Warnings: slash, post season/series finale, future fic, au - canon divergence, ptsd, implied/referenced alcoholism, explicit language, gang violence, references to drugs, angst/hurt/comfort/crime/drama/family
The diner is nothing special except that it boasts the best breakfast sandwiches on this side of LA, but Puck's not really paying attention to that. Instead, he scans the somewhat bustling establishment and catches sight of him sitting in the far back corner, and despite preparing for it, seeing him still knocks the wind from his lungs and makes him nauseous all at once. He gives himself a break; it's only been a day since his world turned upside down after all.
Like he senses it or something, Finn's head snaps up from where he's been staring soulfully into his coffee and meets his eyes easily even without his distinctive combat uniform or dress blues.
He looks hopeful and scared all at once, and Puck internal scoffs as he takes a seat across from him in the booth.
This up close he can see how expansive the bruise on the side of Finn's face is, spanning his lower jaw all the way up the hinge of it and into the high ridge of his cheek bone. He feels a little smug because it looks like Finn's face had come in contact with a wall and ignores the fact that he has an impressive array of marks hidden just below the collar of his shirt and a yellow-brown bruise by his temple.
Finn's staring at him like he can't really believe he came.
It kind of pisses Puck off. What's the point of being here if he doesn't say anything?
"Well?" He prompts brusquely. "You said you wanted to talk. So talk."
Finn blinks at him with that dumb, confused look on his face that shouldn't make nostalgia twist in his chest, but he also looks worried. Scared. Keeps looking at the entrance like his worst nightmare is going to walk through. "Right," he says roughly, hands still wrapped around his mug. "Um-"
"Jesus, I didn't call your mom if that's what you're freaking out about," Puck spits, "Or Hummel or Berry even though I should've."
The relief on Finn's face is heartbreaking and disgusting.
"Hey sweetness! Would you like a refill on that coffee?" A peppy waitress interrupts. "And who's your friend here?"
Puck bites back a growl and instead turns a charming smile on her. She's older that them by at least a decade with forming crows feet and bright lipstick and eyeshadow, but she's beaming at them with a genuine smile and her presence manages to make Finn relax a little. "You can call me Puck. Just catching up with an old face, you know how it goes."
He ignores Finn's stunned stare and pays attention to how her smile becomes a little more reserved now that her gaze is solely on him. "I see. Well, any friend of Big D's is a friend of ours. How's a famous breakfast sandwich and a coffee sound? On the house."
Puck grins and he wonders if it looks as fake as it feels. "Sounds great. Thanks."
"Clara, you don't have to-" Finn starts, looking vaguely embarrassed.
Clara waves a hand at him and her smile goes back to being bright and sunny. "It's nothing, sweetness! Now you two sit tight, food'll be out in a few."
She's gone in an energetic whirlwind but Puck's gaze is on Finn who looks a little less terrified but still on edge.
He raises an eyebrow, all traces of a smile gone from his face. "Big D?"
Finn flushes all the way down his neck and below the collar of his navy blue v-neck. "Uh, yeah. I come here a lot and I've helped out the owner before, so…"
"D, as in Darren. Detective Darren Hale of the LAPD. Joined the department after graduating top of his class at the police academy five years ago, promoted to detective after four years as an officer with an impeccable record and high detective exam scores, a member of the Gang and Narcotics Division as of June this year. That Detective Darren Hale, right?" Puck interrupts, unrelenting and eyes never leaving Finn's face as it grows paler and more drawn with every word. "Did I miss anything?"
Finn swallows, looks down into his cup. "You looked me up."
Puck scoffs out loud this time, leans back and cross his arms, clenches his fists tightly in the material of his light jacket. "Of course I did."
It'd taken him a few hours to get all the info though - first he'd needed to wait for Duran or Fellows to finally wake up since there were more than a few Hale's working at the department, but afterwards it had been easy to make a few calls and pull a couple of strings, dive into the internet for a little bit for any information he could get his hands on.
