Title: Orphan #3: Future fic with Beth
Characters/Pairings: Puck, Kurt, Beth; Past (and future?) Puck/Kurt
Rating: R, probably
Genre: Dramady
Warning: Almost accidental incest for humor's sake
Words: ~ 6k
Author's Note(s): Third fic that I've started and been unable to finish. Up for adoption upon approval.
Summary: A chance meeting at a bar may be the new beginning Puck's been looking for, just not in the way he expected.

Like any man would after being dumped at no fault of his own, Noah Puckerman went to a bar. The bar. MacGregor's, the bar across the street from his apartment building. At least he kept his own place through the whole ordeal, unlike a few, particularly disastrous relationships in his past. Jamie always hated the fact that he wouldn't at least sublet, but Puck figured he'd done something right for once, following his instincts and keeping his apartment.

Puck was at the bar for two reasons that night, three nights after getting dumped. Number one, get blind drunk. Number two, hook up with someone and try to forget about Jamie for a few hours. It was the plan for the bar, and so far the only part working was the getting drunk part. Damn. He'd have to slow down or he'd be off his game trying to score tonight.

And then she walked in. She was beautiful and young, toned with light skin and brown hair. She wore a calf-length blue dress that highlighted everything about her body just right. And she was alone. There was just something about her that called to him. Counting on his baby-face and lack of any wrinkles to hide the fact that he was probably at least ten years older than her, Puck approached the girl, and said, "Hey, there."

"Hi," she replied, giving him the smallest of smiles before turning away to look around some more. As tiny as the gesture was, Puck found that smile enthralling, like he would have no trouble talking to her for hours, like he wanted to make her laugh. Plucking him out of his thoughts, the girl suddenly asked, "Have you seen a college-age boy with blonde hair in here tonight? I was supposed to meet him, like, an hour ago."

"Can't say I have," Puck lied. He'd seen the kid come, stare at his watch for twenty minutes, and leave, but he wasn't about to tell her that. She might just go looking for him or go home. "But don't worry 'bout it. Blondes are overrated."

After a second the girl laughed, much to Puck's relief. Smiling, he stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Noah. What's your name?"

"Liz," she replied, taking his hand and shaking it firmly, eye contact unwavering. Yeah, this chick was a badass. Puck smirked.

"Wanna keep me company while you wait for this college boy of yours?" he asked, letting his eyes take in the girl's entire form. Unlike most women, she was really solid-looking, which Puck appreciated. It reminded him of Santana. Hell, in a way, it sort of reminded him of Jamie, too.

Smiling a sharp-toothed grin, Liz nodded, "Sure. Buy me a drink?" She put on a pouty little face and Puck couldn't help but laugh and agree, telling the bartender to put whatever the lady wanted on his tab.

"So, Liz?" Puck asked when they both had their drinks. "What do you do?"

"Sales," she replied with a shrug, taking a sip of her drink and swirling it with the little straw. "What about you?"

"Music teacher," Puck told her, startled when she shrieked.

"Really? That's what my mom used to do!" Smiling excitedly, Liz touched his arm and asked, "What grade level?"

"High school," he smiled, suddenly wondering exactly how old this girl was, because she didn't look that much older than some of his students.

Composing herself a little, Liz nodded and took another sip before telling him, "Mom too. She even made me go to the school where she taught. Bleugh!"

"But..." Puck asked, brushing some of the girl's hair back off her shoulder and smiling at the way she shuddered, "...that was awhile ago, right?"

After a sharp laugh, Liz looked straight into Puck's eyes and said, "If you're trying to ask how old I am..." She lowered her voice and leaned closer, "...I'm twenty. Don't tell the barkeep."

"I won't," he whispered back with a smirk, glad the chick was as legal as she looked. He'd taught enough fourteen and fifteen and sixteen year old girls to know that sometimes, if they dressed right, there was no way you would guess they were anything less than twenty-five. "So," he smiled, taking a sip of his drink, "you still in school or...?"

"Nah," she scoffed. "It was never for me. Too much reading."

Laughing, Puck replied, "I know what you mean."

"But you're a teacher," she teased, poking his arm with one finger, a not-so-subtle move Puck recognized as her trying to figure out if his guns were as solid as they looked. "Shouldn't you be all, 'Yay, reading!'?"

