Just to warn y'all, I took some artistic license on some facts here about college and the dates for early decision. I don't know any of that aside from my own experience at Rollins (heck, yeah, baby!), and I hardly have the time to do in-depth research on specific dates of specific colleges, so I'm just gonna throw some shit your way. Don't read too much into it, don't take me seriously, and don't, for the love of God, correct me. It'll just pass over my head, and you'll have wasted your time and energy typing that technical shit out.
Now.
On to the foolishness!
7
Wheels
Puck studied the list on the topmost page of the stack of papers Pillsbury had asked him to give to Artie. He read a couple of words. None of it made sense. He looked away and sighed. He couldn't even begin to come up with a way to help his boy. Aside from breaking up Brittana (oh, yeah, sure—if he wanted his balls soaked in hydrochloric acid and hacked apart and shoved up his nose) and begging and stealing to get Artie some sort of breakthrough surgery to repair his legs, Puck was at a fucking loss.
Build him a rocket-powered wheelchair?
Holy fuck, even if he had the brains to construct that shit, he was in no way inclined to be blamed for the most epic paraplegic death in history.
Find him a girl?
Uh, no. Dude still wasn't over Brittany, and Puck had sworn off matchmaking.
He glanced up at the plaque on the door in front of him: AV ROOM.
Artie was in the AV club. Artie directed Run, Joey, Run. Artie directed Vogue. Artie...directs.
With an evil smirk, Puck rapped on the door.
"Enter at your own risk!"
The smirk vanished and he sighed and pushed open the door with a longsuffering look. "Dude. For real?"
Artie grinned at him sheepishly from where he was sitting in the dark in the glow of three monitors all hooked up to one computer. He never looked any more like an evil genius. "Reflex, sorry. What up?"
"Shit for the play," Puck answered, slapping the papers onto the desk next to a couple of Twinkie wrappers and then flopping down onto the seat next to Artie. "What is—dude! What is that?!"
Artie shrugged and pressed the play button to continue the video. "Just a montage of pictures and videos I took over the past couple years in glee."
"But you recorded some of this shit with a cell phone," Puck said, frowning at the fucking HD-quality of Finn failing epically at an earlier rendition of a kick-ball step. "I remember 'cause Finn almost broke your phone when he threw out his arms and whacked it outta your hands. This looks like you had a whole film crew and shit."
"I just used a couple of programs to enhance the video quality and sharpen some stuff up. Then I—"
"Fair warning, dude, if you get any more technical, I'm gonna start tuning you out."
"Me use computer to make picture pretty."
Puck shot him a dry look. "Can you repeat that with fewer syllables?"
Artie grinned and clapped Puck on the back. "Oh, hey, look. It's one of the few times Schue paired you and Rachel together during a dance routine."
A grand total of thirteen seconds passed before either of them spoke.
"Damn. That was palpable."
"You do not show this to Finn. Ever. Edit this out or something, but do not, for the love of God, ever let him see this."
"Puck, are you—"
"No, Jesus Christ, dude. No! Been there twice already. Third time's not the charm."
"Are you—"
"Yes, I'm sure, damn it. You'd think I wouldn't know if Berry was cheating with me?"
1% Kiss. 1% Kiss. 1% Kiss.
"For fuck's sake, we did not cheat. Nothing happened."
Big, big brown eyes with little gold stars and plump, pink lips fresh off of singing a U2 cover. Yes, it did.
Puck leveled a very, very dark glare at Artie. "Just get rid of that video."
Artie was staring at him with a mixture of skepticism, amusement, and a disturbing amount of intelligence.
"All right. Chill. I'll edit it out," he said, opening a new window.
Puck cleared his throat. "So, uh, how's the play coming?"
"Rachel is brilliant, of course," Artie answered, throwing Puck a smug grin.
Little fucktard.
"How's, uh, Warbler and Satan and Chang and whoever the fuck else is in it?"
"They're doing really well, actually. I was kinda thrown that Santana even auditioned to begin with, and I was half-expecting a series of mild diva-fits—nothing that could rival Mercedes's or Rachel's, but a diva-fit nonetheless. But she's actually pretty cool...once you get past the constant stream of Spanish insults she spews at you whenever you try and correct the scene."
"And the turncoat Warbler?"
"If he was a girl, Rachel would have some serious competition. That's all I can say about him."
"How 'bout Mike?"
Artie threw up his hands in a sort of hallelujah praise. "Good God, man. Mike...I have no words. You should've seen his audition, Puck. It was amazing. Not like clash-of-the-divas kind of amazing, but it was like—"
"How did this guy go from being tone-deaf to pretty awesome?"
"Exactly!"
Puck sat back with a smug smile. "He tells everyone Tina helped him, but my boy's lying. They could never get through one lesson because he kept staring at her lips and jumping her bones."
"So you coached him?" Artie asked incredulously.
"Sam and I worked with him on and off during the summer, but thank God for patented super-fast Asian learning otherwise he would still be singing in fucking falsetto."
Artie shook his head and laughed at Puck's racism. "It was that bad?"
"Thought singing in his normal tone sounded bad, so he went to falsetto to see if it could sound better."
"And did it?"
Puck gave him a look, and Artie laughed.
"Whatever you two did worked wonders. Kudos. We're gonna have a great play this year."
"Yeah, I figured. Beiste won't shut up about it, and Pillsbury's eyes can't get any wider. Looks like you've been doing some serious wonders too. People won't shut up about how you've found your...nish?"
"Niche, dude. Niche."
Shut up, fucktards, he still has some lessons to learn.
Puck rolled his eyes and then motioned to the screen. "Whatever. This shit is awesome. You may as well skip film school and head straight for Hollywood."
Artie paused and gave Puck a funny look. "Uh, I don't think so."
Puck frowned. "Dude, you're in the AV club. You actually made Sylvester look good in the Madonna video. You gave Run, Joey, Run its only redeeming quality. I thought you were set since sophomore year."
