It's Your Song That Sets Me Free

by Tarafina

Rachel Berry had no idea what events would transpire that day. How standing up for someone she didn't know would eventually lead to tragedy. And Noah Puckerman was the unfortunate boy who had to deal with the aftermath. Coping was never his strong suit.

6. Part VI

Title: It's Your Song That Sets Me Free (I Sing It While I Feel I Can't Hold On)
Category: Glee
Genre: Tragedy/Angst/Romance
Ship: Rachel/Puck
Rating: NC17/R
Warning(s): Coarse/Sexual Language, Sexual Content, Character Death, Suicidal Themes
Word Count: 9,308
Summary: Rachel Berry had no idea what events would transpire that day. How standing up for someone she didn't know would eventually lead to tragedy. And Noah Puckerman was the unfortunate boy who had to deal with the aftermath; only he had no idea how. And coping was never his strong suit.

It's Your Song That Sets Me Free (I Sing It While I Feel I Can't Hold On)
-Novel-

VI.

Puck woke up disoriented.

At first, there were yellow walls and a familiar pink blanket and the scent of her on the pillows and he just… forgot.

He forgot for a few seconds that there were boxes on the floor, filled with her things; that by tomorrow, this room would be empty and soon somebody else would be staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling; that the girl he expected to be lying there next to him could not and would not be there. Instead, he smiled; it was so foreign that his face almost hurt. He rolled onto his back, his hands smoothing over the blanket, loose threads tickling his palms. His eyes fell to half-mass as he breathed in deeply and let her scent envelop him. The sun was full and warm as it beat through the window; he could feel it against the skin of his forearm.

He imagined the daddies-Berry would be up soon and even though they were cool with him, and they knew him and Rachel were totally knocking naked boots, he didn't feel like going through the stern 'Noah should sleep at his own home, Bunny,' lecture that would inevitably come if they found him in her room, her bed, again… So he turned over to wake her up; 'cause she hated it when he snuck out the window while she was sleeping. He was already anticipating the feel of her neck beneath his lips, the taste of her skin on his tongue. How she'd smell like that shampoo she used that was seriously way too expensive - but the fuck ever if it made her hair look that shiny – and like him, since he spent most of his nights nuzzled up in her space until he could smell his cologne on her skin. But when he rolled over the fantasy of his usual morning wake-up routine, at least the one they went through when she decided to stay home and his bed was way too empty without her, crashed down all around him.

There was nobody next to him.

No miles of naked, tanned skin or full, wavy hair falling around her shoulders and spread along the pillow. There were no light, feminine snores filling the quiet; snores she would have argued tooth and nail that she did not, in fact, make. She wasn't lying on her stomach, face half-buried in her pillow, drool at the corner of her mouth, one hand curled up under her cheek while the other reached for him, often laying flat against his stomach, where she left it most nights, fingers curling against his abdomen lazily, stroking soothingly until he fell asleep. There were no sleepy brown eyes opening to blink up at him owlishly, her full lips pursed in a pout that he was leaving. There were no toes reaching out to run up the inside of his leg and tease him that he should stay and cuddle with her; she loved being held in the morning until she woke up properly and attacked the elliptical.

The bed was empty, save for him. And he felt it in his gut first; a twisting, churning ache that festered and crawled, tearing at his chest and making its way up until it clogged his throat. He laid there a long moment; the warm happiness from before, the smile, fading into a heavy weight that fell across him, head to toe. And he stared at the picture of them on her bedside table, of Rachel & Noah, of the people they were, just starting out, with so much ahead of them. And he looked happy; he looked fucking elated. And he always whined that he looked pussy-whipped or like a bitch, but he knew it was just one of those moments… one of those times where he didn't have his guard up; where he let himself smile instead of smirk; to openly love her and not care who saw. She always looked that way with him. She never hid the fact that she was so fucking in love with him he wondered sometimes if she was certifiable; 'cause she had so much going for her and she was hitching herself to his lame ass. But then she'd scrape her nails down the nape of his neck, furl them in the tail of his 'hawk, and she'd tell him he was more than he knew; that he had so much more to offer than whatever he thought. That she believed in him. And he'd remember why he loved her; why she was worth it when every other girl wasn't; why he could see himself being happily married with a bunch of Jew-tastic kids running around. The guy in New York that made it out of Lima and owned his own business and got that sexy, driven, talented woman to be his wife.

You don't need me to accomplish most of that, Noah…

Her voice reached out and hit him square in the chest and his jaw clenched tight, ticking. "You think you're so replaceable?" He snorted, shaking his head. He directed his eyes to the ceiling, staring at the painted-over stars. "You're one of a kind, Rach… Other chicks can sing or dance or the fuck ever, but you weren't just one thing… You weren't just Broadway or Barbra or any of that shit…" His eyes stung. "I should'a told you that more… Figured you just… Y'knew…"

He couldn't remember ever regretting anything with her. There were the slushees but he was a different dude then and that felt like a lifetime ago; he'd said his apologies and she'd accepted them.