"Ah," he smirked, catching her hand and holding it for just a moment before letting her go, "but I'm a music teacher. All my students have to read is sheet music, which makes a lot more sense, if you ask me."

"Word," the girl nodded and Puck laughed a little bit at the casual and not-at-all-ironic way she said it. Damn he was getting old.

After a few silent sips of their drinks, Puck asked, "So, Liz, what kind of sales are you in? Clothes? Drugs? Nuclear missiles? 'Cause damn, that would be freakin' badass!"

"No!" she cried through another laugh. "I sell perfume. It's really just a day job while my band tries to get noticed."

"You're in a fucking band, too?" Puck asked, certain he'd found just the right chick to get him over the break-up with Jamie. "That's awesome! I used to be in one, but all my bandmates crapped out on me and my ex convinced me to go back to school. What's your band called?"

With a shrug and a sinful lick to her straw, Liz replied, "Koala Down."

"Like that vid?" Puck asked.

"Yes!" she cried. "Thank you! No one my age gets it. It's like they weren't online even when it came out."

Puck nodded in agreement, observing, "No one appreciates the classics…"

"Right, so Johnny – he's my guitarist – he says we're just like that little bear, all helpless and sweet until the zookeeper, or the audience or whatever, gets a little closer and WHAM! Giant block of sound you didn't even know was there."

"So … you're pop-rock, then?"

"Nuh-uh. Nu-grunge," she smiled. "Layne Staley's, like, my personal hero."

"Holy shit. He's mine too!" Puck grinned. "Angry Chair was seriously my high school anthem!"

"Wait," Liz said, leaning back and raising one eyebrow almost comically high. "Exactly how old are you, Noah?"

"Jesus," he chuckled. "Not that old. The whole album was already a classic way before I hit high school."

Poking him in the arm again, Liz said, "Hey! I want a real number, mister."

Puck thought about telling the truth, but then he decided that tonight's objective was getting laid at all costs, so he lied and said, "Twenty-five."

"Bullshit."

"Fine!" he laughed. "You caught me! I'm twenty eight." No need to tell her he was actually thirty-four. Shit. When did the years sneak up on him?

Puck opened his mouth to ask some more about the girl's band, but was interrupted by the bartender shouting, "Alright, everyone! Finish your drinks and pay up. Family emergency and I've got to close for the night."

"Damn," Puck swore, swallowing down the rest of his beer. "I hate it when Chuck does this. Him and his damn 'family emergencies'..." Puck mimed taking a hit off a joint, which made Liz laugh.

Then, her face fell and she pouted, "Oh, no! Paul's gonna think I stood him up. Shit."

"If you want," Puck offered, "my place is just across the street. We could have another drink and sit out on the balcony to watch for him." He knew it was a long shot and Puck watched as a calculating look settled over Liz's features.

But then, she smiled and said, "Sure," holding her hand out for him to take.

Puck escorted the lady across the street, admiring the way her blue, flowing dress cascaded against the backs of her calves. It had been awhile since he'd been with someone who had calves that pretty.

Everything was going great and Liz sent him more than one flirty smile, but it was the elevator ride that got interesting. Before the doors had even closed, Liz had pressed him up against the elevator wall and practically attacked him with her lips. God, he loved a woman who wanted to drive like this. Puck kissed back eagerly, settling his hands on the girl's hips so he could guide her to the right door down the hallway when the elevator doors pinged open.

As soon as he let the girl into his apartment, though, she found everything except his lips interesting, which frustrated him to no end. This was supposed to be about a hook-up with a stranger, not, "Puck, this is your life."

The first thing that seemed to interest her was the samurai sword hung on the living room wall. "Oh my god," she sighed. "That is so badass!"

"I've got numchucks somewhere, too," Puck boasted, stepping behind the girl and putting his hands on her hips again. Smelling her hair, Puck realized that Liz smelled nice, but she didn't have that extra little something that Puck needed in a long-term partner. But for one night of fun, she was great.

However, instead of leaning back against Puck, Liz scooted away again. She found the picture on the wall of him in Africa and pointed to the other person in the picture. "Hey, who's this?"

"That's, uh, my ex, Kurt," Puck told her, deciding in this case the truth was better than a lie. Kurt had taught him that. "That's us at the base of Mount Kilamanjaro."

"But..." she asked, "he's a boy...?"