Artie shrugged and turned back to the screen. "It's just a hobby, Puck. It's not a practical occupation for someone like me."
Puck narrowed his eyes, studying his suddenly-stoic friend. "So where are you gonna go?"
"I already sent in early decision applications to Rice in Texas along with—"
"Pasta in Montana?"
Artie gave him a disbelieving look. "Brotha, I cannot believe you just went there."
Puck's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, you were serious? I thought you were being sarcastic. What the hell is Rice?"
"It's a college in Texas."
"The hell you gonna major in?"
"Probably engineering or—"
Puck could see Artie armed in a hardhat, blueprints resting on his lap, rolling through a construction site. The wheel of his chair sudden caught on a wire. Screams from above! Artie looks up, squints through his glasses, just in time to see a massive steel post slicing through the air, aimed right for—
"No, no, no, dude. I don't see you in engineering," Puck blurted out. He was pretty sure that image wasn't exactly what an engineer does, but Puck knew that it involved dangerous building sites. "What else is on the table?"
Artie frowned at him. "I was thinking accounting...?"
Oh, Christ. Like he didn't already fit the goddamn role.
"Wheels, I know for a fact that you'd hate that shit."
"Puck, I gotta be practical. I'm not like Rachel or Mercedes or Kurt or anyone like them. They're...exceptionally talented. I can do stuff, but I'm not the best at it like they are."
Bitch done lost his mind.
But Puck was past that whole lecturing phase. He'd done it with Berry and Quinn, and he wasn't gonna pull a third out of his hot ass.
So he shrugged. "Okay. It's your choice."
Artie turned back and kept clicking at whatever on the screens. Puck sighed and stood up.
"Whatever college you get to, though, keep in touch, all right?" Puck said, clapping Artie on the back.
"So you can force me to babysit the Pucklebabies? Pass. Kids like sticking their hands through my wheels, and I'd rather not have child dismemberment on my head—especially when the kid's mom is Rachel. I already can't walk. I don't wanna add 'deaf' to my list of disabilities."
Puck scowled and walked out the door, slamming it behind him as Artie laughed.
This definitely complicated things. If he already sent in the applications...
Wait. He knew that look Artie made when Puck had brought up colleges. That was the I-know-what-I-have-to-do-but-I'm-just-gonna-do-this-anyway-'cause-what-have-I-got-to-lose? kind if look. Of course Puck recognized it—he'd been making that same expression more often than enough in the past couple of months.
Turning back, he jerked open the door making Artie jump.
"Where else did you apply to?" Puck demanded with a glare.
"Rollins, Alabama, Rochester, and USC."
Puck's glare darkened and he gritted out, "A film school, Abrams."
Artie swallowed. "Columbia University School of the Arts...the film division..."
Puck smirked and leaned against the doorjamb. "Thought that shit wasn't practical."
Artie shrugged. "It was your secret lover. She filled out half the application and shoved it at me. I had to fill the rest out under duress. Then she stole the video I was working on and sent it all off."
Puck smirked.
Yeah.
He and Berry were fucking soul mates.
"But I know I'm not getting in. That wasn't even one of my best videos," Artie grumbled. "I would've had a better application if she hadn't been so pushy."
"You wouldn't have applied in the first place if she hadn't been so pushy," Puck said, a plan formulating in his mind. "Show me the video she sent in."
Artie grimaced. "Are you sure? It's really dumb. You don't wanna see it."
"Christ, Abrams. Play the damn video, and I'll be the judge of whether or not it's dumb."
Artie sighed, and with one last pained glance at Puck, he pulled up a new window and played a reel of—
"DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK?!"
"Motherfuckin'...better have been accepted...bunch of horseshit...fuckin' Abrams and—"
"Noah, what in the world are you doing?"
Puck spun around and blinked some snow out of his eyes to see Berry in her multicolored striped coat and leggings.
"Woman, what the fuck are you wearing?!" Puck demanded, grabbing her arm and wrenching right up next to him so that he could pull her into his coat. It felt like he just hugged a damn snowman.
"Noah! Noah, let me—"
"Fuck, Berry, I know you own pants! You've worn them during our glee numbers! It's like eight degrees! Why are you wearing fucking leggings?!"
"Noah, I appreciate your concern, but I honestly am all right—"
"No! No buts! Imma talk to the Fathers Berry! I don't know what the fuck they're thinking, letting you outta the house like this!"
"Well, what about you? Your poor head is exposed to the harsh weather! You know, you could catch a serious cold, Noah, you have to keep your head warm."
"At least my only problem is my head! You're exposed all over the place! Put on some damn pants, Berry!"
Berry sighed, but she didn't move out of his embrace. Puck smirked, wrapped his arms tighter around the little gremlin, and ducked his head into the crook of her neck. She was freezing, but she smelled just like she did every winter—like Christmas and hot chocolate—only this time, he was getting huge whiffs of it that made his head spin.
"Noah, what are you doing out here anyway?" she asked, her voice muffled by his jacket.
Wow, he just now realized she was super close. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
"Just...checking the mail."
Shit. Thinking about it. Thank God it was cold.
"In front of Artie's house?"
Cold slowly warming. Soft, smooth—SHIT.
"Um...he gets my mail sometimes."
"Your addresses and names don't sound anything alike. Mr. Wade the mailman isn't that careless, Noah. He may be old, but he's not that old yet."
Goddamn she felt good in his arms.
"He...drinks whiskey during his runs in the winter to keep warm." He's such a fucking genius. Oh, no, wait. Damn.
"That still doesn't make sense. If the man is drunk, you'd have to check every single mailbox in the vicinity," Berry sighed, snuggling against his chest and totally not helping matters. "Noah, stealing people's mail is a felony, you know. And why is it a big envelope, anyway?"
Puck flinched. Damn.