They took awhile to get together but she had to go through her Finn phase and he had to figure his shit out with Quinn and Beth and who he wanted to be rather than who he'd made himself to fit in. When they got back together, it was legit; it was serious for him and he could see it was for her too. There wasn't much of a cheering section for them at first but when they stayed together weeks, months, a whole damn year, the others started getting it. The daddies-Berry were supportive, his ma was ecstatic, Hummel started believing he'd actually be good for her, even Finn gave up trying to get her back or keep her attention on him or whatever the fuck he might've wanted that week. So there were no regrets, really. She knew he wanted to marry her someday, eventually, inevitably. That he wanted them to take New York and make it their bitch. She knew that he was in it for the long haul; that he'd do what he had to if it meant keeping her. He wasn't always in-tune with his feelings and maybe he wasn't as wordy as some other dudes, but she got the general gist of how he felt about her and what he wanted. Now that she was gone though, all he could think was that he should've said it more; should've told her he loved her; how amazing she was; how fucking lucky he was that she even gave him a second look. And even though part of him knew that she knew that, there was a larger part of him that wanted to be angry at himself; to remind him how he fucked this up too; that it was too late and there were no more chances left.

I knew… I always knew… she murmured, her voice soft and gentle. He imagined she'd be reaching for him now; the soothing rake of her fingers at the nape of his neck that always put him at ease. Like when she'd been slusheed and he wanted to crack skulls but she just wanted him to stay out of trouble; to hold her; to let it go.

"It wasn't enough…" he choked out, his skin burning as he held back the burning sob in his throat. "I should'a manned up; should'a said it more… The fuck was I worried about, huh?" He reached up and dragged his hand over his face quickly. "Bein' a pussy? Shit, Rachel…" His chest hurt so much he reached for it, pressing his palm down against it hard, like he could shove the ache away. "It's so stupid…"

I never questioned your feelings for me, Noah… You know that… I've told you before, haven't I? That despite your short range of emotions that it was always evident to me… In your touch or your kiss or just the way you looked at me…

His chest heaved with the effort of each shaking breath.

You loved me.

"Always," he said through grit teeth.

Don't regret it, please… Will you promise me? Promise me you won't regret me.

"Not you…" He shook his head, his brows knotted. "Never you."

Will you remember me, Noah…? she wondered. When you're in New York and you've opened your club and the various bands wowing the crowds are sub-par, at least in comparison to my own amazing talent, will you remember me?

He tried to think of that; tried to imagine that life; the club that he'd planned out to the tiniest details. He tried to remember the dreams he'd had of walking inside and knowing he owned it; that it was all his own creation. He tried to build up the fantasy in his head of the bartender nodding at him before serving huge groups of people that crowded his club; the pumping bass of the music, the unique voices of new and enticing bands he'd found himself, offering them a foot in the door. But when he tried, his mind was blank; he couldn't picture it anymore. Not the floor plan or the bouncer or the velvet rope; not the VIP section or the bands that people clamored to hear live, a Puckerman-pick special. He couldn't see himself there, overlooking it all, proud of his hard work, an elegant and excited Broadway star on his arm.

It was as if that life that he'd dreamed up and hoped for and even believed he might get… it vanished. It ended before it began. It was buried six feet under and there was no digging it up.

The birds started chirping outside the window and he sat up, glancing at the time. The daddies-Berry would be up soon and he didn't want to run into them; last night was too much and today didn't look like it was going to be much better. When he stood up to stretch, his body felt tired, like he'd worked himself to the bone and didn't get a good night's rest. He decided the window was overkill and walked to the door. He paused before he left, door handle in hand, and scanned the room behind him once more. There were flashes of memory that burned into his mind; of her singing at her dresser, hairbrush in hand; dancing around the room, little skirt bouncing against her thighs; rolling under him across her bed, lips stretched wide in a grin; standing in her matching bra and panties, trying to get him to help her choose which skirt and animal sweater to wear the next day; her legs locked around his waist and her mouth wide open as she panted and whimpered and begged him for more, more, Noah, more!; of her kissing him, laughing with him, arguing, pouting, glaring, stomping, smiling, singing, snoring, repeat.

She was right there on that bed the first time she told him she loved him…

"You're quiet," he muttered and even he knew it sounded like he was accusing her of something. His eyes narrowed. "What's up, B? You kill somebody…" His brows rose. "I got a shovel, babe. Say the word."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes a little, and played with the buttons on his shirt. He could see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Would you really do that for me, Noah?"

"Bury a body?" He cocked a brow. "Guess it depends who it is…"

Her lips pursed and she looked up at him. "So your loyalty has limitations?"

"Babe… 'm just sayin' that if you offed Sylvester, she'd probably come back as a really pissed zombie…" He shook his head, telling her logically, "No point in burying her; I'd just grab some rock salt, gas and a lighter and we'd roast her… No shovel required."

Amused, she shook her head. "First of all, I hate to burst your ridiculous bubble, but zombies are not real…"

He cocked a brow. "Yet," he corrected.

"Secondly," she said, ignoring him, "just because the Winchester brothers do such things does not actually make them factual."

He frowned. "You're walkin' dangerous territory here, babe. Do not badmouth my idol."

Patting his shoulder, she sighed, long and suffering. "You realize your idol, the illustrious Dean Winchester, is a broken man with father issues, a long and checkered sexual history, stunted emotional growth, and who loves his car more than any human should, don't you?"

He smirked. "I'm not seeing any flaws here…"

Rolling her eyes, she pushed to sit up. "Admittedly, he has a very heroic side to him… obviously." She knotted her hands in her lap. "Even if he does so with a biting sense of humor that borders on bitter more often than not, in the end he really will do whatever it takes to save the innocent, if illogical and occasionally downright stupid, average Joe archetypes…" She tipped her head. "I suppose you two really do have quite a bit in common… I mean, while he's fighting real demons, you're often fighting the metaphorical kind… Although sometimes I do think some of your football buddies could pass themselves off as evil spawn and nobody would argue the truth in that statement…"

He stared at her. "Where are you going with this?"