Shrugging, Puck said, "I'm bi. I date both. Never at the same time, but ... yeah."

Looking closer at the picture, she said, "Wait a second ... I think I know this guy. Is that Kurt Hummel?"

"Yeah," Puck smiled. He actually still kept in touch with Kurt, despite the fact that they'd broken up almost ten years earlier. "You've probably seen him because he's on Broadway more often than not these days."

"No," she said, scrunching up her nose. "My mom loves all that broadway crap, but I hate it. Ugh. No, my sister's married to this guy's brother. We spent Thanksgiving with him last year."

The first though that flicked through Puck's mind was, "What a small world..." but then he realized who Kurt's brother, or step-brother, was. Then he realized who Finn's wife was. And Rachel didn't have any siblings unless you counted... "Oh my fucking god!" Puck cried, snapping his hands away from the girl in front of him and rubbing his lips on the sleeve of his blazer to try to wash the taste and feel of her away. "Beth?"

"Huh? How do you know I used to be call-"

"Oh, holy fucking shit!" Puck cried backing away further. He could see it now. Liz's eyes were shaped like Quinn's, but the color of hazel was more like his. Her hair was dark, but not as dark as his. Her nose was Quinn's, but that mouth and chin were all Puckerman. "You're Beth Corcoran!"

"Like I said, I go by Liz now. Do we know each other?"

Dizzy over what he had almost done with his freaking daughter, Puck stumbled back and lowered himself onto the living room couch. "I'm Noah Puckerman."

"Oh?" she replied, and he almost thought maybe Shelby never told Beth about him, but then her face fell. "Oh. Oh! Oh my god! And we almost...?" Pointing an accusatory finger at him, Liz pointed out, "You said you were twenty-eight!"

"Well, you said you were twenty," he shot back, "and I was there when you were born, so I can definitely say you're only eighteen!"

"I was rounding up!" The girl made an angry noise and it looked like she was about to bolt right back out the front door, but then she crossed her arms under her breasts and sighed, "You know, this wouldn't have happened if I knew what you looked like."

"Don't," he begged. "Don't even go there."

"But I know Quinn," she insisted, shifting over to sit on one of Puck's high bar chairs. "I've known her since I was little. I even babysit her damn kids once in awhile. Why couldn't I know you?"

Shit. He was afraid of this. As much as he tried not to think about her, at least once a week it occured to Puck that Beth was out there somewhere without him, and she probably hated him. Just like Puck hated his father. Granted, Eli Puckerman was a no-good, son-of-a-bitch deadbeat. At least Puck had done something right and signed over his parental rights.

It wasn't like he'd never thought about finding her again. He thought about it a lot, but always came to the conclusion that he was too much of a fuck-up for her to know. He had an okay job, even though the pay was lousy. He never stayed with anyone for more than two years since Kurt broke up with him. He didn't have any other kids like Quinn. He was basically Mr. Schue eighteen years ago.

"Because I couldn't handle it, alright?" Puck confessed. "I hated giving you up and if I had to think about how you were growing up without me, I woulda been in jail or the loony bin or something a long time ago."

As Puck tried to think about what else he could possibly say to make this just a little closer to okay, the girl's anger slowly melted away into tears and she asked in a small voice, "So you don't hate me?"

"No!" he growled, getting up and going to her. Grabbing Liz's elbows, he bent down to look in her eyes and said, "I've loved you ever since I found out about you, okay? I'm sorry I was too much of a wanktard to tell you earlier."

Without another word, Liz threw her arms around Puck's middle and hugged him tightly. Mumbling into his shoulder, she said, "My music's gonna suck now."

Confused, Puck patted her shoulder carefully and asked, "Why?"

"I can't hate you anymore."

"Seriously?" Puck asked, knowing she had every reason in the world to keep on hating him for being such a loser fuck-up.

"Yeah," she nodded pulling away and looking up at him. "I really, really want to, though," she admitted.

"I get that," Puck replied, letting Liz out of his arms when she started to push away. "I hated my old man until the day I heard he died. Bastard had another family, can you believe that? Fucked up me and my sister, not to mention my mom, and then moves to Virginia so he can fuck up a whole new set of kids!"

"You don't, right?" Liz asked, a vulnerable expression in her eyes.

"What?"

"Have more kids? Like Quinn?"