"Noah, is that one of Artie's acceptance letters?!" she demanded excitedly, pulling away from him to try and grab the packet from his hands. "Where is it from? Columbia? Is it from Columbia? Please tell me it's from Columbia!"
"Um...no, Rochester."
She looked so defeated that he yanked her close again.
"What are you doing with Artie's acceptance letter anyway?" she asked into his jacket again.
Puck flinched. Where are those damn Twix bars when you need them? He's gonna have to stock up and start carrying them around wherever he goes...
"I'm...collecting...all his acceptance letters so I...can give them all to him at the same time." Oh, fucking hell.
Berry stiffened in his arms. "Why in the world would you do that?"
"So I can get rid of the un-accepted letters and give all the accepted shit to him at the same time to make him, like, super-happy instead of getting small bursts of happiness on and off through the month. I can't think of a legit Christmas present for him, all right?! Quit harassing me!"
Berry laughed, blowing her warm, hot-chocolate breath against his neck. "You couldn't give him a gift card or something?"
"Wait, so you're not mad that I'm, like, committing a felony?" he asked, shocked.
She shrugged. "You've done worse. At least you'll give them all back without actually opening the letters."
Oh, HELL YES! Bullet dodged, baby!
"So how are your own college applications going, Noah?"
Oh, damn.
"They're going...I haven't heard from a couple yet," he answered cagily.
She frowned up at him. "But you have heard from others?"
"Yeah. Got accepted into Rollins College in Florida. Good business school and shit."
"Noah, that's wonderful! I'm so proud of you!" She snaked her arms closer inside his jacket and wrapped them around his waist. Oh, dear God. He was gonna have to shove some snow down his pants. "I knew you would be able to pull your grades up enough!"
"Yeah, but I don't wanna go to Florida. Too fucking humid."
"I didn't think you'd have a problem with hot and sweaty areas. It'd give you an excuse to wear the bare minimum of clothing."
OH, HELL.
"Yeah, Berry, but I like it during one damn season. Not all fucking year," he choked out.
"Then why did you apply?"
He shrugged. "Just to see if I could get into an actual prestigious school."
"Then where are you going?"
He ran his hand through his Mohawk and sighed. "Look, Berry, I promised you I'd apply and shit, but I never actually said I'd go anywhere."
"NOAH!"
"I can't afford to go to these places, baby. And besides, you know me. I head to college, it's gonna be to major in sex and minor in partying."
Berry actually growled up at him. Like a midget grizzly bear.
He smirked, throwing her a bone she'd probably never even see coming. "I'm a bobcat, baby. I run solo, and you can't control me."
She pulled her arms from around him and sighed, pulling away. "All right then. I suppose it is up to you. I just know you can really excel in college, Noah."
"To persevere and to excel, yeah, yeah, yeah, Berry," Puck grumbled, throwing another bone...
"Exactly! You're only limiting yourself by saying you'll only major in debauchery and minor in stupidity."
...which soared right over her head again. Fine. She'll find out eventually.
"College isn't for everyone, Berry. I might just end up focusing on my music and getting into the business, you know?"
"But—"
"Don't worry about me. I'll figure shit out."
"Well, figure your stuff out soon, Noah. You're running out of time. Oh, no! I'm running out of time too! I have to go meet Kurt, Mercedes, and Blaine for coffee at the Lima Bean," she said, glancing at her watch as she backed away. "You're welcome to join us, Noah."
"Nah, it's cool. I got some other shit to do."
"More mailboxes to raid?" she smirked.
Oh, good God, that smirk.
"Uh, yeah. I mean, no! No, Berry, damn. I'm not always engaging in criminal behavior."
She beamed at his vocabulary and then skipped away. He knew she was skipping to try and discreetly build up her body heat because she was always ranting about the dangers of running or skipping on ice.
Hm.
Now he knew what to get her for Hanukkah next week.
"Congrats, Lady Fingers," Santana said, applauding softly. "Apparently New York high fashion is really demanding those bizarre outfits."
Kurt scowled and threw a hateful glance at Puck. "Those allegedly bizarre outfits were not included in the application packet, remember? You were the one who was vehemently insisting that I was hallucinating and had simply misplaced the articles of clothing that were indeed burned!"
"And thank the good Lord for that," Mercedes sighed. "Kurt, seriously, those were pretty bad."
Kurt continued to pout, but then he turned his attention onto his tormentor. "But apparently they liked my designs just as much as the model."
Puck blanched and refused to turn and look up toward the highest risers where Kurt, Tina, Mercedes, and Quinn were sitting. The gleeks burst into laughter, and Puck wanted to set all of them on fire.
"Yeah, they totally asked if you were available," Kurt continued, his face red from laughing.
"I hate you all," Puck grumbled.
Even Schue and Pillsbury were laughing along with everyone. It was the last glee meeting before school let out for the holidays, and Schue decided to give everyone a free day.
"All right, all right, dumbasses! Enough laughing at the Puckasaurus! Y'all wish you were enough of a badass model to be given a callback without even meaning to!"
"Mr. Puckerman, language," Pillsbury chided through her chuckles.
Schue laughed. "All right, guys. Who else has been accepted early somewhere?"
"I got into OSU!" Finn said proudly. Berry beamed at him and rubbed his arm.
Puck let himself scowl for a second before clapping Finn on the back. "Congrats on the brain transplant, dude!"
Even Finn laughed at that one. "Shut up, jerk."
"You know it's true, bitch," Puck smirked.
"Puck, language," Pillsbury said again.
"Are you actually gonna go there, Finn?" Tina asked.
Finn shrugged and then looked at Berry. "I don't know. I'll keep my options open, but I'm actually looking into heading east after graduation."
Santana scoffed. "I hope it's 'cause you wanna take a long walk into the Atlantic."
"Satan, calm your tits," Puck said, not wanting a repeat of Operation Roast Jones a month ago.