She wrung her hands a little and chewed her lip. "I seem to have gotten quite a bit off track… I believe I was questioning the extent you would go to in helping me should I ever need assistance in burying a body… which really only came about from you wondering about my distracted nature tonight…"

He blinked. "Okay…" He frowned. "Look, Rach, you need a body dumped and buried, I'm gonna have questions but like… whatever." He shrugged. "I got your back, for anything."

She stared at him so long he wondered if she even knew what blinking was.

"You're startin' to freak me out."

She breathed out a chuckle. "Sorry, I…" She shook her head, her eyes falling. "I suppose despite everything I still keep waiting for you to find something in me that you won't like… For you to suddenly realize that you're with, well… me. And when you come to your senses you'll walk away…" She knotted her fingers tightly. "When we began a friendship, I had my doubts, Noah… I'm not very good with people and eventually, I find, they get tired of trying to adapt to my unique personality and simply walk away… I'm afraid when it comes to relationships I invest myself very deeply and… and while I've come to accept that friendship is fleeting in my case, love is not something I've ever been willing to give up or compromise on…" She raised her head to look at him. "When I love, I do it with all of myself and I don't… I don't regret that… It may hurt…" Her eyes widened. "A lot... But I think if they're worth it… If for that one bad moment where they say goodbye is measured against the hundreds or thousands of good moments that make me feel so… so exceptionally accepted… Then I'll keep trying and I'll keep hoping that this boy is the right one… That this time I'll get it right…" She stared searchingly. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"So far I'm gettin' that you had some pretty douchey friends, douchier boyfriends, and that giving up's not really an option… Already knew most of that, babe."

She nodded, inhaling deeply. "I-What I-That is…" She cleared her throat and reached out, taking his hand. "The point of all this— and I appreciate you taking the time to listen rather than assume I'm going on one of my rants and simply zone out until I've returned to more interesting topics – is that…" She rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. "Is that I love you, Noah… and I won't regret it… Even if right at this very moment you tell me that I'm crazy or that you can't return my feelings or that we won't work out in the long run and I'll subsequently suffer a very shattered heart that eclipses all the emotional damage done to me by previous suitors, I—"

He cut her off with a kiss. His lips were hard, demanding, even brutal in their intensity. His fingers buried into her hair and his body pressed hard against hers until she was sprawled back against the mattress and her lips had parted, her tongue reaching while a throaty moan escaped. For a long time, he laid there between her thighs doing no more than stroking her hair and kissing her until they were both panting and flushed and she was chuckling lightly under her breath, staring up at him with bright brown eyes. He stared down at her, her lips puffy and bright red and so damn beautiful…

She reached up and let her fingers dance down the side of his face. "That was a much better response than I've received in the past…"

He quirked a brow and smirked lazily. "S'cause I'm the best you ever had."

She laughed warmly, her smile widening. Lifting up on her elbows, she angled her chin up and kissed him once more, soft and light. "Yes…" she murmured. "You really are."

And it was funny, 'cause he was the one who said it but when she confirmed… his whole body vibrated, head to toe, and he felt… proud.

He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheeks and chin, and finally buried his face against her neck and just sighed. He knew he loved her long before she said it but he wouldn't say it then 'cause he knew she'd think it was only 'cause she said it. He'd say it later, when she wasn't expecting it. For now, he'd just write it in her skin with his tongue and his fingers; breathe it into her mouth while he kissed her to distraction. If all went well, they wouldn't touch their homework at all, instead just staying in that peaceful little bubble there on her bed.

A few minutes later, she drew back, fingers dancing against the collar of his shirt, and asked, "Say I—accidentally, mind you— murdered Sunshine or various other pockets of talent in challenging show choirs… What would you do then?"

"I'll borrow a shovel from my neighbor…" He cocked a brow thoughtfully. "Buying a new one might catch attention and using my own'll probably link it back."

She smiled. "That's very intelligent, Noah."

He snorted. "And creepy."

"Yes, well, there is that…" She nodded. "I do promise, however, that I'll try my best not to put you in that sort of predicament."

He smirked lazily. "Whatever, B, my shovel is your shovel."

"You mean your neighbor's shovel is my shovel…"

He rolled his eyes and kissed her; she pretty much said all the really important stuff anyway, now was as good a time as any to shut her up. And boy did he like his method of keeping her quiet…

Her breath hitched and her eyes fell closed as she gripped him closer. "I love you," she murmured against his lips.

Now that… That he wouldn't mind hearing a lot more. He made it his mission to make her say it a lot that night, and every day after it.

He succeeded.

He stumbled back out of the room and closed the door; he held the handle so tight his fingers felt like they were on fire. And for a long minute he couldn't let go, couldn't step back and away. But then the sunlight was spilling across the hallway and he wanted to avoid talking to the daddies-Berry any more than he had to. He turned and he left; each step felt like a betrayal. He made his way down the stairs, avoiding the step that squeaked out of habit and he scowled with each box he passed, his mood darkening. They were really moving out; he'd have to drive by this same house and know that somebody else lived there. His hands fisted tightly as he walked out the front door and refused to look back; at the hallway that seemed so empty now, no smiling Rachel staring back at him. He crossed the lawn in long strides; his brow furrowed as he hopped into his truck and turned the ignition.