"No," Puck shook his head simply. "Since...yeah, since Kurt, there hasn't been anyone I felt stable enough with to even think about kids." Something about the way Liz looked at him, through Quinn's eyes, made Puck want to keep talking, so he said, "I thought maybe things were getting there with Jaimie, but it turns out he's a fucking asshole. So there's another two years down the drain..."

Liz nodded sadly, and took a breath before telling him, "A few weeks ago, I caught my boyfriend chatting with some skank online about a hook up he had planned. Yeah, that's over now."

"And that Paul guy?" Puck asked, pointing toward the bar across the street.

"Blind date," she shrugged. "No big deal, except my friend didn't tell me the time had changed until it was too late to do anything about it."

"But otherwise," Puck asked, finding himself intensely curious, "your life is okay? Is your mom good to you and everything?"

Liz smiled and looked down, nodding. "Yeah. Both my parents are pretty great. They didn't get married until I was five, but I don't remember much from before Dad came along."

"Who's your dad?"

"Oh, he's got the worst name ever," Liz laughed, "Brian Ryan. But it's cool. He loves all that showtunes crap even more than Mom. He actually had to divorce his first wife because he got cast in Les Mis! How dorky is that?"

"Pretty dorky," Puck agreed with a laugh, vaguely remembering that a guy named Brian Ryan visited the glee club once or twice. "I'm glad you had a good family. There was no way Quinn and I could have given you that life. We'd probably all be on welfare, living in a trailer in that park out on Greencrest Road."

"When you put it that way," Liz pouted, "it makes it even more difficult to hate you."

"Good," Puck laughed before sighing. He had missed everything about Beth growing up and now she didnt even hate him for it. It seemed like too much. Digging around in his back pocket, Puck fished out his wallet and found one of his business cards. "Here," he said, handing it over. "Plug that in your phone and give me a call when your next gig comes up. I wanna see you play."

"Okay," Liz nodded with a smile, taking the card and slipping it into her tiny purse. "I think Johnny's got us a gig for next weekend, but I can't remember where or when. I'll let you know."

Since Liz was moving toward the door, Puck figured their conversation was over, so he said, "Let me know if you ever need anything, or if you want to talk or something."

Smiling, Liz replied, "So you're no longer in danger of going crazy out of guilt if we actually talk from time to time?"

"No," Puck laughed, opening his door so she could leave. "I'm cool. Say hi to your mom for me, okay?"

Liz nodded and waved and then she was gone. Again.

Kurt was just getting home from dress rehearsal - god, the ineptitude was astounding - when his phone rang. Dropping his bags wearily, Kurt took a few steps through his empty apartment and toward the kitchen before answering. He didn't have the number identified, so he answered, "Kurt Hummel. Who is this please?"

"Oh, hi!" a girl replied, and she sounded surprised that he had answered. "Um, this is Liz Corcoran. You know, from Thanksgiving?"

"Oh, yes," Kurt nodded, pouring himself a glass of water. "What's going on, Liz?"

"Well, um, the funny thing is ... I met Noah Puckerman the other day..."

Kurt's heart dropped at the mention of his ex. Ten fucking years and he still wasn't over the loss. Carefully, Kurt asked, "Is that so...?"

"Yeah," Liz replied. "Funny story, too. I was at this bar-"

"Aren't you a little young...?" Kurt asked, trying to remember how old they had been when Puck got Quinn pregnant. Sixteen, right?

"Whatever," Liz replied. "But I was late for my date and Noah picked me up instead. We didn't even recognize each other! If it wasn't for the picture of you he had hanging up... Yeah, ew."

Kurt couldn't even grimace at the mention of nearly-avoided accidental incest, because he was caught up on just a few words. "Noah still has a picture of me?"

"From Kilama-whatsit, in Africa," she explained. "He tried to play it off like it was just about showing off he'd been there, but the only other photos he had up were ones of his mom and sister. I think ... I think he misses you."

No. It couldn't be. Kurt hadn't even talked to Puck since the high school reunion, where the man had a world-class bitch on his arm and bragged to everyone about how he was going to leave Lima as soon as his sister got back on her feet. Not that Kurt hadn't been showing off his boyfriend, too. Part of it was an I-told-you-so for the jocks who used to bully him, but mostly it had been to make Puck jealous and punish him for running out on their relationship.

