A/N:Still don't own Glee, Puck, or Rachel. THANK YOU SO MUCH TO ALL MY REVIWERS! Love you guys!
Epilogue
Two dorms. One coffeeshop barista job, one bartender job.
Two off-off Broadway shows, one off-Broadway show, two rehabilitation facility internships.
Two jubilant, well earned, college graduations. One sports medicine degree, one fine arts degree.
One apartment.
Numerous fights.
Numerous make ups and intense make outs and kisses of "I'm sorry", and caresses of "No, I'm sorry" through tears and touches and embraces.
One garbage bag of clothes thrown down the hallway. One cell phone flushed down the toilet. Another, a year later. Two holes punched in two walls on two different occasions. One broken glass.
Innumerable yells of, "you're so selfish!", on both accounts.
Innumerable whispers and promises and reassurances of, "I love yous." On both accounts.
Innumerable expressions of, "You're gorgeous", "you make me a better person," "you're everything", "I'm so proud of you."
On both accounts.
All leading to one high school reunion, one flight booked from NY to Lima, OH.
Two passengers.
He still fucking hates planes. Yes, all the times he went home from NY he drove. Yes, drove (Zipcar, for the win). He fucking hates flying and even with his girl by his side, and his Dramamine and Xanax stowed securely in his carry on bag (fuckyouverymuch) he still fucking hates flying.
They're on their way back to Lima for their ten year high school reunion. They haven't been strangers to Lima, always returning for holidays. Lately though, he couldn't get off from work at the rehab center and she was busy starring in her first bit part on Broadway.
But they were both able to score three days away this May, "only three days, Noah!" for the reunion. So she convinced him to actually fly back to Lima and not waste any of those three days on driving.
It's only an hour flight. And he's got his drugs.
But he's a shit ton nervous, and it's not about the flight.
The line at security snakes through the waiting area and he's pissed, legit tapping his foot all high-school-Rachel-Berry-like, because, God, he just wants to go already and get on the fucking plane and get to Lima cause he's got shit to do.
Rachel laughs at him. "Noah," She crosses her arms. "You can't be nervous about flying again. You packed your Dramamine and Xanax in the carry on this time, right? There's not even any checked baggage. Will you calm down?"
"Whatever, this line's so fucking long and I'm just," He fumbles. "Fucking hungry. I want a taco."
"Oh my God, seriously?" She shakes her head, but she's smiling.
This boy. Just...this boy.
He sighs aggravatedly and moves to adjust the duffel bag on his shoulder.
He's all hers. He's been all hers since that night in Miami during Nationals (she smiles to herself, remembering the big kiss he smacked on her lips, in front of everyone, when she had hoisted the first place trophy up). It hasn't been all unicorns and rainbows the past ten years, but that's them. They're electric, whether it's on or off. And it's perfect and very much not boring, and she wouldn't want it any other way.
She nestles her arm into his and takes his hand. "Are you excited to go back?"
"I'm always psyched to eat ma's lasagna," He replies. "S'not like we've never gone back to Lima before."
This time though?
This time's going to be different.
They finally make it to the front of the line and he places her bag, his duffel, and the contents of his pockets on the conveyer belt. He watches her go through the little metal detector doorway (fuck, his appreciation for that ass will never get old) and he takes his turn, all is well, go to get the bags from the conveyor.
Beep beep! "Who's bag is this red and blue Indians duffel?"
Fuck. "Mine." He replies.
"Needs to be searched by hand. Step over here, please."
Fuckfuckfuck. Calm down, Puckerman, could be fine, they wouldn't go through each individual item, right?
He glances at Rachel. "You go on ahead, babe, I'll meet up with you." He lets go of her hand and nudges her shoulder towards the Arrivals and Departures board.
She shakes off his arm. "No big deal, I can wait. I don't want us to get separated."
No, fuck, Rachel, please, please fucking go and I'll catch up.