But he looked back while the truck sat idling beneath him; he couldn't help it.

He saw himself chasing her with the hose last summer; they were supposed to be washing the cars but it turned into a water fight. He saw them sprawled out on the grass while she took his hand and used his finger to point out constellations; fuck if he remembered any of them, but he sure as hell remembered getting up her shirt later that night until the neighbor yelled at them to take it inside. He saw her jumping out of his truck after some stupid argument, yelling back at him with those four-syllable words that she only used because she knew he'd have to look them up later – and him hopping out, slamming his truck door, chasing her across the lawn and making her figure their shit out so it wasn't just hanging in the air if she was finally dumping him. He saw him waiting, angry and bitter, only to realize that she wasn't ending it, she was forgiving him or apologizing and they were making up; they were surviving this. He saw him kissing her; laughing with, sometimes at, her; twirling her around to make her tiny ballet skirt lift; looking up and down the street to make sure nobody saw him carrying her lame pink trolley bag. He saw himself arguing with her just to get her riled; complaining 'cause she was a slave driver with homework; chasing the assholes egging her house; begging her to make him cookies or nachos or the fuck ever he was craving; whining that meat crumbles just weren't the same; checking to make sure the daddies-Berry car was gone so he could strip her tiny skirt and animal sweater off; trying to sneak across the lawn at sunrise before the sprinklers came on or a neighbor called the cops on him (again); and a million other moments.

He gripped the steering wheel tight and blinked back the burning tears. With a sharp sniff, he put the truck in gear and he pulled away from the curb, rumbling down the road toward home. He had a couple hours yet before he had to be at school but he was wide awake so going back to sleep like he usually did after sneaking out of her bed was out of the question. He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes and scraped his palm down his face. The drive back to his place was so habitual he hardly paid attention to the turns he was taking until he was parked in the driveway.

He was surprised to find the front door unlocked; nobody should've been up yet. Unless his ma had a late shift and was just getting home. He couldn't remember what day it was let alone her schedule. Hell, he didn't even know who'd been watching his sister since him and Rach usually took care of Sarah so she didn't have to shell out the cash for a babysitter. And yeah, okay, he'd never really cared before but Rachel liked her and spending time with the brat was a lot better than he ever wanted to admit. Since he'd been locked up in his room the last… however long, 'cause hell if he could figure out how long it'd been, he didn't know if his ma was just skipping work or if she found somebody to watch Sarah so she didn't have to put it on him. Honestly, he still really didn't care. The last thing he needed right now was to have to watch her too; she'd have questions and she'd want to understand what happened to Rachel or maybe she did and she'd want to comfort him or some shit and he just… he couldn't deal with that.

He shoved the door closed with his foot and listened hard for a second to see if anybody was up or around. His ma stepped out of the kitchen, rubbing her hands dry with a dishtowel. She stared a long second and then cleared her throat. "Hiram called me… He told me you showed up last night and that you wanted to stay there…" Her eyes darted away. "I guess you know they're moving…"

His jaw ticked. "Tomorrow."

She nodded. "I thought you were getting a ride with them to school and… the assembly."

"Need my guitar."

"You're playing?" She looked hopeful; her face lighting up. "You haven't… Finn said you weren't going to glee anymore and—"

"'m not," he interrupted stiffly.

"Oh…" She looked down, sighing. "You know, N—" She cleared her throat. "Puck… I won't lie and say that glee changed you entirely… But it helped." She dropped the dishtowel behind her on the counter and walked into the living room. "You didn't have any direction; you were constantly taking your temper out on kids you didn't know; you were… difficult to say the least…" She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "And when you first joined Glee, I had my doubts… I didn't see how you would fit in or why you wanted to and… And I kept waiting for the call from your principal that you'd sabotaged them somehow, but…" She frowned, hands on her hips. "But you surprised me, in the best way, and you let yourself embrace that—that music inside you. You let yourself be uncool and focused on just being you and… and for the first time in a very long time when I looked at you I saw my son again… The little boy that begged for a toy guitar and who knew all the lyrics to every Led Zeppelin and Nazareth song that your dad used to play over and over…" She laughed softly. "And then when you and Ra—" She paused when his dark eyes met hers and her smile faded. "When you got back together, even just as friends, I thought… This girl is going to make sure he never goes back; that he stops slusheeing people and throwing them in dumpsters and that he never looks at another ATM and thinks my car is a great escape tool… I thought she was going to be that good, nice Jewish girl that made sure you got your head on straight and showed you how good you could really be…" She nodded. "And she did… It wasn't all her, but I could see the dedication you had to her; the drive to be enough for her to love you…" She shook her head. "I don't want you to lose that because you lost her… I don't want you to go back to that angry, hateful boy you were…"

He ground his teeth together and stared hard at the floor.

"I just want you to be happy, bubbala…" she cried.

"I was…" He raised his eyes to hers. "And now I'm not."

"But you could be again. One day…" She shook her head, pleading, "You can't just give up, Noah."

He glared. "I'm sick of fighting, ma. Sick of fighting to not be dad; to be a son you actually give a shit about; to be a brother Sarah can look up to. I'm sick of fighting to be someone anybody thought was good enough for Rachel! I'm sick of being here and not—" His voice caught. "Not having her to make it actually fucking matter…" He balled his hands into fists. "I'm sick of crying and waiting and dreaming that this was all some fucked up nightmare. I'm just…" His shoulders slumped. "I'm so tired…"

"I know, baby, I know…" She hurried toward him, hands reaching.