Just like all the others, that relationship didn't last. Eric. It was Eric he brought with him to Lima. How sad was it that Kurt could barely remember?

"He actually said, out loud, to you ... that he misses me?" Kurt asked.

"Well..." she stalled, and Kurt knew he was right. Puck was over him and had been for years. It wasn't worth trying to hold onto when there was nothing there. "...he didn't use those exact words, but I could tell he was lonely, and he talked about you like you were the last good thing that had happened to him. Why did you break up, anyway? You looked so happy in that picture."

"No one ever takes pictures of the hard moments," Kurt replied. "And I don't see how this is any of your business. Noah and I broke up almost ten years ago. Just leave it be."

"But," Liz complained, "I just met him and he's my bio-dad and it hurts seeing him so unhappy. I had to try and do something!"

"Like what?" Kurt asked, curious how an eighteen year old girl possibly thought she could get Noah and him back together again.

"Like get you to come see my show next weekend. Noah's gonna be there. Your eyes could meet across the crowded room..."

"I have my own show to do here in New York, Liz," Kurt explained. "I can't drop everything and fly to Lima. I'm sorry."

When she spoke, Liz sounded disappointed. "Well, we're playing in Dayton at The Trench, ten o'clock Saturday."

Without knowing why, Kurt jotted the information down on the pad beside his refrigerator. "I won't be there," he said. "But I'll make sure to let you know when I'll be in town next and you can tell me if you have another show I could see."

"Fine," Liz said with resignation. "I'll probably see you at Thanksgiving again?"

"Maybe," he agreed, taking another gulp of his water. He didn't make it back to see his parents as often as he maybe should, but Thanksgiving and Christmas were those absolute had-to-be-there holidays. Especially during those years where Kurt was single, which turned out to be way too many of them. "Goodbye, Liz."

"Bye," the girl said, her voice faint as Kurt pulled the phone away from his ear and disconnected the call. Hungry, but too tired to cook, Kurt picked up his phone again and was halfway through ordering Noah's favorite sweet and sour pork before he realized what he was doing.

"Sir? Is that all?" They'd ordered this meal from this take out restaurant the night before Puck got the call about his mother. Kurt had saved the leftovers in the freezer for three weeks waiting for Noah to come home. He never did come back. "... Sir?"

Shaking himself, Kurt replied, "Yeah. Yeah, that's all." After giving the clerk his numbers, he hung up with a sigh, wondering if he was actually going to eat the food he'd ordered. It had been a long time since he thought about Noah in more than an off-hand subconscious sort of way.

It fucking hurt.

Something about meeting Beth again made Puck nostalgic, and he was not a nostalgic kind of guy. What was done was done and it was better not to think about it. With thinking came wishing things were different, and if he could go by how all those childhood wishes for his dad to come back hadn't come true, he could say wishes were worth shit in the real world.

So why was he sprawled out on his dusty couch, surrounded by the few pictures he had left of Beth when she was young on one side and the pictures his mom had taken of him and Kurt at various family functions over the years? They'd been so young then. Beth's age. Birthdays and Hanaukkahs and that one fourth of July when they had camped out in the backyard (despite Kurt's protests) and made love when everyone else was out watching the fireworks downtown.

The pictures of Beth followed her growth up through first grade, the same year he and Kurt had broken up, the same year Puck's mother died. It wasn't his fault he had to take care of his mother when she got sick. It wasn't his fault he had to take care of his sister, Sarah, when their mother died and she was still a senior in high school. It wasn't his fault the strain of living a thousand miles apart had severed his relationship with Kurt.

So why did he feel so crappy about it?

Sighing, Puck packed up all the pictures of Kurt and shoved them into the bottom of the box that had come with when he moved out of his mother's house, but he left the ones of Beth out, just for now.

Picking up his phone, Puck saw Jaimie's number at the top and spitefully deleted it before scrolling down a few numbers and coming across the one he wanted.

"Hey, dickhead!" Sarah answered her phone cheerfully. "What's shakin'?"

Laughing, Puck replied to his sister, "Hi, cheesebrain. You busy this weekend?"

"Not really. Why? Do you need a wingwoman again? I saw on your status wave that you and Jaimie broke up. Whatever happened to, 'This guy's gotta be the one, Sarah!'? What, did his cock fall off?"