Pillsbury looked completely scandalized. "Puck! Oh, my goodness!"
Santana sighed and thankfully kept her trap shut when Berry shot her a dirty look.
"Artie, have you heard back from anyone yet?" Pillsbury asked. "You applied early decision to every one of your choices, you should've gotten some responses already."
Artie grimaced. "I only actually heard back from one school."
Berry whipped her head around to glare at Puck.
"But you got accepted into this school, right?" Schue asked worriedly. "Which one?"
"Columbia University School of the Arts," Artie answered, sounding like he was still shocked himself.
The gleeks exploded.
"WHOA! AWESOME, DUDE!" Sam crowed, slapping Artie so hard that he almost pitched forward out of his wheelchair.
"Artie, that's fantastic!" Brittany squealed, planting a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek.
"It's weird, though, because I never heard back from anyone else, and I called the schools, and they said that they already shipped out my acceptance letters, and the post office said they'd been delivered. I've missed the deadlines for responding to their acceptances now."
Puck shrugged. "This is Lima, remember? I doubt they're too strict on inventory. Shit falls through the cracks."
"Puck, for crying out loud," Pillsbury sighed.
Sam, Mike, Berry, Kurt, and Blaine were the only ones who gave him a knowing look, having easily figured shit out.
"So I guess you're going to film school then?" Puck asked Artie.
Apparently, Puck's expression gave him away since Artie narrowed his eyes at him and shook his head.
"Since it's the only school I heard from, yeah," Artie grumbled.
Puck punched him on the shoulder. "It's destiny, dude. Don't pretend that you're pissed."
"Why do you sound so irritated?" Pillsbury asked. "You got the full scholarship."
Everyone's mouths dropped.
"DUDE! YOU BEEN HOLDING OUT ON US?" Sam demanded.
"Wait, Artie, what have you been holding?" Brittany asked.
"Homeboy's gonna be the next Spielberg, Blondie!" Mercedes laughed. "He's gonna be a big-time Hollywood director, and he's gonna do it without ever having to pay a cent!"
"Can we see the video you submitted?" Blaine asked.
"NO!" Puck and Berry blurted out simultaneously.
Everyone stared at them.
"Uh, why?" Quinn asked warily.
"We don't have time," Puck said quickly, jumping to his feet and heading for his guitar.
"Oh, yeah," Schue said, clapping his hands. "Puck, you have a song you wanted to sing?"
"Yeah," he answered as Schue vacated the stool to sit on the risers with Pillsbury. "Brits, I know you know this song, so gimme some backup."
"Oh, my God! You can read my mind?!"
Puck sighed. "Just get your cute ass over here. Finn, drums, por favor."
"Do I know this song?" Finn asked, jumping up and heading for the set.
"Your mom does."
Finn scowled and Puck shot him a dirty look. "Dude, your mom does know the song. I heard her singing along to it in the car when she was at the gas station. Christ, you'll recognize it soon enough."
Once he got himself situated on the chair, he found his chord and turned to the gleeks. "This is dedicated to someone who's been this massive help to me over the past couple months. You know who you are."
Sam choked out a sob. "Buddy!"
The gleeks laughed as Sam mimed wiping his tears on a sleeve.
"First off, I can't keep a promise. I'm no one to count on at all. Add on that I'm a coward, too scared to return your call," Puck sang, and Finn finally recognized the song and started the beat. "But you don't care. You keep sticking around while I'm acting a clown. You're bigger."
"La la-la la-la la," Brittany sang, twirling around Puck, swaying her hips to make the smirk on Santana's face grow. "La la-la la-la la."
"'Cause you're still here, your feet stuck to the ground. Despite how silly it sounds, you're bigger than me."
Okay, yeah, bitches, this was a Backstreet Boys song. And Kevin Richardson wasn't even in it anymore, but Bekah knew the song and it was just fucking appropriate, and if Berry didn't get this, she was just stupid.
Which she wasn't.
Especially since her eyes started watering as she watched him sing straight at her.
He thanked God Finn always had to concentrate on drumming and couldn't look around much at the same time. Otherwise he would've seen the serious looks he and Rachel were exchanging. He stepped down from the stool and walked over to the gleeks, weaving around their chairs as he sang.
"It's known that I'm a liar, often the blacker than white."
"Amen!" Artie crowed.
"Add on my unkind ego, no one's less humble than I, but you don't care." And as Puck launched into the chorus, Santana, Brittany, and Artie came forward, clapping their hands and backing him up as Sam grabbed another guitar.
Well, so much for maintaining some dignity in that no one else knew he was singing a Backstreet Boys song. He thought no one would know since, you know, they're the Backstreet Boys and hardly anyone knew their newer songs...
But whatever. They were singing and dancing to it too.
"All the messed-up things I do, yeah, I swear, I'll make it up to you."
"Oh-oh-oh," Brittany, Santana, and Mercedes harmonized.
"Before you go and have enough, just let me make it better. I'll try and measure up, I'll try and measure up to you..."
Berry grinned at him—brighter than she ever did to Finn, Jesse, or who-the-fuck-ever—and in that moment, he didn't give a flying squirrel's ass that Finn saw.
"Thank you so much for having us over!"
Puck clenched his eyes shut as he locked his truck and refused to look at where his ma was clutching Rachel in a death-grip on the porch.
"Ma! Rachel's gonna freeze! Let her get back in the house please?!"
"Noah, gimme!"
He glanced down at Bekah, who was relentlessly yanking on his jacket.
"I wanna give Rachel her present!" she whispered furiously, reaching for the huge gift bag Puck lifted out of the bed of his truck.
He scowled but gently brushed snow off her red ribbon headband. "So you can drop it? Uh, I don't think so. This is heavy. You can get her dads' stuff."
Bekah didn't put up a fight as he hauled her up so she could reach into the truck to grab the two wrapped boxes.