But he stepped away and he crossed his arms and he shook his head. "No. I don't…" He gritted his teeth. "I'm not your little boy anymore… And I'm not gonna be him, ever. So just…" He turned toward the stairs. "Stop waiting for Noah to come back, all right?" He started climbing. "'Cause he's not going to."

Her breath hitched, but he didn't look back.

When he got to his room, he shut and locked his door. He felt edgy, his nerves shot, and after pacing for a few minutes to try and calm down, he sat on his bed and grabbed out his guitar to practice some more. He needed to get the chords right and the song was… soothing. He closed his eyes and hummed under his breath, the lyrics playing through his mind, his fingers picking easily, stopping when he noticed an error here or there.

I love watching you play…

He stilled, bit his lip. "I remember…"

You fingers were always so fluid… So graceful… She sighed wistfully. You hold it like you hold me; gently… with the utmost care. Like we're so fragile, so meaningful, that you don't want to do anything that might harm us… Did you ever notice that, Noah?

He swallowed tightly. "You meant a lot more than a guitar, Rach…"

Of course… But it's what you do with what you care about that matters… The things or the people that you care about, that mean the most to you, those are what you cherish and you cradle… Who else did you do that for, Noah? Who else was so unbreakable you couldn't risk losing or hurting or breaking them?

He let his eyes open and he stared at the end of the bed, where she used to sprawl while he played, fingers tapping the beat against her heart as she listened. "No one… Nothing…"

I couldn't be everything, Noah… I couldn't be the only person in your life that you—

"You were…" He swallowed tightly and let his head fall. "You were it for me."

There were others… Other people who loved you, who you loved…

"Nobody as much as you…" He shook his head. "I could'a lost 'em all and I'd've been okay, y'know?" He blinked back the burning in his eyes. "'Cept you…" He laughed bitterly. "Ain't that ironic?"

Actually, I think it's sad… You deserve more than that…

His expression turned fierce. "I deserve you."

You have me… Don't you know that by now? You'll always have me… I'm rather hard to get rid of if you hadn't already figured that out.

He closed his eyes and imagined her there, listening as he played, and he felt it a little deeper with each word he sang and each note he plucked, but in the end there was silence. She didn't clap or correct him or offer input on his lyric choice. It was just tense emptiness. He opened his eyes and he glared at the end of the bed and his chest burned with anger. "You said you'd never leave…"

There was no answer.

../..

He played until his fingers were raw and then he figured he should probably clean himself up.

He'd just jumped out of the shower, towel wrapped snugly around his waist, and was grabbing up his clothes from the floor when something fell out of his jeans pocket. His eyes followed the clinking noise to find her ring laying there on the damp linoleum. He just stared a long few seconds before finally bending down and picking it up. He let it slide down to the first knuckle of his forefinger; it was too small to fit any further. He sat on the closed lid of the toilet and just stared at it, winking under the dim 60 watt bulb that sat center on the bathroom ceiling. It was so damn tiny and yet still too big to fit on her finger. She never took it off after the day he gave it to her. She always looked so proud to be wearing it; carrying his promise to her around like it was a giant sign that screamed Dream Come True.

Swallowing tightly, he left the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him into the hallway before he stalked into his bedroom, dropped his clothes haphazardly in his basket, and walked to his dresser. He wasn't much for jewelry, but he had a few necklaces; some made of hemp, others just chains. Rachel put them all in a little box so they wouldn't tangle or some shit. He overturned it and picked through them all before finding a long silver chain. He grabbed it up, undid it and slid her ring down, raising it up so it was eye-level. It was sentimental and usually he'd call it sappy bullshit, but he dragged the chain over his head and let it hang there against his chest, the band of her ring cool against his skin, clinging a little thanks to the water still dripping down.

He dressed quickly, dragging on a black muscle shirt and a pair of jeans before finding his dark blue plaid button-up that she called her favorite. Grabbing up his guitar case, he took a deep breath and lifted a hand, pressing it hard against where the ring rested, until he felt the edges of the diamond bite into his skin. He squeezed his fingers around it, fisting his shirt, and left his bag and the bottle of Jack behind. He would do this sober; he'd sing for her and those assholes at McKinley and then… he'd say goodbye to her dads and… And fuck if he knew how he'd survive after that.

He wasn't sure he would.

../..

When Puck arrived at school, people were leaving their classrooms to make their way to the gymnasium. He'd skipped his first two classes and spent it working on the song until he got it right. He used the bleachers instead of the choir room, 'cause just walking by there made his skin crawl still. Guitar case in one hand, he took a shortcut and found the gleeks all setting up shop near the stage. He dropped his case near them and scanned the crowd for familiar faces; he found the daddies-Berry sitting front row center, with his mom and sister on their left and Carole and Burt on their right.

"Nervous?" a feminine voice asked from behind him.

He glanced back briefly to see Kurt staring at him warily.

"No."

He smoothed his hands down his black silk vest and walked to stand beside him. "Really?" He took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "Because I keep worrying that I'll get up there and they'll start throwing fruit and…" He frowned. "These pants are designer."

Puck cocked a brow.