Darren Hale is relatively well-liked in the community as far as Puck could tell from reading a few blog posts about the LAPD, and any major cases he's been a part of have kept his name and face out of major papers upon his request.
Puck had called around where a lot of cops frequented in the area under the guise of being a fellow officer looking for Darren's work phone and had found out quite a few things, laughing jovially with the employees as they either told him fondly that Darren was always so busy looking out for others that he'd forget about himself, thanking them and hanging up with a white-knuckled grip on his phone when one or two flirtily asked if he thought Darren would be by to check for his phone personally anytime soon.
(Darren's favorite donut is an apple fritter, and he always buys a few vegan treats for two coworkers who can't have dairy. He brings in coffee when some guys pull all nighters and he's one of the first to offer his help if someone needs a shift picked up or traded. He's the nicest guy around and will be designated driver during poker nights and won't stand for any kind of bullying in and out of the workplace. He's a model cop, a model citizen, a model in general-)
The more Puck had found out about Finn's new life, the more he'd wanted to go back to that office and demand answers, drag him out into the street and beat some sense into him, beg him to come home.
He blinks out of his reverie when Clara comes by again, dropping off two more coffees and two sandwiches before leaving again with a wink that doesn't completely conceal her worry.
"I didn't mean for you to find out like this," is what Finn says after a long silence where neither of them touches their food.
Heat rushes in the pit of his belly, licks like fire through his chest. Puck barks a harsh laugh. "You're fucking kidding, right? You mean you didn't mean for me to find out at all."
Finn doesn't say anything for a moment before his lips thin, nods once. "You're right."
Puck feels his lips curl into a half-snarl, eyes narrowing. "You gonna tell me why the fuck you're here in some shitty diner and not in Ohio begging your mom to let you come home after the shit you put her through?"
Finn looks visibly sick now, the bruise standing out starkly against his pale skin made paler by the blood draining his face and filling it with guilt instead. The former football player can't even look him in the eye when he whispers, "I can't- I can't tell you."
Blood roars in Pucks ears.
This fucker.
God, is that all he has to say? Don't tell anyone I'm here and you're right and I can't tell you. He's pretty sure he's said twice as many words as Finn, and Finn was the one to ask him here today, to talk. And here he thought he'd be sad the entire time like Finn is, but instead he's just-he's frustrated and angry and so fucking lost, like he's the last one in on a huge joke that isn't funny at all and he wants to hit something.
He's sure he's not supposed to hear Finn whisper, "This was a mistake."
The hurt and anger last night had been bright and explosive and blinding like a supernova, burning hot and expanding outwards until there was nothing left but raw agony left it its wake, a black hole eating at him until he felt like his rib cage would collapse. This, though, this seething anger is fueled by indignation and incredulity. The very epitome of how fucking dare you.
He has to restrain himself from launching across the table and talking Finn to the ground to finish their fight, to beat some sense into this jackass who's so willing to let his family, his friends, everyone still mourning him live in this hell of always having a hole in their hearts. But this isn't Finn, he reminds himself with disgust. This is Darren, hotshot detective with everything to lose if Puck opens his mouth and reveals him as the pathetic, lost little high school boy who failed to escape Ohio with his own identity.
He stands without ever touching his food, throws a twenty on the table and so ready to leave this shitty diner and shitty town and shitty people.
He hears Finn's chair scrape across the floor, the urgency and distress clear in his voice, "Puck, wait-"
Puck doesn't care what he has to say, puts every bit of poison into his words when he spits, "You think this was a mistake? You coming back from the dead was a mistake."
He doesn't look back.
The guys don't ask him where he's been and he doesn't offer an explanation.
They just mess around for the rest of the day, seeing the sights and eating street food and packing their things before they head back to base for training and classes and other things Puck actually understands. He can't wait to leave, can't wait to pretend he never saw a ghost from his past. The guilt of not telling Carole, or Rachel or Kurt or Burt or Quinn will pass, right? It has to, because even though he doesn't know why he keeps Fi- Darren's secret, he will. Maybe he just doesn't want to disappoint anyone if they come around and find that Finn's up and left - again.