"Come in! Come in!" Hiram called, ushering Puck and Bekah to the house. "It's starting to snow, and you don't want to catch pneumonia and die before dinner!"
"Excuse Daddy," Rachel said conspiratorially as Puck and Bekah stepped into the house. "He's had a bit too much to drink already. We tried to keep him from the liquor, but he's too sneaky."
Ninja-Berries. So it was hereditary.
"Should I expect a repeat of the last time I had dinner here?" Puck asked with a smirk as she shut and locked the door.
Rachel paled and stopped. Bekah giggled at her expression.
"Oh, I hope not. He wasn't even drinking then. Oh, no. He's going to embarrass himself into oblivion! He's—"
"Happy Hanukkah!" Puck interrupted her before she could fully launch into her freak out. He shoved the huge bag into her arms and she stumbled to lower it to the ground carefully.
"N-Noah! This is enormous! What is in here?!" she demanded, studying the bag that came all the way up to her waist.
Puck rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I never gave you a gift before, so this is me trying to make up for it. Seven days' worth of presents for Hanukkah to compensate for, like, almost twenty years of stupid."
"I helped pick some stuff out too!" Bekah chirped indignantly.
"But I paid since this cheapskate couldn't bother to contribute," Puck said, narrowing his eyes at his sister jokingly.
"Well, you signed the bag 'from Noah!' You didn't wanna put my name on it, so you didn't get any money!" Bekah retorted.
That was what he just fucking loved about his sister. They got equal shares of the Puckerman attitude, but thank God for the fact that Puck was the one to hoard all the delinquency genes. Bekah saved her money like a goddamn accountant; he spent his allowance on slushies he threw in Rachel's face. Well, he used to.
Rachel looked at the two of them with wide, teary brown eyes. "You didn't have to..."
Puck smirked. "Just like how you didn't have to get either of us anything."
She blushed. "How did you know?"
Puck shrugged and ignored the question. "So you were gonna try to make us feel awkward by giving us presents while we didn't get you anything, huh? Devious, Berry."
Bekah matched his smirk and stance. He wanted to lock her in a bear-hug. He was so proud.
"Devious," she parroted. "How do you live with yourself?"
Rachel set one hand on her hip and smiled down at Bekah. "I bake an obscene amount of sugar cookies."
And Bekah broke. The smirk vanished to be replaced with a crack-laced expression of pure joy. "You have cookies?! Now?!"
"After dinner," Rachel reminded her. "But, yes, I made more than enough so you can take some home."
Bekah legit looked like she was about to burst and faint at the same time. Somehow, she managed to compose herself long enough to lunge forward and latch her arms around Rachel. "I love you."
Rachel laughed and hugged back. "And I made butterfly-shaped ones just for you and used purple and teal icing."
Puck laughed when Bekah whimpered, and then tried to keep from grinning at her next words:
"Please, please, please dump Finn and marry Noah?" Bekah begged. "Just so you, like, have to bake me cookies all the time just 'cause we're family?"
Rachel smiled and kissed the top of Bekah's head in a way that made Puck's chest tight. "Sweetie, all you ever have to do is ask, and I'll make purple and teal butterfly sugar cookies for you. I can even teach you how to make them too so you can have them anytime you want. What do you say?"
Bekah choked on a dry sob. "Just so you know, I'm not letting go of you for the rest of the night."
Rachel threw her head back and laughed, and Puck had never wanted her as much as he did right then.
And for a brief five minutes, he completely forgot that his ma was there...until she came up and smacked him upside the head.
"Noah, carry that huge present for Rachel," she chided. "The poor girl can fit into that bag. What makes you think she can lug it around like nothing?"
"No, Mrs. Puckerman, I can handle it," Rachel protested, reaching for the bag again.
Puck purposely waited until her fingers were about to curl around the handles before he bent and grabbed the bag, making sure that his fingers stroked her hand. He smirked at the way she blushed, quickly straightened up, and cleared her throat, but he completely ignored the bone-deep tingles that ran under the skin of his hand.
"Thank you, Noah," she muttered, blushing a little.
Puck also chose to ignore the way his ma's mouth was moving as she sent up a silent prayer.
"How's Beth, Puck?" Leroy asked, handing Aviva a glass of wine as they all sat down on the couches in the living room.
"She's good. Gettin' bigger every day," Puck answered fondly as he and Bekah set the presents down under the table with the lit menorah. "She and Shelby went up to New York to visit some family, though."
"Oh, yes, I heard," Hiram said. "I think it's good for her to take some time away from Lima. She's all by herself here even if she does have you and Quinn to help out with Beth some nights."
Puck sighed. It was gonna be a long night of small talk.
"I wish she'd stayed or at least left Beth with Noah. We need to expose Beth to her Jewish heritage."
Oh, no. He'd much rather have the small talk over this.
"Ma, she's only half-Jewish," Puck pointed out with a grimace.
"Which makes it even worse! We have to keep her from going full Christian," Aviva said emphatically.
"Ma!" Puck and Bekah chorused.
Aviva sighed. "You two are horrible Jews. The Christians are dead-set on witnessing and preaching to all the Gentiles and converting them all, and what are we doing? Nothing."
"Ma, for the love of God, you're not even a practicing Jew," Puck argued with a sheepish smile at the Berries' way. "You don't even know any Hebrew prayers."
"Yeah, 'cause you got rid of all our Jewish prayer books," Bekah added, "'cause you said they were taking up too much space at home."
"Feh!" She waved Bekah's comment away. "The prayers are in our hearts. It will come to us."
"And if it doesn't?" Bekah persisted.
Aviva shrugged. "That's what Google is for."
"And we're the bad Jews?" Puck demanded incredulously. "You're the one setting the bad example for us."
"At least I'm trying to teach you how to be Jewish," Aviva insisted.
"No, according to you, Google is," Puck corrected her.