"No," Puck laughed at the image. "But it should. I found out he'd been fucking around on me with this chick and now they're getting married, like, soon. Two months from now. Married! And he breaks it to me less than a week ago. Fuck my life."

"Hey, bro," Sarah cooed, though her coo came out more like a cough. Puck knew he should have been on her ass from day one about all the smoking. She was gonna turn into their Nana Connie if she wasn't careful. "Hey, I'm still single. C'mon. We'll go out and get drunk. It'll be awesome. What about Sundown?"

Puck knew the hook-up bar, but he had other plans in mind. "Actually, there was this show in Dayton I wanted to see. I know one of the band members and I told her I'd check it out."

"Ah," Sarah replied knowingly. "The ol' go see their crappy show to get into their pants routine. I gotcha."

"No, Sarah," Puck complained. She was always running her mouth and jumping to conclusions before he could get a word in edge-wise. It was no wonder they hadn't been close until Puck had moved back home again. "The chick is ... she's Beth. My daughter."

After a brief, hesitating pause, the girl cried, "No shit?"

"No shit," Puck agreed. "But she goes by Liz now, I guess."

"Why go see her now? The break-up making you want to rub salt in all those wounds, Noh?"

"Fuck no," he replied. "It made me want to go out and sex the first person who would let me, and instead, I met her."

"Ooh," Sarah sighed. "That sounds like a sign from God! What do you think it means?"

"I think it means," Puck replied, "that you're going to this show with me for moral support. No excuses."

"No excuses, fine. But if we're driving all the fucking way to Dayton, you're totally DD. I'm getting drunk off my ass."

"I'm counting on it," Puck replied with a smile, hanging up on his sister before she could ask whether or not he was calling her an alcoholic like their mother. Sarah wasn't. She just knew how to have a good time, like her brother.

"No, Quincy," Kurt sighed, slapping his script down on the coffee table between him and his moronic costar, "that's not the line. You said, 'I've got to get her,' instead of, 'I have to get her.' The switch in emphasis completely detracts from the meaning of the line in context! And are you sure you can't make the accent a little more ... sophisticated? You're playing a senator, Quincy, not a hobo."

"God," the guy sneered, standing up and shrugging on his (ew) off-brand fleece jacket, "the others told me you were a prick, but did I listen to them? No! I was all, 'Dude's gotta be nicer than he seems!' I stuck up for you, man, and this is how you treat me? I'm outie..."

"Wait, no," Kurt called, jumping up to follow the man toward the front door of his apartment. "Quincy, I'm sorry. I was just trying to help."

"And when I suggested you add a pause on that line in the first act," Quincy reminded Kurt, stepping into his (gross) tennis shoes at the door, "you blew off my idea and ticked off every little thing you think I'm doing wrong. Do me a favor, Kurt. Don't ask for my help reading lines if you don't want it. And don't talk to me on set unless it's life and death. God help me if we get good reviews and I end up having to work with you for months and months on end!"

And with that, the man left in a huff, slamming Kurt's apartment door behind him.

"Jesus," Kurt murmured to himself, "what an asshole." Yet, he did have to wonder if he was somewhat to blame for this fiasco of a night, as well. Kurt's agent, Sherry, had been telling Kurt for eons to try to make friends with his straight cast mates, and Quincy was usually a pretty laid-back, easy-to-get-along-with guy. In fact, he'd rescheduled a special dinner with his wife to read lines with Kurt on the eve of opening night. "Oh, god," Kurt realized aloud as he carried two empty tea-mugs into the kitchen. "I'm the asshole! I'm turning into Rachel Berry!"

Taking out his phone, Kurt quickly sent Quincy a wave, saying, "I'm so sorry, and point taken. I was a jerk. No excuses. See you at the curtain."

Sure, Kurt could be bitchy and somewhat of a perfectionist, and that tended to turn people off, but he'd never been so bad that a colleague had totally written him off before. It was the stress of starting a new show, right? His first premiere in two years, though he'd been acting steadily since then, and he didn't have a boyfriend this time. Maybe he just needed to get laid. That might help. Except Kurt hated the New York club scene. Oh, he loved getting dressed up and he loved the music and the dancing, but he hated the grittier side of things - the disgusting washrooms, the groping hands, the lack of honesty, the cheaters and the fakes. Kurt knew as an actor, he should be used to everyone around him being deceptive and putting their best mask forward.

