"Thanks for meeting with us," Burt said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the chair. Carole sat in the chair beside him, and they faced the desk together. He wished he could hold her hand. "We have about twenty minutes before we have to go pick up Sarah from Science Olympiad."

"It's no problem," said the social service agent. The sign on her desk said her name was Julia. She gave them a brisk smile. "I reviewed the file this morning. It's complicated."

Carole glanced at Burt. "We're really hoping we can help these kids. They mean a lot to us." She coughed. "Me. They mean a lot to me."

"And to me," Burt said.

The options were no different than they'd been days ago, when Carole had met with her friend. The difference now was that they'd actually reported something. "The first thing is to set up the home observation," Julia said. "The state has 30 days from the date of reporting to decide if the home is fit for children. If they decide it's not, they'll look for a suitable home in which to place them."

"If I wanted to provide a possible home for them," Carole said, her eyes intent, "what would I need to do?"

"If there's no suitable relative – that would need to be confirmed – then the state looks at friends of the family. You'd qualify, Carole, even though you and Ruth aren't on the best of terms, because you have history together, the kids stayed with you before, and so on." Julia's gaze was kind. "We really do want what's best for them, as quickly as possible. You'd have to go through a home check just like a foster parent would, but if it's for a friend of the family, the hoops are a little different."

"It sounds good so far," Burt said, leaning forward. "What I don't want is for these kids to be removed from their home, only to be separated, or put in someone else's house. That would not be good for Sarah, especially. She needs to be with someone she can trust. These kids, they've depended on each other all their lives. Puck's practically Sarah's parent himself. I don't know what would happen if they were separated against their consent."

"We'll do everything we can do to keep that from happening." Julia passed a stack of papers over to Carole and she looked through them before handing them to Burt. "We'll let you know as soon as we get the home visit scheduled." She glanced across the desk at them. "In the meantime, I know you want to keep those kids at your house. I know that's a very real temptation. But unless their mother presents an immediate danger, you need to go by the rules."

"I'm mostly just looking the other way when Puck crashes at our house," Carole admitted. "But with Sarah, it's harder. She doesn't have her own transportation. I've been taking her to school."

"Her mother could charge you with kidnapping," Julia said, and sighed at Burt's outraged noise. "I know. But she's still their legal guardian. We'll do all we can to push this through. Hang in there, okay? Wait for me to call you."

In the lobby, Burt grabbed Carole's hand and pulled her into the dim hallway. Before she could react, he kissed her, then released her hand before she could even make a noise. "Carole," he said, low and desperate. "Those kids. God. I've been having nightmares about Sarah waking up alone in the house…"

"I know," Carole said. She put a hand on his chest, and Burt gathered his hand to him, pressing it into his heart. "I know. I just can't help but think… what if we're moving too fast here?"

"Too fast?" he protested, clutching at her shoulder and pulling her into him. She leaned her forehead on his chest with a nervous laugh.

"Too fast for the kids, Burt. I get the idea they're in for the long haul, but – they're sixteen. What if one of them changes his mind? What if they break up? Chances are pretty good of this happening. If one of us has legal custody of Sarah and Puck, and they start hating each other's guts – "

"Okay, yes, I got it," said Burt, with a sigh. "You want to slow down?"

"No," Carole whispered, rolling her head back and forth on his soft shirt front. "I want – I want something entirely different."

"Oh." Burt's voice was gentle now, hopeful. "You want to tell me what you do want, then?"

She sighed. "I think… we need to put what we want on hold until these kids have things figured out." She moved backward a step, then one more, and regarded him from the safety of distance.

"That's really what you want?"

"I'm trying to be the grownup here," she replied, through gritted teeth, and he laughed, relaxing.

"Okay. Okay. I can help with that." He tipped his head, smiling now. "I think just knowing that you want… other things… is enough for now."

Carole gave a very unladylike snort. "It's not enough for me." She reached for his hand, and he squeezed it. "But I can live with disappointment. In the meantime… where's Sarah going to stay?"

"I think we need to go with what Julia said," Burt said. "It's the worst feeling in the world to think about sending her back to Ruth, but I'd feel so much worse if I knew I could have been doing something to help, and got tripped up on a technicality. It's just like I was telling Puck: if he wants to live at your house, long-term, he's got to keep this business about being Finn's… boyfriend… a secret. There's no way social services would place them together if they knew what they were getting up to in private." He gripped his forehead. "God. It still blows my mind."