"The Lord doesn't care which path you take as long as you get to Him eventually."
Puck rubbed his forehead. He was getting no help from the Berries either since they seemed way too entertained by his family's little argument. He glanced at Rachel to see her the dimples in her cheeks and her eyes getting all crinkly with her smile.
He smirked.
He'd be playing shit disturber with his ma all night then.
"Oh, yes, I was reading all about it," Aviva said matter-of-factly. "It stands for 'major histocompatibility complex,' and it essentially means that people with two very different sets of genes would naturally be attracted to each other to encourage a genetic diversity."
"That makes so much sense!" Hiram said after taking a sip of water. Rachel had banned him from any form of alcohol for the rest of the night. "Opposites attract! It's not just some abstract idea anymore! It's an actual, proven scientific theory!"
Bekah kicked Puck's shin from across the table and jerked her head in Rachel's direction discreetly. He glowered at her and planted his foot against the side of the seat and pushed a little, making her tip backward. She expertly shifted her weight forward and brought the chair back down on all fours before glaring right back at him.
All he had to do was mouth one word to make her stop:
Finn.
Bekah sighed and turned back to the latkes on her plate. Then she lifted her head to smirk evilly.
Oh, hell. He didn't inherit all the shit disturber genes of the family.
"So blondes and brunettes would be better together? Like Quinn and Noah?" she asked Aviva innocently.
Their ma choked on the bite of food she'd been chewing on.
"Holy hell no," she rasped as Puck pounded on her back and handed her a glass of water. "The MHC complex would create fireworks and supernovas. Noah and that Fabray girl would be a nuclear explosion."
Puck snorted. "So what's your definition of opposite, Ma?"
"Well, a bad boy and a sweet, virtuous young lady."
Leroy and Hiram were having a very hard time hiding their smiles as Rachel blushed and tried to take calm, even breaths.
Bekah was grinning like an idiot, and Puck refused to look anywhere but his plate. Normally, at a comment like that, he'd turn to Rachel, smile lecherously, and wink, but it was his frickin' Ma talking.
"Ma, I don't think that theory's based on personality," he said through his teeth.
"Well, one indicator of the presence of MHC complex is if a woman finds a man's sweat appealing."
"Ma, we're eating!" Puck protested as Bekah burst out laughing.
But Aviva wasn't done yet.
"Rachel, do you find Finn's sweat appealing?"
Rachel grimaced and could not look any more uncomfortable. "Um, no, Mrs. Puckerman."
Aviva clicked her tongue against her teeth and shrugged. "Well, MHC doesn't account for all relationships. Do you find Noah's sweat appealing?"
"MA!"
Rachel was blushing furiously now—just a shade lighter than her red dress. "I—uh—wha—I—um—"
"So, Puck, where's Sam?" Leroy asked, saving his daughter.
Puck sighed in relief. "He's spending Christmas with his family in LA."
"Oh, yes, Stevie and Stacy are fantastic!" Hiram said. "I can't stop watching that show now. The innocence and emotion they bring should garner them at the very least an Emmy nomination. Sam must be very proud."
Puck nodded. "He records all the episodes and saves them onto a DVD until he can get the official box set of the season. It's like a ritual every Thursday now. We all sit down and watch."
"The invitation to come join us still stands, Rachel honey," Aviva said sweetly, knowing full well that Thursdays were designated Finchel date nights.
"Ma, she's busy Thursdays," Puck reminded her pointedly.
"Feh. She needs more Jewish company during the week."
Bekah frowned. "Sam's not Jewish, Ma."
"He lives in our home. He eats our food. He's constantly in our presence. He's Jewish enough."
"Ma, I don't think it works that way..."
"Beks, leave her in her ignorance."
Aviva smacked her son upside the head again. "Don't call your mother ignorant."
"What, Ma? You want me to call you 'obtuse' instead?"
Aviva sighed. "I don't know if I should cry that you're mean to me or praise the Lord that you know how to use a thesaurus."
"Go with the second, Ma," Puck said, putting an arm around her shoulders and kissing her on the temple. "You already knew I was mean. It's no surprise."
"So, Aviva, are there any men in your life?" Hiram asked.
"You switching teams on me?" Leroy joked.
"For Aviva? In a heartbeat!"
"Good God, no," Aviva answered with a slight blush, waving her hand dismissively. "I don't have the time to worry about men. I have to marry off Noah and Bekah before I can focus on myself."
"Jeez, Ma," Puck and Bekah grumbled in unison.
"Bekah, Puck, would you have any problem with your mom finding another man?" Leroy asked.
The two Puckerman kids glanced at each other.
"Nah. As long as she's happy," Puck answered simply.
"But if he's a douche, then we're breaking out the brass knuckles," Bekah added.
"You don't have a problem with someone replacing your dad?" Hiram asked worriedly.
Puck snorted. "No dad to replace."
"So we've just been chopped liver all these years, boy? We changed a few of your diapers too, you know," Leroy said, smirking.
"I was the one who predicted your current womanizing ways after the first time we saw you commando," Hiram threw out nonchalantly.
Bekah barked out a laugh.
"And you, young lady, need to watch yourself. You're the one we'd put into a dress and not even two minutes later, you'd be running around the house buck-naked," Leroy said.
Bekah blushed as Puck chortled.
"I remember that!" he laughed. "Every time someone came over, someone had to hold on to you so you wouldn't rush out the door and put on a show!"
"Oh, goodness, speaking of shows!" Aviva laughed. "Leroy, remember when Rachel and Noah put on that concert when they sang almost the entire soundtrack of that Anastasia movie?"
"I'll be there when the world stops turning, I'll be there when the storm is through. In the end, I wanna be standing at the beginning with you." Bekah sang softly. "I remember you guys sang me that as my lullaby when I was little. Noah, you still had a super-squeaky voice."
"Oh, yes! You two had me record that so Bekah would have personal lullabies that weren't sung by generic Disney princesses," Leroy laughed.
