Rachel," he insists. "We can at least — I want to give us a try. Because I think — I think we could be really great. I know that sounds totally lame and stupid, but —"
"It doesn't," Rachel interrupts. "It doesn't at all, Finn. It sounds the complete opposite, I promise." The admission simply pours out of her. "I think we could be really great, too." She bites her lip. "But — but, Finn, our families hate each other. And your father had my cousin interrogated for no reason at all!"
"I'm not my father," he tells her. "I'm not. You can't blame me for the stuff he does."
"He's still your family," she says. "You can't escape that."
"Escape what? He's my dad, yeah. I don't want anything bad to happen to him. But we're not even that close. He works all the time, and the stuff he does — I don't — I'm not him, Rachel, and I don't want to become him. You've got to believe that. I don't even wanna be a police officer."
"Really?" she asks. "I would've assumed you did."
"I've never wanted to be one," he says. "I don't want to be a police officer, not anything close to a police officer. I don't to be a security guard, or a bodyguard, or a — a fireman, or — or — a guy who plays a police officer in a movie. Nothing!"
She giggles. "I think I've gathered the gist of your point," she says.
"Our dads have beef with each other," he says. "I know that. I'm not trying to say they don't. It goes way beyond that he's the police and your dad is . . . whatever he is. They have beef, for, like, who knows what reason. They do, and if they didn't, we wouldn't even have to have this conversation, 'cause we'd already be together. I mean . . . right?'"
She should say no. She should tell him that he's very sweet, and she enjoyed his company on Thursday night, but they really wouldn't have worked. She already admitted, though, how special they could be, and, honestly, looking at him now, she can't suddenly lie. She simply can't.
"Right," she admits softly.
He reaches out and touches her hand, his fingertips to her knuckles, and she stares at him, and he stares back. He smiles, and she does a little, too, and then he takes her hand completely in hers, and she hesitantly curls her fingers around his hand.
"I'm sorry that my dad messed with your cousin," he tells her. "He hates your family, Rachel. I'm not gonna lie. My entire life, he's told me how awful your dad is and that he wants to see him behind bars. He told me that Monday afternoon, just, like, half an hour after we talked. But the whole time I sat in his office, and he talked about how much he hated your dad and your cousin?"
He pauses. "Rachel, I just wanted him to shut up. I couldn't take it. All I thought about was you, and how I just wanted to be with you, and how I wish my dad would just leave me out of everything. I'm not my dad, and I don't care one way or the other about your dad.
"I just care about you."
He really knows the right thing to say.
"But — it's only — my daddy would never let me date you," she tells him. "He absolutely adores me, and he wants the best for me, and I can't imagine he would ever grant you that title."
"Yeah," Finn says slowly, "not at first, but if we turned out to be something special, or whatever, wouldn't he come around? If he adores you, doesn't he want you to be happy? And if I could make you happy, then wouldn't he come around?"
"I . . . I guess so. But —"
"We just won't tell him until we see if this goes anywhere." He intertwines their fingers. "If it doesn't, he never has to know. If it does, then he'll be happy for you, right?"
She watches his Adam's Apple bob in his throat, and she realises suddenly not only how earnest he is but also how nervous he is. He really does care about her, doesn't he? He really means everything he says, and how can she judge him for the way his father acts? He clearly refuses to let whatever his father has told him about hers to cloud his judgment of her.
And —
"We won't tell anybody," he says, going on as if he needs to fill the silence. "It'll just be me and you, and nobody else has to be mixed up in it. What do you — what do you say?"
"Okay," she breathes.
"Yeah?" he says, eyes lighting up.
She smiles. "Yes. Okay." But an instant later she sees Theresa wink at her, and she tears her hand away from Finn. She agreed to date Finn secretly, yet here she is with him at the diner. "But you need to leave," she says.
"Leave? You mean here?"
She nods. "Right now. And I'll think of what to say to Theresa. Gus is in the back, so we're fine with him. Theresa should be easy to distract."
"I don't . . ."
"My daddy is friends with Gus and his wife Theresa," she clarifies.
He frowns. "So . . ."
She really isn't explaining this well. She points at the menu tucked behind the salt and pepper shakers and the block letters that spell out Gus's Eats. Even as she does, though, and understanding dawns on his face, Theresa approaches. "Can I bring you two anything?" she asks.
"We're fine," Rachel says. "I'm actually on my way out, and — it's Jack, isn't it?"
He freezes for a second, but then he nods, first at her and then turning to nod at Theresa. He really needs some acting lessons, but he looks cute nonetheless.
"Right," Rachel says. "Jack really only came to run in and out for coffee, but he saw that I'm a Sherlock fan, like he is, and we lost track of time. Thank you for reminding us, Theresa! You know how easily the world of Sherlock can draw a person in."
Theresa chuckles. "Of course, Rachel. It was nice to meet you, Jack. Come back and see us again."
Finn nods and starts to stand. Rachel presses her hand to his arm, though, as she passes him. "Go to the bathroom before you leave," she hisses. "I don't want her to see us leave together and start asking too many questions."
She knows exactly how they need to handle this situation.
He follows her instructions perfectly, and she leaves the diner, book tucked under her arm. She waits at the end of the block, and when she sees him emerge from the diner a minute or two later, she waves until he catches sight of her. She sees his grin from twenty feet away.
He hurries over. "That was really awesome, what you just did," he tells her.
"Thank you," she says. "I am a superb actress." They smile at each other for a second, and she laughs suddenly, because the way he looks at her makes her tingle from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, and — and she grabs his hand and tugs him around the corner and into the alley.
"I don't know if we can swing a Broadway show, but how about something off-Broadway? I'll buy us tickets. We can meet there on Saturday night. I'll tell Santana our secret, and she can be my excuse. She's very trustworthy, don't worry."
"I won't worry," he says, smiling again. "And that sounds good. But you — you wanna do something now, maybe?"
She shakes her head. "I should go home, actually. But —" She bites her lip.
And she surges up to her tiptoes and kisses him.
He's shocked at first, she can tell, but then his hands are on her waist, and he returns her kiss. She can taste coffee on his tongue, and he smells so good, like some sort of cheap shampoo and laundry detergent and boy, and she's not sure what sort of mess she's making for herself.
But she certainly doesn't want to back out now.
tbc