"Right, so jokes are out…" Kurt nodded, sighing. "Sorry, I…" He knotted his hands together. "I guess what worries me is that these people…" He shook his head, brows furrowing. "They didn't really know her and… and they won't understand the meaning of it all… Of the songs or the clips or-or any of it and…" He swallowed tightly. "And some part of me likes that because I don't—I don't want to share her with them anyway…" He laughed breathlessly. "Is that wrong?"

Jaw clenched tight, he shook his head. "It was up to me, I'd tell 'em all to go fuck themselves."

He laughed shortly, wiping a hand over his face and nodding. "And she would tell you not to use such foul language even if she agreed with you."

His lips tilted in a faint, almost-smile. "Yeah, she would…"

Kurt reached out hesitantly and let his hand drop to Puck's shoulder, but he kept staring like he was just waiting for Puck to turn around and hit him. If it was anybody else, he'd have pulled away already.

"What're you doin' out here anyway? Surprised Dalton hasn't put your face on a milk carton already."

He shrugged. "I spoke to the principal, explained the situation. He gave me leave for that day we ambushed you and today… And well," He shrugged, "Sometimes I just sneak away because everyone there, they… they don't know her and I need to be around people that do." He licked his lips, looking away. "She was special, you know… Sometimes crazy special," he admitted, smiling, "But she just… There was something about her and it—it wasn't just her voice, even if that was amazing, it was…" He shook his head, screwing up his nose and pressing his fingers to his temple. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling and I don't… I don't even know where I was going…" He wiped at his eyes again. "I tried talking to Blaine about it and Mercedes but… She was my best friend and I think… I think I loved her in a different way…" He stared up at Puck then. "And I know you loved her, that she loved you, so I guess… It's stupid but… Being close to you it's like…" His expression turned vulnerable. "It's like being with her again or-or something, I don't—"

"I get it," he interrupted tightly.

"You do?" he wondered hopefully.

He nodded shortly. "You remind me of her…" He cleared his throat and glanced at him quickly. "And it's not just the weird squeaky voice thing."

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes. "Need I remind you that this voice happens to be a gold mine waiting to happen?"

He snorted. "Like that shit? That reminds me of her."

Kurt smiled slowly. "Maybe I've got a little Berry Diva in me then…"

He shrugged, not knowing what to say to that.

"Are you…" He shook his head, rethinking it. "I don't want to ask those stupid questions that feel, well, meaningless, but… Finn said you weren't… you weren't doing very well and when I talked to Rachel's dads they both said they were worried, so…" He peered up at him wonderingly. "I'm not going to say I know how it feels for you because even if what I'm feeling might be stronger than what the gleeks are I don't think it's even half as difficult as what you're going through, but…" He rubbed his arm slowly. "Look, Finn's terrified you're going to kill yourself and I… I can't promise him you won't because…" He stared at him seriously. "Because I think… I think you might…" His voice caught. "And I'm not…" He looked away, tears dancing in his eyes. "I'm not going to tell you not to or give you a list of reasons why you shouldn't…" He shook his head. "Because I don't think it'd change your mind, so… I'm just… I'm going to tell you that if you do…" He breathed shakily. "If you do then just… say goodbye, okay?" He wiped at his face. "Because you-you were my friend too… I know…" He looked up to stem his tears. "I know we weren't like besties and we weren't braiding each other's hair, not that your Mohawk would have given me much to work with but…" He sniffled. "But you, Noah Puckerman, were a good friend to me and I… I…" His face crumpled. "I feel like I'm already missing you, so…"

Puck stared a long second and then hesitantly, carefully, pulled Kurt into a hug, bracing his arm around the much slimmer boys shoulders. He could feel him shaking and he was shit at the comforting thing; with Rachel, he just rubbed her back and waited for her to tell him everything that was wrong. He sighed. "You're my boy, Kurt… You dress and talk like a girl and I've seen you check my ass out too many times to count, but…" He shrugged. "We're cool, alright?"

Kurt let his face fall to Puck's shoulder and rest there a few seconds, leaning into his hug. "And your guns," he told him, squeezing one. "I admired those too."

He let out a short laugh and rolled his eyes. When he went to pull back, Kurt's fingers curled tightly in the front of his shirt. "Wait, just… Just a few more seconds…"

Puck could feel tears soaking through at his shoulder.

"Sh-She always said…" He inhaled thickly. "She said hugging you felt like being wrapped up; protected and loved and accepted…" He shook his head. "I get it now."

Puck knew the words were supposed to be comforting, but they burned in his chest. His face fell, eyes hitting the floor. "Yeah, well… She was a midget; wasn't hard."

He let out a cracked chuckle. "She was petite," he corrected.

He snorted.

"Okay…" Leaning back and away from him, Kurt smoothed his hands down his chest, righting his clothes like they were wrinkled. His eyes were red rimmed and there were tear tracks down his pale cheeks, but he stared at Puck strongly. "Thank you…" He cleared his throat and turned to walk away.

"Hey Hummel," he called, waiting for him to turn back. "I, uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll say goodbye."

And Kurt stared a long second before finally nodding jerkily. "It's all I ask," he murmured before fleeing back to the other gleeks.