Hiram had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. "Rachel had to make you re-record it so many times."
Puck didn't remember shit to be that funny, but whatever. Parents. He, Rachel, and Bekah were just sitting there, fucking wallowing in embarrassment as their parents reminisced about the stupidest things that they all hoped would never see the light of day.
And then it hit him.
They were a fucking family already.
"Baby, put those plates down for a second, I wanna talk to you about something."
Rachel set the plates down in the sink gently before turning to face Leroy. "What is it, Dad?"
The tall black man, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the edge of the counter as he tried to put his thoughts into a cohesive sentence rather than just a random jumble of but's, you's, Noah's, and Finn's.
"I know I usually leave this sort of thing to your daddy because to be frank, he's the effeminate one who actually knows how to deal with this, but because of that same characteristic, I don't think he's best equipped to ask this question."
Rachel's brow furrowed worriedly, glancing at the kitchen entrance where the Puckermans' voices were drifting into. They were arguing about what sounded like Easy-Bake Ovens, and Puck was deliberately trying to antagonize his mother.
"Hiram gets hung up on the details sometimes, and instead of minimizing the gray areas, he makes everything gray. So I'm going to try and give it to you black and white."
Rachel nodded.
"Why are you with Finn?" Leroy asked bluntly. "And it's not a rhetorical question or something that I want you to ponder on. I want to know why you feel like you and Finn are soul mates."
She stared back at him unflinchingly, but he knew his daughter. He knew she was employing her acting skills.
But she wasn't a writer.
"Because he loves and me, and I love him. That's enough."
Leroy bent his head closer to hers. "No, sweetie, it's not. Give me a solid reason."
"There is something palpable when Finn and I are together, Dad. I love him, and I give up trying to justify our relationship. We work. He makes me better."
Leroy frowned. "How so?"
"He…grounds me. He believes in me. He supported me during the debacle with Mercedes, h-he… Dad, I can't list all of things he is. He's just…Finn. And… He…he's my leading man, Dad. I need him."
Leroy uncrossed his arms and yanked Rachel into a tight embrace. "You shouldn't need anyone, baby. You need to want them for them, not because they fit a role. Do you agree that Mercedes would have brought out a different dimension of Maria?"
"Well, of course. That would've been Maria with a lot more chutzpah," Rachel muttered.
"And do you agree that someone else could easily bring a new dimension to the role of your leading man?"
Rachel, a strong believer of people being born to play certain roles, also believed that certain roles could fit and mold into other roles.
"Finn may be the best candidate to play your leading man, but…someone else could play it too if you give them a chance."
Rachel let him go and turned back to the dishes. "But the role's been filled, Dad. And No—no one would want to be relegated to an understudy in that type of scenario."
"Then maybe someone's been miscast."
Rachel and Leroy jumped and saw Puck leaning against the table, holding Leroy's present in one hand. Rachel immediately froze when she saw his expression—blank. She didn't like it.
She wanted the Smirk™, the Leer™, the Eyebrow Waggle™ –anything but that look. She swallowed as her fingers went cold even though the faucet wasn't on. She was…panicking? But why would she be panicking? There was nothing to panic about.
Dear Lord, how long had he been standing there?
Why do these people insist on trying to break up Finchel? Finchel was epic. It was endgame. It was the cliché story because it worked. The equation would result in a happy ending, not some convoluted Inception-like ending where everything's been said and done, but you still don't even know the ending.
Because Finn and Rachel were it. They'd overcome the obstacles. They'd overcome Santana, for goodness sake. Sure, they still had their faults and insecurities, but they were good. They were happy.
They worked.
Past indiscretions were just bumps and missed turns in the road, but they still ended up in the right direction.
Puck's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
"The other Berry is ranting about how it's time to open presents, and I sure as shit don't wanna go against him right now, so according to Hiram, it's time to 'haul ass and haul presents.' I don't know what the hell that means, but what-the-hell-ever."
Then he turned and walked back to the living room, and both Rachel and Leroy knew that he heard pretty much everything worth hearing—Puck never cursed in front of Hiram or Leroy.
He kept his shit together. If not for Bekah's sake, then for his ma and the Fathers Berry. He would not, under any circumstances, lose his cool over something so stupid. Over something he already knew was gonna turn into shit. Because it started out as shit, it would end in shit. Therefore it was all shit. A shit lead. A shit understudy. A shit play. It was shit on a new shitty level that was just shit out of luck and so would be doomed to shit.
Blinded by the ass-rays, he reminded himself over and over as Bekah, Ma, Hiram, and Leroy opened their presents. She is blinded by those goddamn fucking ass-rays whose fucking radiation scrambled her brain and turned her into a weepy, needy girl.
And he didn't want weepy, needy girls.
He wanted Rachel Berry. The one who gave more than two fucks about his well-being. The one he spent almost the entirety of last summer with, hanging out and shit as friends—no drama, no bitching, nothing. The one who baked him cookies when she accidentally whacked him in the face with his own guitar. The one who nagged his ass to the point of insanity and practically forced him to get accepted to—
But it didn't fucking matter now.
Judging by the small heart-shaped cluster of diamonds hanging from a gold chain around her neck and the way she shifted in her seat all night, Finn fucking won. They were past the point of no return, and all the plans Rachel Berry had for her future were halfway out the window.
What happened to not needing men? What happened to focusing on her career? What happened to making her way onto the big White Way? What happened to keeping her options open? What happened to preferring rubies over diamonds? What happened to not fucking losing her virginity until she was twenty-fucking-five?
Was Puck mad?
Of course he wasn't mad.
Bitch, please.
Why would he be mad? She wasn't his girlfriend. Apparently, she hardly even counted as his ex-girlfriend. She was his friend, and he was her...pervy, delinquent friend, but a friend nonetheless.
