A/N: So this chapter came a little earlier than stated, but I couldn't wait any longer haha, the idea of studying was boring me too much. Should have another one up by the w/e hopefully Oh, an I forgot to add in the dedication in the last chap. I was writing the food fight scene and iamladyliberty requested a 'Domestic Goddess' moment, so hope that was sufficient for now
And nearly 100 alerts :O *floored* Wow! Thanks :D

Hope you enjoy this next part…

Chapter Four: Well, Let The Drum Beat Drop

"It's not meant to be like this
Not what I planned at all
I don't want to feel like this
So that makes it all your fault."
'The Walk', Imogen Heap

.

"You're wearing my shirt," he stated, and his eyes dragged the length of her form in a way that made her far more self-conscious than she'd ever felt in her whole entire life; and really, she'd had plenty of opportunities to experience that particular feeling.

She looked up to find him standing in the doorway watching her.

"Yes, I apologize," she jumped up from her place on the couch and tugged the garment down so as to cover what she'd just noticed was a large exposure of her skin at the top of her legs. Some people classed the skirts that were regularly part of her daily attire as 'short': but they obviously didn't own a measuring tape like she did, and therefore weren't aware that her skirt was actually longer than those that the Cheerios wore, not to mention a lot less revealing. After all, their agenda was apparently 'to tease, not please' (oh yes, she remembered that meeting alright). That shirt of hers (his) had ridden up higher than any article of clothing she'd ever deemed appropriate for public viewing, and so she was swift to rectify it.

"Why are you wearing my shirt?" was the next thing he said, eyebrow raised in perfect sync with his words.

"Oh!" she responded, feeling herself getting flustered and recounting her sequence of calming methods to stop herself getting carried away over nothing. "Well, after your sister all but attacked me with the remainder of our ingredients – she should really be grateful I'm as exceptional in the kitchen as I am or we'd have needed them to redo the batches we did make – I had to have a shower to clean off the flour and the egg and – "

"The egg?" he asked, and his lips quirked up in amusement.

"Yes, the egg," she repeated after him crossly.

And then realization seemed to overcome him and he remarked, "She used you as target practice for the goal and the egg was the soccer ball, right?"

"You've been on the receiving end of one of her attacks?" Rachel asked, raising her eyebrows at him at that.

"Where d'you think she learned to resort to those tactics?" he asked her in return, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a half-smirk as he added, "I have a mean throwing arm, Berry, or don't you remember?"

His eyes were practically dancing with amusement, and she had to resist the urge to reply with: yes, I'm well aware of that fact; and I recall with perfect clarity just how lovely your arms are; because, honestly? Where on earth did that thought even appear from? She blatantly ignored the knowledge based part of her brain that attempted to inform her that she knew fine well where the source of such a thought was, as well as the reason behind its emergence. Sometimes she got tired of having all the answers.

"You see," she exclaimed at that, the hands on the hips flying upwards in a display of disbelief as she drew herself up to full height. "It is that sort of brutish behavior that instills the need for retaliation in children such as Sarah. And you know, there's really no need for it. We were having quite the lovely time before she decided to sabotage it."

"Yeah, clearly," he quipped, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "That's why she had to sabotage your playtime."

He must have noticed how she shifted slightly, because he tilted his head to the side and had that insanely smug look on his face and then he said, "You enjoyed it, didn't you?" in an irritatingly matching arrogant tone of voice as well. "The food fight, the chasing her round the place trying to keep her under control, you enjoyed it."

After a few moments of silence, she relented. "I will admit," she drew out slowly, "That it did have its moments of excitement. And hiding behind the counters trying to throw dried fruit at your little sister was rather amusing, yes."

"It was the egg that ruined it, wasn't it?" he surmised before she could say anything else, and he had that knowing look on his face; like he'd been there.

"Guess it's like the slushies, eh, Berry?" he added, and he ran his hand over his mostly-shaved scalp. "It pays not to have a big head of hair."

And with a flash of a smile he ducked out of her immediate vicinity and threw himself length-ways onto the sofa. The discarded dishcloths from earlier that night were easily within her grasp, she supposed, and those were the things that would do the least damage by far. She didn't utilize this little tidbit of information, however. Instead, she made her way back into the living-room, and stood over him for a few moments until he looked up and gave her some signal that he acknowledged her presence as still being, well, present.

"I was sitting there, you know," she remarked, and looked pointedly at where he was lying fully out across the whole spread of the couch. She was just lucky he was so tall and so his shoe-clad feet dangled off the end, rather than sunk into the cushions where they'd likely leave a mark that she would undoubtedly sit on, thus staining her garments. Though since the clothes adorning her body currently actually belonged to him, she supposed she shouldn't be too bothered.