"I wonder if –" Carole began, but then paused and checked her phone, which was buzzing. Her eyes widened. "Kurt's not home yet, and Finn says Puck can't reach him on his phone. Did you get a call from him?"

"No," Burt said, moving toward the door. He didn't let go of Carole's hand until they reached the parking lot and had to move to their respective cars. Letting go felt like the hardest thing in the world.

"I'm still holding on," she said, looking up at him from her driver's seat, and he smiled, surprised and pleased.

"Okay," he said, his voice rough. "Still holding on. Thank you."

"Seriously, Puck," Mercedes said, giving him the eye as he peered over her shoulder for the fourth time. "I got this. I can make custard in my sleep. It's not going to burn."

"Just – watch the temperature," he said, darting a hand over her and turning down the stove a tiny smidge. "Stupid fucking electric stove."

"Finn's looking for him," she said quietly. "You can't do anything more right now. So come on, tell me something."

"Tell you what?" he said, with an exasperated sigh. He ran a hand over his mohawk.

"Anything. Whatever'll take your mind off Kurt."

"Nothing will take my mind of Kurt," Puck said, and the heat in his voice made Mercedes bust a gut laughing. He felt a little put out until he remembered how much she loved Kurt, too.

"Tell me about this. The cooking." She waved her hand in the air, not stopping stirring with her other hand. "What made you start?"

"My brother, Timothy. He was in charge of feeding us, and he had no fucking imagination at all. We ate a lot of boxed macaroni and ramen before I figured out how to make a few staple dinners." He checked to make sure the foil was secure over the pasta alfredo in the warm oven, then grabbed a knife and began trimming the tips off the artichokes. "After that, it was just fun. I thought of stuff, and made it, and it mostly tasted good."

"Did you ever make anything that turned out, like, a disaster?"

Puck thought about this. "Oh, yes. The first couple times I made rolls – they were like little rocks."

She grinned at him. "And now they're fluffy and light as air?"

"Something like that."

Mercedes bent over the custard and smelled it. "Mmmm. This is gooood."

He joined her at the stove and put his nose above the pan. "Needs a little spice," he muttered, fumbling in the cabinet. "Don't tell me Kurt doesn't have any cardamom."

"Hey, you know what?" Mercedes put a hand on her hip and regarded him with disappointment. "You and me, we never did our ballad assignment. We should do that. You know, now that we're talking like civilized human beings and all."

Puck's mind took the long, winding road back to the very beginning of things with Kurt and Finn, to the auditorium in which Finn sang his ballad to Puck, while Kurt accompanied him on the piano, securely believing he was delivering his love into the arms of another boy. Puck didn't realize what was happening until Mercedes took him by both shoulders and pushed him gently into a chair, then pressed a tissue into his hand.

"Fuck," he said, through his absurd tears. "You don't need to see this."

"It's okay," she said, and her voice was kind. "You're Kurt's boy, and I'm his best friend. We get some kind of rights to see each other's weak spots." She ghosted a hand over his shoulder, and he closed his eyes just for a moment, letting her be the support he needed.

"What do you mean, I'm his boy?" he said in a small voice.

"You know, his boyfriend. Right?" Her eyebrow was a question mark. "You are his boyfriend?"

"Well, yeah," he said, and wiped his eyes. "Totally." He was liking her just fine, more and more all the time, but Puck wasn't at all ready to have a conversation with Mercedes that involved the words own and submit and spank.

"Sorry to push your buttons," she said. "The ballad thing. That meant something?"

"Finn sang me I'll Stand By You, in the auditorium," he said. "It was… well, pretty fucking awesome. That was the first day I realized how I felt about Kurt."

She looked like she was trying to trace the thread of the explanation, but had lost it along the way. "Sorry? How did Finn singing help you realize how felt about Kurt?"

"Kurt played the piano," he began, but then he heard the downstairs door open and shut quietly, and he was standing before he thought about it and hurried down the half-flight of stairs to Kurt's basement room.

Kurt was there, carrying a sopping wet messenger bag and with a spectacular bruise on his temple, but otherwise looking none the worse for wear. It was his expression that made Puck worry. He looked completely pissed. On top of that, he was clearly exhausted.

"Baby," he said, reaching for Kurt before he thought about the consequences. Mercedes made a squeaky noise of surprise, and Kurt drew back from his touch. Puck paused, glancing at Mercedes, who shook her head and gestured for him to continue.

"Please, don't mind me," she said. "It was just… I didn't expect. That." Kurt sighed, and she glared at him. "You didn't tell me he was sweet."