Who cares if Finn slept with her? Who cares if it was probably a mess? Who cares if she said it was amazing but secretly thought it just kind of hurt and was pretty damn awkward and uncomfortable? Who cares if a girl's first time should be fucking special with someone who actually knows what he's doing and can control himself without needing to think about killing a fucking mailman? Who the fuck cares?
Puck?
No.
He doesn't care.
He doesn't have two shits to rub together let alone one to give.
So he sat there in her house, caring about the smiles Bekah, Hiram, Leroy, and his Ma were sending him but not caring about the...person who was most definitely not looking at him. Nope. Not caring one fucking bit.
Because he was an understudy. And who gives a flying fuck about the understudy?
"Hiram, Aviva, can you help me out in the kitchen? There's a Jewish recipe that I wanted to try, but I need your opinions about it," Leroy said, getting up from his armchair.
"Come on, Bekah," Aviva said, practically hauling Bekah up from the couch and forcibly dragging her after the Fathers Berry.
Well.
This sucks.
Puck stared at his phone, scrolling through the news articles like he actually intended on reading them—which he didn't—but when a dark blue gift bag was set down right between his feet, he looked up.
"Happy Hanukkah, Noah," she said quietly.
He swallowed and set his phone down on the couch. Then he pulled the bag closer and started pulling out the silvery stuffing-paper-shit. On the very top was a packet of new guitar picks and a couple packs of blank sheet music.
"Because I know you write your own songs, and I know you write them on loose leaf paper, so I thought that maybe you should officialize your songs and put them on sheet music so you can...you know..."
Next he pulled out a white box tied with a silver ribbon, which he pulled off and stuffed into his pocket before opening the lid to reveal two dozen sugar cookies shaped like guitars and colored like his own.
"I didn't think that needed much explanation, but I do know how much you and Bekah like my cookies—"
"We don't just like them, Berry," he interrupted gruffly. "These are legendary cookies. We love them."
She smiled a little, but his cheeks wouldn't move even to pretend. So he looked back down into the bag and pulled out a...leather jacket with warm, flannel lining.
"I felt that your current jacket was getting fairly worn, and since it may still hold a substantial amount of sentimental value for you, I thought I would give you a substitute to prolong your jacket's lifetime by—"
"I got it, Berry. I don't need an essay."
He pulled out two big books next, and for a second, he was a little disappointed. Until he saw that one was a DC encyclopedia and the other was a Marvel encyclopedia. She got him two encyclopedias for comics.
"I bought two for Sam as well, but I gave it to him before he left for California..."
He reached down one last time and pulled out a soft, black beanie with flannel lining. Inside was stitched in shiny gold thread: Belongs to Resident BAMF, Noah "Puck" Puckerman. Return or Die.
"Because we can't risk you freezing your brain. You don't use it often, but I believe that it's still a vital organ of your body."
He looked up to see her smirking at him a little. The corner of his lip turned up and he stood up, gently setting his presents on the couch. Then he wrapped his arms around his fucking gremlin, pressed his lips against her soft, smooth, warm cheek, and hugged her close.
"Thank you, Rachel."
She threw her arms around his waist and practically buried herself into his chest. After a couple more seconds, he pulled away to reach for her own present.
"Your turn," he said, holding it to her.
She sat down on the armchair next to the couch, and he set the bag down next to her.
As she pulled out a pair of skinny jeans with a star on the right cheek, big comfy boots with a star-zipper, a white hat with a star on it, a white scarf with sparkly gold stars, black earmuffs with stars on each ear-thing, black leather gloves with stars in the palms, and a soft, fluffy sweater with a pretty star-design wrapped around one sleeve, she brought out the weepy Rachel. Tears were streaming down her face as she sat in the armchair, surrounded by clothes. Usually she hated it when people bought her clothes because it usually encouraged a massive change in her wardrobe, but she knew that wasn't his intention.
He was trying to keep her warm.
At first, he was a little worried because she was using one of her new boots to wipe her tears, but when he bent down to try and pull the boot from her face long enough to find out what the hell her problem was, she dropped the shoe and launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burrowing her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder and almost knocking him onto his ass.
He sighed and pulled her closer, straightening up and lifting her along with him. He held her close as she kept crying. He rubbed her back gently and kissed the side of her head, listening to her mumbling, "No one ever bought me boots before, Noah. No one. Not even Dad or Daddy. Boots, Noah. Boots."
The scene did not go unwatched. Four heads, stacked one on top of the other, were poking out of the kitchen entrance, watching.
"Hiram, now!" Aviva hissed.
Hiram reached for the kitchen radio and pressed play. White Christmas drifted out from the speakers, and Aviva turned to glare at Hiram.
"What happened to encouraging the attraction by using their own genes against them?!" Aviva demanded.
"Jewish music is not romantic, Aviva," Leroy pointed out.
"They will not fall in love under the dulcet tones of the soundtrack of Fiddler on the Roof!" Hiram hissed.
Bekah just giggled.
"Our parents are crazy," Puck muttered as Rachel's sobs finally faded as they listened to the song.
She shrugged and rested her head on his shoulder, and he began to move back and forth with the music.
He didn't put her down, and she didn't ask him to. They'd been here before...only Rachel was on the ground, and she was single as they danced to Sam singing, but it was kinda the same thing. They were dancing again, their presents on the chair and couch and their families watching.
And just like before, neither of them thought about Finn.
I saw yesterday's episode. Actually, that was a lie. I watched the last five minutes and spent all of those five minutes shrieking at the screen. Damn Finchel. And then I read in the review that Puck said...that Puck said... Oh, my God, I couldn't believe Puck said that. So I choose not to dwell on it.
Like, I can't even...
I can't watch this show anymore. My blood pressure can't handle it. No amount of yoga can help.
And Puck legit needs to cut his hair. Mohawks are not supposed to curve to the side like that, dude. Seriously. Not badass, Puck. Not badass.