When she just stared down at him, he blew out a sigh and rolled his eyes, huffing, "You're going to make me move so you can have your seat back, aren't you?"

He grudgingly swung his legs off the side and planted his feet on the floor, sitting up and leaving more than enough room for her to sit down next to him.

She awarded him a bright smile, "Thank you."

He grumbled something about the way he was being treated in his own home, but she just disregarded that and settled in to watch the rest of the film she'd been viewing prior to his arrival, which he'd conveniently started playing again while she was out of the room. He was really quite insufferable at times.

The silence between them was stifling to begin with, the sound of the characters on screen and the background accompaniment surrounding them, and yet they didn't seem to have really embraced each other's company just yet. Or maybe it was just their proximity to one another.

He bare leg brushed against his jeans and she realized exactly how close they were to one another. He stiffened next to her, and she felt the sudden urge to speak and somehow dissolve the tension.

"Your shirt's very comfortable, you know," she told him amiably, and directed a soft smile over to him.

He shifted next to her, and she wasn't entirely sure her words had had the desired effect.

"It should be," he muttered at that, tearing his gaze away from where he'd glanced at her when she'd spoken, to look at the wall nearest the TV with apparent intense interest in whatever he could see there. She saw nothing. "I've worn it enough."

.

"So… " he spoke up after a long bout of silence had settled between them. "How was rehearsal?"

"A disaster," she replied simply, heaving a sigh.

"A disaster?" he repeated, slight incredulity in his voice, and he craned his neck to look over at her, an eyebrow raised as he watched her closely. "And you're not freaking out about this, why?"

"Oh, I assure you my response at the time was more than adequate," she turned to face him as she guaranteed him of the fact. "Finn confused his steps and crashed into Artie. Then when Tina suggested he apologize to Finn, he snapped back at her that he kept his apologies for those who deserved them. It sounded incredibly spiteful, and of course Tina was upset, but since she is more vocal than emotive; she cursed him ten-ways-from-Sunday and then stormed out."

"An' they all jus' let her go?" he asked; and she knew why, of course. No one followed her because it was part of the performance; it would have a completely different dramatic effect if was to someone run after her. Tina, however, wasn't partial to the exercise in order for effect; so she supposed, it would seem rational that one of their peers would follow her. No one had.

"You're letting them steal your trademark, Berry," he remarked with an amused smirk, and a shake of the head. "You gotta at least get something from them for letting them mack on your moves."

She pointedly ignored his comment and continued to recite the occurrences of earlier that day, "And then Finn got frustrated because he felt he couldn't perfect the steps, and of course, you weren't there, and by that point Tina wasn't either, and so Mr. Schu suggested we try one of our other numbers. And that only resulted in tensions rising further within the group, and eventually Kurt released a high note to silence everyone – which I'm certain was the high F, by the way. You know, the note he couldn't hit when we were competing for the lead solo of 'Defying Gravity'."

He made a dull noise of acknowledgment then.

"And so Mr. Schu sent us all home early," she finished, and turned to him with an expectant look.

"So why are you all calm about it now?" he queried, frowning in her direction.

"Well, because I displayed my thoughts on the matter to the group, ensuring they understood the magnitude of the whole debacle that had just occurred, naturally," she told him.

He rolled his eyes.

"And then afterwards, I realized that there was really no point in dwelling on it anymore. What was done was done. We can only move forward," she calmly informed him. "And I understood that there are more important things to consider in life."

"Oh, yeah," he seemed mildly interested as he cast her a glance at that. "Like what?"

She bit her lip, and for once actually felt quite nervous, "Well, like your Mom, for one. Like what's happening to her, and what you and your sister are going through."

"Oh Hell no!" he bit out at that; standing in protest, head swiveling round to fit her with a furious look. "You are not using my Mom as an excuse for you to bitch out on the Gleeks an whoever else might happen to piss you off that day."

"That's not what I'm doing at all," she protested vehemently, because it really wasn't. All she meant by her statement was that it made her realize that there were more important things than singing and dancing, like he'd said. However, it also strengthened her belief in their importance too, because she'd seen how his little sister was when given the chance to explore the creative outlet. And she knew that if it helped Sarah as much as she suspected it had, it could only serve to do the same for her brother.

"My Mom's sick, Berry," he told her then, and his eyes were ablaze, his words laced with anger. "But apart from being a glorified babysitter, I don't see how it really affects you."

"Because when she dies in like a month or two – three if we're lucky," he leaned down so he was looking directly into her eyes as he said it; and his looked hollow as she stared into them. "I'll be the one left picking up the pieces, not you."