"Yes, I did," Kurt said, aggravated.

She started forward, reaching. "What happened to your head?" But Kurt drew back further, turning his head, and she stopped where she was.

Puck looked back at Kurt, then at Mercedes again. "Would you – um. The custard?"

"Okay," she said, retreating to the stairs. "I'll be back in five minutes. With some ice for that. It looks like it's going to be a nasty one." She hesitated. "Karofsky?"

"Yeah," Kurt said. "And Azimio."

She was gone up the stairs before Puck realized what she meant. "They hurt you?" he exclaimed, and this time when Kurt tried to duck away, Puck grabbed him and wrestled his head to reveal the bruise.

"Ow," Kurt objected, batting his hand away when he tried to touch the abraded edges. "Leave it alone. I've got ointment."

"I remember, dude," Puck said, anger overriding the panic and fear. "You don't get to avoid this one. I'm still badass enough to defend you from actual fucking harm."

"I know you are, sweetheart," Kurt said, putting an appeasing hand on his chest. "But it's just going to make things worse. Trust me; I've been bullied all my life. I've tried everything to get guys like them to stop, and the best thing to do is just leave them alone."

The anger erupted. "Forget that!" Puck shouted. "They made a fucking hole in your scalp. I'm not going to let them get away with it." This time Kurt let him take him in his arms, and he squeezed the breath out of him until Kurt protested.

"You weren't answering your phone," Puck said, burying his face in Kurt's hair. He could hear the music in his head, Asus2, A, D, repeating forever.

"That's because it was in the urinal with the rest of the contents of my bag," Kurt said, his voice shaking, "including the essay I was supposed to finish this weekend." Puck couldn't tell if it the shaking was from pain or anger, but he was betting on the latter.

"What happened to you, baby?" he whispered, but Kurt just sighed and held Puck tighter. Puck gave up – for now – and kissed him, would have gone on kissing him over every inch of his battered face, if Kurt hadn't stopped him.

"Mercedes," he reminded him.

"Alfredo," Puck added, and Kurt brightened a little.

"Mushrooms?" he asked hopefully.

"Definitely." He slipped an arm around Kurt and they went upstairs to find Mercedes dishing the custard into cups and setting them into a pan of water in the oven. Puck nodded in approval. "You weren't kidding about knowing how to make custard."

"I don't kid about dessert," Mercedes said, with deadly seriousness, and Puck thought he knew her well enough now to laugh. "I wasn't sure if I should dust with nutmeg, though, or more of that cardamom?"

"How about both?" Puck said, and they each took a box of spice and gave a shake over each cup.

Kurt regarded them with what looked like mock suspicion. "I'm really not sure how I feel about the two of you being so chummy. Why do I think I'm in for some serious trouble if you two are in cahoots?"

"Did he just say cahoots?" Puck shot a glance at Mercedes, who was smirking. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and pressed the speed dial for Finn.

"And chummy," she said, hefting a bag of ice and raising it to Kurt's head. He sat at the kitchen island and winced at the pressure. "I think we've got to work on your vocabulary. How'd you get that gouge, anyway? It doesn't look good."

"Locker hook," he muttered, and she pulled away to stare at him. "Just leave it alone, will you?"

"A fucking locker hook?" Puck yelled, and Finn's voice came from his phone, "What the hell?"

Puck put the phone to his ear, fuming. "Two asshole puckheads apparently shoved our boyfriend into a locker. And he's not talking about it, at least not to me." He thrust the phone at Kurt. "Maybe you'll tell him."

Kurt took the phone with equal amounts of disdain and dread. "Finn," he started, but then bit his lip as Finn's voice threaded through the phone. He didn't sound angry, from what Puck could hear; just really, really direct. "They found me… after you guys left school. Yeah. Azimio and Karofsky – um." He checked the clock. "A couple hours."

Puck made a wordless noise of protest, but Mercedes tugged him away from Kurt, who was looking pale. "He doesn't want to tell," she whispered.

"Why?" Puck hissed back, glancing helplessly over at Kurt. "I just want to help him – why won't he talk to me?"

"He'd rather not say anything than have to admit he got beat up by those guys again. He's ashamed."

Puck shook his head. "It's not his fault. He couldn't have stopped them – they're a zillion times bigger, and there's t-two of them –" He put a hand to his mouth as he felt himself starting to come apart. Just wait. Finn will be home soon, and you can –

But Mercedes already had him around the corner, out of view of Kurt, and she was fucking hugging him, and he was losing it, big sobs and everything, and he didn't remember ever feeling quite so idiotic and quite so cared for at the same time.