Suddenly there was a tapping on the mic. "Hello, can everybody hear me?" Principal Figgins asked, looking around from where he stood center stage. "Quiet! Quiet everybody!" Not getting the reaction he wanted, he said a little louder, "Sit down!" He waved at various groups of people to take their seats. "We are now beginning the memorial assembly in honor of our own Rachel Berry…" He scanned the crowd and waited for them to finish settling. "The glee club, New Directions, has asked to be allowed to sing a few songs for their fallen leader, as well as Dalton Academy's Kurt Hummel; he too wants to sing tribute to her…" He stared sternly at the crowd. "I ask that you all keep quiet and respectful. If you don't, Coach Sylvester has offered to host a private detention for any and all of you who make a ruckus…" His brows rose warningly and the room went dead silent. He nodded. "Okay, William," he turned toward Mr. Shue, "If you would like to begin…"

"Thank you." Mr. Shue climbed to the stage and took the mic. "Uh, hello, everyone… For those of you who don't know me, I'm Mr. Shuester, I teach Spanish and I've been leading the New Directions glee club the last three years…" He took a seat on a stool and scratched his temple in thought as he looked down at the ground. "I… I knew of Rachel, but I didn't meet her until shortly after she got Sandy Ryerson fired and opened up a spot to coach glee…" He grinned slowly. "I heard her first audition and was blown away by the emotion and volume coming out of this… small girl…" He chuckled under his breath. "It was… unmatched." His eyes widened. "And as the years went on, even if I got used to that— that power house voice, I… I never quite adapted to her… huge personality."

He nodded sadly. "Rachel was… She was one of a kind." He licked his lips thoughtfully. "And some people might say that's a cliché, but for anybody who really knew her, I think they'd agree that she had a way about her that just… overshadowed everything and everybody…" He shook his head. "She was talented and she was meant for incredible things and I think…" He glanced away, sighing, and Puck could feel his eyes on him. "I think that if this tragedy hadn't happened that she would've gone away to New York and made a name for herself on Broadway… That she'd have her every dream come true; a shelf full of Tony's, her name in lights, and a husband that… that truly adored her for everything about her; even the things she didn't like…"

His brows furrowed. "Now, I'm aware that not everybody who has attended this assembly knew her or maybe they didn't like her, but…" He took a deep breath. "But there are a lot of us who did and we want to honor her in the best way we know how…" He waved his hand over and the gleeks all piled on stage, save for Puck and Kurt. "I won't ask you to cry with us or sing with us or—" He stared up acceptingly, lifting a shoulder. "Or even to clap for us when we're done, but I do ask that you listen and that you watch and that maybe you open your hearts a little and know that we lost a very important person to us and we only want to share even a fraction of her with you…"

He stepped back, placing the mic on the stand and moving it out of the way. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the New Directions…" He gestured a hand upward to the screen. "And Rachel Barbra Berry…" A still photo of her grinning face lit up the screen brightly.

Brad filled the silence with his piano; the familiar opening to Michael Jackson's 'Gone Too Soon' lilting out.

The screen changed to a silent clip of Rachel standing center on a stage, raising her arm up as her head fell back and she let loose a long, and likely eardrum-busting, note.

Finn stepped forward first; hands fisted at his sides as his eyes swept across the crowd and then fell shut as he sang.

Like a comet…
Blazing 'cross the evening sky…
Gone too soon…

Scenes played out behind him; of her teaching him how to dance and taking a deep breath for patience when he flailed off beat. Of her rolling her eyes at the camera when he looked like he accomplished something, but giving him a thumbs up when he was looking at her. Of them singing duets on stage; connected and awe-inspiring for all to see. Little shots of them smiling or laughing or occasionally looking confused by the other.

Swallowing tightly, chest heaving, Finn hung his head while Quinn stepped up next and took his hand.

Her head tipped to one side, eyes following closed, as she sang.

Like a rainbow…
Fading in the twinkling of an eye…
Gone too soon…

The screen showed Quinn doing Rachel's make-up; they were smiling and laughing, ducking their heads as they talked about this or that. They were singing together; their whole bodies vibrating with the force of their song as they walked toward each other; both challenge and respect in their faces. Sometimes they were glaring or arguing or stalking away from each other; capturing a unique but honest view of them.

As Quinn's voice faded away, Brittany came forward, squeezing Santana's pinkie and releasing it.

Shiny and sparkly…
And splendidly bright…
Here one day,
Gone one night…

Brittany and Rachel laughingly tangoed with each other on the screen; matching each intricate step with precise and sharp movements. One scene showed Brittany braiding her and Rachel's hair together while the brunette was preoccupied ranting at the group. Other small scenes were of them laughing or talking and one of Rachel just looking very confused by something Brittany must have said. The last was of her trying to wrangle a misbehaving Lord Tubbington while Brittany wisely shook her head.

Santana stalked forward, linking her and Brittany's fingers once more and swaying them back and forth.

Like the loss of sunlight,
On a cloudy afternoon…
Gone too soon…

Rarely friends, Santana and Rachel's scenes weren't as sweet. They were diva'ing off in the middle of the choir room; equipped with neck snaking and finger-snapping and hair-flips. There was short clip of Rachel washing slushee out of Santana's hair from where she was bent over a sink. And one of her dragging Rachel into her lap just to spite Puck, who'd been reaching for her.

As the piano picked up a little more power, Artie rolled forward and took Brittany's free hand as he sang a little more deeply.