And with that he promptly tore himself from the room faster than she thought she'd ever seen him move besides on the sports field, and she cursed, for the first time in her life. Because that had gotten her one hell of a reaction; and she hadn't even intended that one.

Now she just had to decipher a way in which to get through to him that what he was feeling was natural, that she – not even her, anyone – could help him; that he could talk to her – them – that it might help.

That was all she was trying to do. Help.

.

"Come on, Berry, wake up," his voice reached her ears, and she felt large hands grip onto her shoulders and jostle her awake. "I gotta get you home before your dads pitch a fit and send the dogs out looking for you."

She groaned, and tried to swat away his hands, but he caught her hands in his, releasing a breathy laugh as he remarked disbelievingly, "That's right, fight me off."

She could hear the light chiding in his voice as well, and could see him rolling his eyes, even if her own remained tightly shut. She knew him well enough to know when he pulled out certain mannerisms.

Wait – what? Her eyes snapped open on that thought. She had just told herself she knew Noah Puckerman. She needed her head checked out, and soon, because that was just – no, was what that was!

And now he was causing her to lose all forms of eloquence, wonderful.

"That's it," he said.

It was almost like he was talking to a child, Sarah even, his voice lower, more tender, caring even; and then, of course, he had to go and ruin it.

"Come on, Berry, stay awake for me here," he appealed to her. "I am not getting done for assault trying to dress you – an' you are not going home in that get-up."

She was fairly certain her expression at that point must have formed a mix between a frown and a pout.

"No, seriously, wake up," he instructed her, his tone clearer, more pronounced; and she realized she must've been responding to his nicely-formed request, even if she wasn't fully aware of it at that exact moment, consequently because of her sleep-addled brain.

She was most definitely frowning by that point.

He thrust something into her hands and told her, "And put this on."

She felt the material graze against her palms and thumbed along the length of it in her dazed state, trying to determine exactly what it was.

He groaned when she was slow to do as he said, fiddling with the clips and the zipper on the side; and eventually took it in his own hands and said, "Right, step your right foot through it – that's it, and now your left."

Apparently it was her skirt. And it was washed and dried and ready to adorn her body once again.

"Jesus, Berry, at least make an effort to grab onto me instead of nearly toppling over," he rebuked her a mere moment later, when she tried blinking the sleep away (and apparently failed if what happened next was any indication) and promptly tripped over her own two feet, caught in the material of her skirt that she was yet to properly pull up to her waist, and fell forwards. Luckily there was a pair of strong (lovely) arms to catch her.

She blamed her obvious preoccupation on the fact she was trying to process the thought of him redressing her.

"Alright, hold onto me an' I'll do it," he muttered, seeming very put out by this; though she wasn't entirely sure why. Wasn't he meant to be a stud? Didn't he sort of do this kind of thing all the time?

She stumbled, pitching forward and digging her nails into the skin of upper arms. He released a low hiss at the action and she smiled sleepily. Good, he deserved to suffer for what he was putting her though; she was only trying to help after all. Helping out her fellow Jew. He should be touched she was taking his words to heart, not… put out, the absolute oaf.

She released a giggle as that insult entered her somewhat conscious thought and she lifted a hand from his shoulder to cover her mouth. Apparently it wasn't her wisest of moves

"An' Christ woman, stay standing will you? If my sister came down an' you were laying on the couch with me putting your skirt back on you, she'd think I was raping you or something – an' then I'd really be in the shit," he told her; apparently answering her previous query as to why he appeared quite inconvenienced by the task.

When she felt him adjust her skirt so it covered the appropriate – well almost – portion of her legs, she realized that he was finished. She looked down and frowned when she realized she was still wearing his t-shirt, tugging at the front of it and tilting her head to get a better view of what exactly it read. For some reason, completely unbeknownst to her, she hadn't felt it prudent to check on such a fact earlier in the evening. Now, it seemed to be all she was interested in.

"Yeah, Berry, that's still my shirt you got on," he told her; obviously presuming she was trying to work out what she was wearing. She was, just not in the same way he thought she was. She knew perfectly well that the top she was currently dressed in belonged to him; that it was his favorite; that it smelled of him and –

Oh, that woke her up alright.

"Jesus," he let out when he finally managed to maneuver her out the door and into his truck. "What sort of nutritional goodness d'you put in those cookies?"

She turned at his words and frowned at his insinuation that she had been anything but honest about the contents of the food she had made and presented to his sister – and him! – to eat.