Plan B. He can block her view. He shifts around to point his back towards her as the TSA agent takes his boxers, t shirts, a pair of jeans, out of his carry on.
Fuck if she doesn't walk up next to him and take his hand and look all fucking doe-eyed up at him. "I'm excited to see Quinn and Finn. Ooh, and Quinn's baby belly! I wonder if she's showing yet."
Gah. Is it possible to love someone for being adorable and hate them at the same fucking time?
She rests her head against his bicep. "I just can't wait for -"
Hurryuphurryuphurryup, no don't take that out -
The TSA agent pulls out a tiny black velvet box. "Oh, ok, this is what was setting the detector off."
MOTHER.
FUCKER.
FUCKING FUCK SAFETY AND FUCK YOU TSA AGENT ROT IN HELL FUCK.
Was that...?
No.
Was it?
He snatches the box out of the TSA agent's hand and shoves it into his pocket. "Awesome, thanks, bye."
Rachel's eyes are as big as saucers. "Noah? What was -"
"Nothing, fine, taco, I want, let's go." He grabs his bag off the table, shoots the dirtiest look he can (legally) muster at the TSA agent, and whips around. Putting his hand on the small of her back, he tries to steer her away.
C'mon, Rachel, moveonmoveonmoveonmoveon.
"No, Noah, really, what was that?"
It was, wasn't it?
OH MY GOD IT WAS.
"Fuck, quit it Rachel, let's just go, I'm hungry, was nothing. Nothing."
Motherfucking fucking TSA agent fuck this security let the whole plane go down with the fucking terrorists because fucking A that douche just fucking ruined everyfuckingthing.
He pushes his fingers into his eyes and rubs his hand down his face, because, fuck he ruined itdidn't he? He should have put the ring somewhere else, shipped it home to his ma, somewhere safer, fuck, he never thinks these things through. He always ruins everything and the one thing, that one earth fucking shattering moment she deserves, he shits it up.
She sees a red flush appear on his cheeks as he palms his face, and her guilt starts creeping up on her.
I'm always so nosy, oh God, Rachel, why did you keep pestering him? I'm probably just imagining things anyways, I'm sure it was nothing. A gift for his mom or something. Fix it, Rachel, fix it.
"Noah. Please. Stop?" She stops two feet away from the security checkpoint and puts her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being nosy, please, it's ok, it's nothing, I already forgot what we're even talking about."
Fuck it. Carpe fucking diem and maybe the fact that nothing was ever as they expected anyways so fuck it all. He drops his bag on the floor right there, right in front of the Arrivals and Departures board and in between all the people leaving the security checkpoint and this one douche gives him a dirty look and fuck you dude, TSA just fucked me over so fuck.
He pulls the box out of his pocket and turns it around and around in his hand, looking down, not meeting her eyes.
Oh...?
"S'not all perfect, I had it fucking perfect, I had it all set up, on the bleachers at McKinley with candles and my guitar and those lilies you love and I had a speech and shit..."
He flips open the box and drops to his knee and locks his eyes on hers.
OH.
MY.
GOD.
"And I just...my life's so better, always been so much better, with you in it and I just want you to be in it forever because it would suck balls without you."
The world keeps moving around them but all she sees are those hazel eyes looking back at her and -
"I just...I just really fucking love you, Rach. So...marry me? I mean, fuck, will you? Marry me?"
She can't stop shaking and there are tears running down her cheeks and she can't wipe the smile off her face but she nods her head so empathically, Puck thinks she might have whiplash.
He doesn't think he can grin any wider as he slides the 3-diamond white gold band on her finger. She pulls him up and flings herself into his arms all rabid spider monkey-like, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and she's kissing him and kissing him and kissing him and the entire security checkpoint starts fucking clapping like out of a fucking movie and she's crying and shut the fuck up he's not crying he's just got something in his eye and fuck if it is all pretty much perfect.
He fucking hates flying.
But airports...they're not too bad.