Like a castle…
Built upon a sandy beach…
Gone too soon…

Rachel and Artie's clips were mostly filled with laughter and singing. She was giggling as Artie wheeled them down a stage-ramp quickly; her hands gripping the arm rests and her eyes wide as she gave an obvious shout of surprise when they neared the bottom and he gripped one wheel to turn them abruptly, coming to a stop and grinning up at her. Another where, mic in hand, she leaned over and sang with him, smiling as he rapped back, arm movements making her raise a hand to her mouth to cover her chuckle. And the last of her picketing vigorously outside of city hall for better ramp access around Lima, a megaphone in hand and a shirt that promised she'd bring the wrath.

Sam and Mike walked forward then. Sam reached out for Quinn's hand while he and Mike harmonized,

Like a perfect flower…
That is just beyond your reach…
Gone too soon…

The first shot was of the three of them all dancing hip-hop together in the choir room. It changed to a clip of them at a comic-con. Rachel, in full Wonderwoman gear, did the fist-on-hip pose before Sam, dressed as Warrior Angel, came running over to show her something, gushing excitedly, before realizing a camera was on him and straightening up to look less geeky. One last clip showed Mike holding up a ninja-shaped cookie from the batch Rachel made for him before he leaned over to kiss her cheek in thanks. He faked a 'scared' face when Puck appeared, throwing an arm over her shoulder, glared, and pulled her away from the happy Asian boy.

Mercedes stepped up and took Sam's and Mike's hands in hers before she soulfully belted out her part.

Born to amuse, to inspire, to delight…
Here one day…
Gone one night…

Close friends, Rachel and Mercedes were laughing as they sat one side of a booth at BreadstiX. Leaning into each other, they giggled over an inside joke. It flashed over to them sitting side by side on stools, singing for the awed crowd on stage, turning to each other to harmonize and grin proudly at one another. The last was of Rachel resting her head on Mercedes shoulder, who wrapped an arm around her diva.

Tina grabbed both Mike and Artie's hands and blinked quickly as she emotionally sang,

Like a sunset…
Dying with the rising of the moon…
Gone too soon…

The first shot was of Tina rolling her eyes as Rachel stood next to her trying to coach her on breath control. Another was of Tina trying to goth her up a little while Rach smiled brightly and waved for the camera. And a third showed them side by side on a bench, playing the piano and singing a duet.

Standing in one long, linked line, the gleeks all sang together,

Gone Too Soon…

And as the piano faded away, they all ducked their heads, and Rachel's voice filled the gymnasium.

On screen, she was shown holding the camera up with one arm, staring into the lens with a wide smile. "Hey New Directions, I may or may not have stolen Artie's camera…"

"You mean I stole it," Puck's voice could be heard behind her.

She rolled her eyes. "Regardless…" With a serious expression, she told them, "I promise on all of my Babs memorabilia that I will return it…"

"Man, I already put away my lock picking kit, Rach…" he whined.

She sighed. "Noah, really, I don't even want to know why you have that…"

He snorted. "I think it's pretty obvious…"

Taking a deep breath, she returned her attention to the camera. "In any case, the real reason I had Noah steal your camera, Artie, was because I wanted to this without an audience—" Before he could interrupt, she lifted a finger to stop him added, "You don't count, Noah. You're my co-star, there's a difference."

Getting no reply, she grinned back into the lens. "So, what I wanted to say was… Thank you." She nodded. "Not just to you, Artie, for doing such a wonderful job insistently taping every moment, good and bad, between all of us, but to all of you… To all my fellow gleeks who, though we had many, many differences of opinions, still believed in me and my abundance of talent and who stood not just behind me but with me on each and every stage." Getting a little teary eyed, she said, "To every one of you who looked popularity in the face and decided glee club was more important; who faced down humiliation, embarrassment, and slushees; who said yes when everybody else said no; who rose up to the challenge each and every week… I thank you…"

She sniffled. "And to Mr. Shue who…" She rolled her eyes lightly. "Perhaps taught me a lesson or two on sportsmanship and recognizing that others deserve their time to shine as well, I appreciate every lesson you taught us…"

She wiped at her face quickly. "I don't know when you'll get this, I'm half hoping it'll be after Noah and I have already left for our road trip, but whenever you get it, I just want you to know that I mean it…" Her eyes widened honestly. "To Mercedes, Tina and Artie, who were a part of our original group and refused to walk away even when we were dreadful. To Finn, who may have been coerced into glee but still tried and who lead our group with occasionally misguided but always kind-hearted actions. To Mike, who though not the strongest singer still put his heart and dance moves into every practice. To Brittany, Santana and Quinn, who picked glee over the Cheerios and showed us there were hearts behind those uniforms. To Sam, who's inner-geek and Southern charm never faded. To Kurt…" She grinned. "Who, though no longer part of our school, will always be the Glinda to my Elphaba, and the most talented soprano I've ever had the privilege to sing with…"

"It's not your Tony speech, babe," Puck teased out of sight.

"Okay, okay…" She chuckled lightly. "Wrapping this up…" She fanned her face with one hand to dry her tears. "Lastly, I'm deeply proud of each and every one of you and I hope you all get that happily ever after that I've already found. In glee, in my friends, and in Noah… I love you all and it's been an honor…" She blew them a kiss and the screen turned black.

As New Directions raised their heads, each one of them was crying, chests heaving.

The crowd was silent for all of two seconds before they stood and clapped.

Puck wondered if, for the first time ever, they were recognizing that the girl that walked their halls and took their hatred day in and day out was a real and important person…

And then he decided he didn't care, because it was too little, too late.

[Next: Part VII.]