He missed the way Noah hated disingenuous people, too. He missed the way Noah said exactly what was on his mind, with no qualifications or explanations. "You can't change my mind, babe. Twinkies will always be the best snack food ever invented. Why else would they last so long?"

As he began his nightly skin-care routine, Kurt questioned whether or not he actually wanted to be in this show. The story was alright, and he'd been able to arrange something suitable with the music and costume design, but no one else seemed to care as much as he did. Or if they did care, Kurt couldn't see it.

Opening night was tomorrow. Two days later, on Saturday night, Kurt knew exactly where Noah Puckerman would be. But the third and fourth showings of the play were on Saturday, with another two showings on Sunday afternoon. Kurt couldn't bail on that could he? If he let his understudy take over this weekend, when all the reviewers were coming to see the show, the newspapers would not be kind to him. Plus, many of Kurt's fans had bought tickets as soon as they went on sale, with no word yet whether or not the play was any good. He couldn't upset them by being absent opening weekend. Could he?

No, he couldn't. Why was he even entertaining the idea? Noah was no doubt a different person now and Kurt was silly for even thinking a Saturday night in Dayton could change anything.

Still dissatisfied with his empty apartment and his empty bed, Noah didn't brush her off this time when the barista at the coffee shop flirted with him. He flirted back and waited for her to go on break. He whispered in her ear and stroked her hair and asked for her full name. She'd been a student at his school a few years before, but he'd never taught her directly, so he brought Anna Erikson home with him.

She was eager and energetic in bed, but something about her blue eyes and those dimples and the way she sighed after he kissed her reminded him way too much of a certain ex he'd been trying to forget for ten long years. When they were done, Puck asked her to leave, citing an early morning. She left.

When Kurt got to set for the final dress rehearsal, the atmosphere was so chilly that he wished his costume included a parka. Quincy must have told everyone else what had happened. No one did anything childish, like put rubber spiders in his water bottle or something, but he certainly stumbled over his own feet more than usual.

When the music director cut him off at the same point in his big number, right before the climax of the song, eight freaking times Kurt lost it. He fled the stage in an exit reminiscent of all those Rachel Berry storm-outs he'd witnessed during high school and college. He didn't need this petty shit. If they though they could do better without him and his name recognition, let them. He was done.

Gathering his things, Kurt didn't even look up when Gina, the director, said his name. "Kurt. Kurt, what are you doing?"

"What everyone wants me to do," he replied with a huff. "I'm leaving. Quitting. Let Daniel get all the press for the part. He's good, he deserves it."

"Look, I'll talk to them," Gina insisted. "They're being very unprofessional, honey, I know that. I'll-"

"What?" Kurt asked bitchily as he threw the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and brushed past her. "Yell at them? Scream until they behave? Darling, you couldn't scream at a wolf even if it was about to eat you. Have fun directing without my help."

When Gina failed to raise her voice in her pathetic attempt to get him to come back, Kurt knew he was making the right decision. Pressing his earpiece, he called his manager, "Judy, I quit the play."

"But-!"

"Tell Jorge to put an announcement on my site. Blame it on personal issues or the moon or something, I don't fucking care. I can't go through with it. Oh, and tell him I'll reimburse the first two hundred ticket holders to sign up. I've got the cash."

"Baby doll," Judy gasped, "what are you thinking? I know you've managed your money better than anyone else in showbiz, but you know walking out on this contract will black list you!"

"I seriously don't care at the moment," Kurt sighed, hailing a cab. "Book me a flight to Dayton, maybe Toledo if it's more convenient. I'd like to leave in the morning."

"Because skipping town is so classy," Judy scoffed. "Fine. It's probably for the best. Maybe we can play this off as a nervous breakdown."

"I'm fairly certain that's exactly what this is," Kurt laughed humorlessly. "Call me with the arrangements."

Kurt hung up and called another number, "Hi, dad."

"Kurt, my boy!" Burt replied and Kurt could tell he was smiling. "What's goin' on, excited for the show? That's starting tonight, isn't it?"

"I quit," Kurt told him. "I - look, I'm coming for a visit, okay?

Please comment. With enough new ideas and cheerleading I may be able to continue. If you'd like to adopt this fic, send me a PM letting me know where you'd take the story.