At the thought of Sarah she suddenly wondered if it was wise, or indeed safe, to leave the seven-year-old alone in the house. Then she remembered that Puck had some state-of-the-art, intense, complicated-looking security system in place in his home; apparently that was a priority. Oh, and that he'd locked the door like three times as well. She presumed he knew what he was doing. She trusted him; she had to, after all, he trusted her. Right?

"Whatever, Berry, don't give me that look," he broke her from her thoughts as he referred to her crinkled brow and the stab at her completely stellar culinary skills, and he started up the engine. "If I gotta deal with comatose crazy from my sister when she wakes up in the morning, I'm coming after you."

.

"How long has your Mom been sick, Noah?" she asked quietly, cautiously.

She was almost scared to bring it up after his outburst earlier in the evening, but he seemed to have calmed down somewhat as she chanced a look over at him. Even to her own ears though, her voice sounded impossibly loud and imposing in the small space between them.

"What does it matter?" he returned, clearly trying for a nonchalance that he couldn't quite reach right then. "She got sick, an' now she's not getting any better."

"It matters, Noah," she told him simply.

She knew his aversion to her calling him by his given name, but she just couldn't bring herself to call him Puck just then. Only a select few people called him Noah, it was a sign of closeness, a sign of where you were placed in his life; but she wasn't thinking of her standing in his world at that moment, she was thinking that the familiarity might bring him some comfort. She was thinking that the moment was too sacred to be shattered by some nickname everyone and their dog called him.

He rattled off a date like it was nothing, but she heard a hint of something in his voice that suggested it had been ingrained in his memory all along.

"That's when they told her what it was, that it wasn't just some twenty-four hour thing," he said. "That she had six months to live, if she was lucky, if all that crap they pumped into her over and over had some effect."

She was watching him, her heart breaking for the boy before her and the little girl left behind. She couldn't tear her eyes away as the words spilled from his lips; like a secret only they knew.

And then added, almost as an afterthought, "And that's when I slept with Quinn."

"We were at the same party and somehow it ended up just me and her in this room. She kept going on about how she'd put on weight or some shit and how she was gonna be kicked off the squad," he recounted to her, and her eyes were fixed on the way his hands were wringing the steering wheel, the way his face was screwed up in confusion and hurt. "And all I could think was: you're hot, and you've got like everything going for you, and you're not dying."

She was still entranced: despite the content, maybe because of the content.

"So, I kissed her," he said it so matter-of-factly, and then he turned to look at her; and she could tell none of it was intended as a malicious stab at her or what she thought she knew, he was reaching out to her; she could see it, even if he couldn't. "And it shut her up, and made her feel better, so I didn't stop. And, after a while, it started to make me feel better too."

His gaze was intensely focused on the road ahead, and he sounded almost like he wanted to laugh mockingly at the whole situation.

A brief mirthless laugh did escape his lips then as he said, "Of course, then we both woke up, and she started to freak out, and then everything pretty much went to shit."

They were both silent for the remaining minutes that it took him to reach her house, stopping at the curb at the front. Awkwardness surrounded them both as he brought the truck to a stop, and then she reached over and put her hand on his, and murmured, "Thank you" in the space between them.

He stiffened beneath her grasp, and then with a very deliberate action, he pulled his hand out from under hers and turned the engine off.

"You called me Noah again," and he was looking out his driver-side window as he said it, staring into the abyss that surrounded them outside of the little cocoon they currently shared. "You're really gonna have to stop doing that."

"Why?" she queried, and then tried to lighten the mood a little by adding, somewhat teasingly, "Because then you'll appear less intimidating to the student body if referred to by the name your mother gave you?"

"No," he contradicted, and reached over her to flick the lock on her door so she could get out. "Because then I'll start thinking you care."

TBC…

A/N: TM – thanks for pointing it out, and sorry it is confusing; obviously it wouldn't be if I did it correctly, so I'm trying to change parts so they're right – or at least, not *so* blatantly wrong. If that's possible. I'm not sure it is :S Though I am seeking help from multiple sources to aid me in this endeavour – if that's any consolation. It probably isn't. Glad you like the fic though, apart from that
Ooh, also, should probably throw in a note about the timeline. Puck's mum's was diagnosed the day he slept with Quinn, so she's been sick the entire length of the series, basically. And to address Sarah's comment in the last chapter about not having seen her in so long – she's been in hospital getting treatment for the Cancer and then getting treatment for other infections and such that have pretty much crippled her because of how weak her immune system is. And I haven't decided how long that's been, because I'm not sure it *really* matters – it's too long, in the eyes and mind of a seven-year-old anyway – but it was probably in between Hairography and Sectionals or maybe just after Sectionals, since I haven't really specified a time when this started lol

Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing/alerting/favouriting – it really means a lot! Please let me know what you thought :)
Steph
xxx