"He's safe now, he's all right," she said, and he realized she was crying too. Somehow that made him feel a little better, helped him pull himself out of the morass of fear and tears.

"I can't believe I ever –" he started, but she rolled her eyes and gave him a little shake.

"Oh, no, we're not going there. This is about Kurt, remember? You can't let your own shame get in the way of that. What can you do for him, right now?"

Puck thought wildly, sniffling. "I – I can feed him dinner. There's a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge. Um – I can – " He cut that thought off and averted his eyes, and Mercedes smothered a laugh.

"That last one, whatever it was, had better wait until I go home, right?" she said, but her tone was amused, not disgusted. He relaxed a fraction.

"I just don't get how Kurt can be so fucking angry about what my mom is doing to Sarah and me, and be so… " He groped for the right word. "I don't know, passive about this? Why is he giving in to them?"

"Shame makes you do stuff," she said, a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Kurt's no stranger to shame. As much as he talks big and acts brave, he's just scared." She smiled at Puck, and he felt oddly comforted by that. "Kind of like you, I guess."

"Yeah," he said, and nodded. "I guess." He indicated the kitchen. "I'm going to get the alfredo."

"Let me help?" she said, and he nodded again, realizing, she's scared for him, too.

Kurt's eyes were red when they came back in the kitchen, and he handed the phone back to Puck with a silent, wan smile. "I guess I deserved that."

"Kurt," he said, trying to stay calm, "you didn't deserve anything, other than to be safe in your own fucking school." The tendrils of self-recrimination were beating at him, but he fended them off and focused on Kurt. "I – well, I just –" He grabbed Kurt. "I just love you, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt said, accepting the hug meekly.

"Mushrooms?" Puck asked, and he felt Kurt's chuckle.

"Yes." He pulled away and turned to help Mercedes, who was pointedly not watching their exchange, get the alfredo out of the oven. "God, what smells amazing?"

"The cardamom custard," Puck said. He opened the pot of boiling water, waiting on the stove, and dropped the artichokes in. "Finn'd better be home soon, or he's going to have to deal with cold artichokes."

"He said he was on his way. Sarah's going with Dad and Carole tonight."

"Yeah," Mercedes asked curiously, sliding into the chair across from Kurt. "What's up with that, anyway? Finn's mom and your dad – are they, like, an item?"

"Something like that," Kurt said, sighing. "Finn thinks it's the best thing ever, but I'm not sure. It's a little weird."

"All right, Mr. Pot, stop talking about Mrs. Kettle." Mercedes glanced at Puck as he gave her a big spoonful of noodles. "What do you think?"

"Two awesome parents wanting to get it on? I'm for it," Puck said, grinning at Kurt's shudder. "Come on, man. We're doing all kinds of shit. Don't they get to do it, too?"

Mercedes coughed. "Uh, TMI, Puckerman."

"I'll leave it to your imagination." Puck set down the alfredo dish as he heard the door slam. "It's Finn – I'm going to just check in with him..." The tension spiraled up inside him as he hurried down the stairs again.

Suddenly he was caught in a rock-hard embrace, Finn's body crushing him up against the wall, clutching at his back, his mouth wet and ruthless against his. Puck stifled his moan, and responded with equal need and fervor.

"Is he okay?" Finn whispered into Puck's ear, and the fear was palpable.

"Yeah, he's okay," Puck said, and caught his breath when Finn took his earlobe between his teeth and bit down, hard. "God, Finn, what –"

"Just – let me, okay? I need – I need –" Finn's frustration drove Puck to grab his ass and grind their hips together. He could feel exactly what Finn needed, right through his jeans.

"Yeah, of course," Puck said, tugging Finn toward Kurt's room, undoing Finn's zipper on the way and shutting the door behind them with one kick of his foot. Finn groaned and pushed Puck's hand out of the way, shoving his jeans and shorts down in a desperate, violent motion, and Puck found himself trapped between Kurt's bed and Finn's red, swollen cock, right in his face.

"Take it," Finn urged, and Puck opened his mouth, and Finn filled it. He was immediately lost in the sensations, the smell and taste and texture of Finn, the sound of him declaring hoarsely, "You're mine." Nothing else had ever felt quite so good, so right, as those words in his ears. He opened himself up to Finn, as wide as he could go, his heart and his mouth and his whole self, and let him take what he needed.