He doesn't want to think maybe he wants Finn to come back on his own.
So he goes back to base, files his reports, talks to his superiors, trains his underlings, pretends he isn't hiding something huge when he touches base with a few people from Ohio and New York, and moves on with a life where Finn is still dead and not two hours away.
It works until two weeks later when Duran of all people decides to sit next to him in the mess hall and ask, "So how's it going with your boyfriend?"
Puck chokes on his soup. "Excuse me?"
Duran blinks at him, all stoic and unconcerned that Puck sounds just a little bit horrified and murderous. "Your man back in LA? Fellows was out of it, but I wasn't. Saw him drag you to the back and you two came out-well, your shirt wasn't ripped when you left, that's for sure. And you were sporting a nice shiner for a week even though nobody said anything about it to your face."
Puck doesn't gape but he does glare. "Mind your own business. He's not my boyfriend."
He's not my anything.
Duran raises an eyebrow. "Old flame? Fellows owes me twenty bucks, then."
"What the fuck, Duran?"
Duran gets up, almost looks a little sympathetic, the fucker, and shrugs, "Sorry boss, but you look like a guy who's just had his heart broken. Maybe try talking to the guy? He was really cool to us even though we kinda did fuck up that bar. And I'm not gay, but I'd bend over if he said the word. Just saying."
Puck stares after the E-3, bewildered and maybe in a little bit in denial.
He gets back to his room, a single on base because he doesn't really have a need for off-base housing and some other guys with dependants need the housing allowance more than him anyway, and picks up his phone with a thoughtful hum. Opens it with a four-digit code, stares at the only unknown number in his contacts because he can't name it Finn but he fucking hates the name Darren, and wonders.
He calls.
"Hello?"
Something loosens in his chest. "Hey."
"Puck! It's been a while, how've you been? Finally settled? I would hope so after four months there."
"Heh, yeah, something like that. I'm good. The guys aren't complete shitheads like in Texas so that's a plus." His tone softens. "What about you?"
A soft but sincere, "I'm fine. Mostly. Not easy having you across the country, but it must be even harder for you."
He shrugs even though she can't see it. "Gotta do what you gotta do, right? Eighteen more months and I'm out of here. Back to New York."
A teasing, "Miss Rachel and Kurt that much huh?"
Puck scoffs. "Right. Like chlamydia."
Laughter. "Artie is gonna be so mad when he finds out Sam told you that story."
Puck chuckles. "Everyone's doing okay, though. Right?"
"More than okay. Jake's found his calling as a firefighter. You should see him - he was such a ham for the camera when they asked him to model for Mr. July in the fireman calendar. A lot like his big brother."
"Puckerman's got good genes, might as well show the world."
"Uh-huh. And Artie's gonna pop the question soon - for some reason he thinks Tina's going to say no."
"Finally. She better like that ring too, I helped him pick it out."
"I'm sure she will Puck. Rachel's three months along and barely showing and Blaine and Kurt are the cutest dads in the world. I know Brittany and San have been talking about maybe starting their own little family." A pause and a whisper, "Beth is growing up into a wonderful little girl."
Pucks throat clicks when he swallows. "She does have our looks without the crappy personalities."
Another laugh. "That's true. Everyone's great, we're just waiting for you to come home."
His throat tightens when he thinks of someone who should be home but isn't. His mouth opens; he wants to tell her, hasn't kept a secret from her in eight years, but in the end he just says, "Can't wait to be home. Miss you, Quinn."
They say their goodnights and Puck thinks.
He's not on rotation this weekend. And he overheard one of the senior officers mention he's heading into LA to meet with a lady-friend.
He teeters between glaring hatefully at the number and fighting back a tiny bit of regret.
With a sigh, he gives in.
You busy this Saturday?
Author's Note:These boys give me so much grief. Let me know what you thought!