Finn's hands went right to Puck's head and took control over the thrusting, and Puck thanked every lesson Alex had ever given him on cocksucking. Finn wasn't waiting for him to be ready; he was definitely in charge, and he was definitely not taking no for an answer. Not that Puck would have said no. God, not in a million years.

"I need this so much," Finn growled, curling his body around Puck's, his stomach tensing. "I need you, need to fuck you, need to have you – every part of you."

Yours, Puck could only think fervently, and hope Finn could hear him somehow. He couldn't even get his hands up to touch Finn, wedged against the bed as he was. Finn's own hands were busy, getting scant handfuls of Puck's short hair, but as his knees brushed Puck's hard cock Puck felt himself buck automatically up against the pressure.

"Yeah, you come, too," Finn gasped, and Puck felt the wave of unbelievable sensation ripple through him, right to his core, and he was only able to make desperate, disbelieving noises as he shot his load into his jeans. Puck swallowed convulsively around the flood of acrid fluid in his mouth, but he didn't choke, and it was a mark of pride that he didn't miss a drop.

Finn dropped his shuddering body on top of Puck's, flattening him against the side of the bed, and slithered down to crouch on the floor in front of him. He took Puck's face in his hands and kissed him, and Puck could feel the hot tears on his cheeks.

"I was so scared," Finn whispered. "God, so scared."

"I know," Puck said, stroking the back of his neck. "Me, too."

"Tell me this is okay," he said, and Puck pulled back far enough to look at him in astonishment.

"Yeah, this is okay!" He probed Finn's face for understanding. "I… I want you to take it from me. I want that." He felt himself relax, settle into himself, and he swallowed on his raw throat. "It's just what I need. From you, man."

Finn shook his head in disbelief. "I just have a hard time accepting it sometimes. It still seems impossible – wanting this, and I had no idea, dude, it was totally not in my consciousness, okay? And now – I mean, I had a conversation with a complete stranger today about… floggers, and collars, and…" He closed his eyes and laughed. "It should have been crazy, but..."

"It's just right," Puck said softly, the word collar ringing in his ear like a bell. He felt tingly all over, and he took a shaky breath. "Dinner's waiting upstairs. The artichokes should be about done."

By the time they cleaned up and made it up the stairs, Mercedes was draining the artichokes and had the chilled aioli out in little dishes for dipping. "You were right," Kurt said with his mouth full. "The aioli was much better than butter."

"God," Finn said in consternation, sinking into the chair next to Kurt and gingerly touching the abrasion above his ear. Then he glanced at Mercedes, and said, in a very not-Finn voice, "Would you – please tell me the whole story? All of it?"

Puck silently dished Finn a plate while Kurt talked. When he was done, Finn was hovering about two inches from Kurt, clutching his hand so hard it must have hurt. "Mercedes, would you help me get the custard out of the oven?" Puck found himself asking, and when Finn shot him a grateful glance, he felt a burst of pride settle over him, like a firework.

She looked curiously at Puck as he serenely slid his hands into oven mitts. "You're looking… better," she said.

"Finn took care of it," he said. "Now I'm trying to give them some time to do… something similar."

"Huh. And you're not jealous at all?" She carefully set the custards on a wooden tray, watching him as he spooned coconut cream over the top of each bowl.

"No," he said. "I'm not, at all. I – I like it, that they love each other. When they're together, it's… it's better. Easier, somehow. I guess because everybody's getting what they need. When Finn's happy, we're all happy."

"And what about Kurt? Is he getting what he needs?" She crossed her arms. "I'm surprised, Puck, at how good this whole business is, but my first thought is for Kurt. Is he happy?"

"I think so." Puck paused, staring down at the custard. "I don't know. I mean, how can I really know if it's good for him, or not? Sometimes I like things, want things, that aren't good for me. Like… custard. It's made of eggs and milk – good for you, kind of, but sugar – bad for you. So is it good, or bad?" He sighed. "Fuck. I don't know."

She touched his arm. "I didn't ask if you were good for him. That's impossible to know. I asked if he was happy. You should know the answer to that."

Puck thought of Kurt, stretched out like a cat on the chair in their attic room, sated and smiling. He thought of him saying this is just what I need from you. He thought of his text that said God, Noah, I can't think of anything I want more, and he smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I think he's happy."

"Okay, then," Mercedes said. "That's enough for me. Come on, let's get this custard out there. You'd better go first – I'm not sure what I'll be interrupting."