Author's Note: This chapter is another short one, relatively speaking, but it packs a powerful punch that I hope will spark some feedback. And I really don't care if the reviews are good or bad ... I just need to hear some chatter after basically crashing and burning over on another fandom. LOL. So, let's hear it. :)

As always, huge thank you to everyone!


Rachel sighed heavily, standing up from her desk chair and lifting her bag to rest on the seat she'd just vacated. It was dark everywhere in the office outside of at her desk and in the office behind her, her and Noah the last two left in the building - and the others had left hours ago to start their weekends. Things were getting better, especially now that everyone was on the same side, but it had still been a long week. Between the chaos and just the utter havoc of her own racing mind, she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was go home, take a long bubble bath and then sleep for the next … day or so. Instead, she found herself slowly putting files into her bag, examining each one needlessly before doing so just to extend the task that much more. Her and Noah were slowly getting back on track and there was probably nothing she could really do to help, but he'd been on the phone for the past thirty minutes and his voice had started to escalate severely in the past five or so.

"Son of a …" Puck growled, slamming the phone back into the receiver. His knuckles were white as he continued to hold onto the phone, finally letting go only to throw his hands across the entire span of his desk, drowning out the sound of his items crashing to the floor by yelling, "Fuck!"

"Noah?"

He slammed his eyes shut, his hands clenching at the edge of his desk as he tried to regulate his heavy breathing, not to mention his anger. He knew she was still there, mostly because he'd seen the light on, but he'd been too pissed to censor his outburst. Frankly, he didn't have the patience to play it cool right now, and he was kind of hoping she'd take the hint and just go. But, then again, she wouldn't be Rachel Berry if she did that.

"Is there something I can do?"

Puck chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head at her even though it was still sagged and his back was still facing her for the most part. "Not unless you've been workin' on a fuckin' time machine this whole time." She didn't flinch at his words, but she didn't move, either. She just stood there, waiting. He sighed heavily. "Just go home, Rach."

"I want you to be okay."

"Well we don't always get what we want, do we?"

She bit her lip at the venom in his voice, giving him the benefit of the doubt mostly because of the look of pain scarring his normally easy expression. He'd turned around finally, his strong arms folded across his chest while his weight rested against the now-empty desk. "I'm not leaving until you're okay," she amended, choosing her words more carefully this time.

"Get ready to hunker down then, Princess." She continued to just stand there and her persistence was almost as irritating as the comfort he felt just from the way her voice remained level, familiar. "I fucked up," he finally said, adding, "I'm a fuck up."

"No …"

"Yes," he gritted out, his hands rolling into tight fists under his already tense arms before one eventually slammed down onto the top of his desk, staying there as if the pressure in his head could actually be transferred to the wood surface. "You can take the loser out of Lima, but you can't take Lima out of the loser."

His statement caused her mouth to snap shut, and he was pretty sure it wasn't because he'd interrupted her. Offhandedly he understood how she could take offense to the comment, seeing as how she'd spent the past 10 years of her adult life being trapped in the small town, but he hadn't been thinking about her (for once). To him, Lima didn't represent unfulfilled dreams or even comfortability/stagnation; it was the central hub for everything he'd wanted to leave behind in his life: immaturity, unrequited love, living in shadows, family drama, simple minds … the list went on and on.

"S'like high school all over again, only this time the chick managed to screw me over, too." He laughed bitterly, shaking his head again. "One bad lay a year ago just cost this place thousands of dollars."

"I'm sorry, Noah," she began softly, inching toward him despite her brain screaming at her to keep her distance. "But, whatever happened, it's not fair for you to compare yourself to 10 years ago. You've come so far since you were just some jock throwing kids like Kurt in a trash can." She spoke faster in hopes to convince him she knew what she was talking about - or maybe just to distract herself from the slew of compliments she barely had to think about to conjure up. "You're successful and ambitious and kind and … and much too good to let some catty chick cause you to question your self-worth."

The corners of his mouth ticked up involuntarily, but her diatribe wasn't enough to fix everything he felt like he'd broken. "I knew this would happen. I knew firing Jess would start shit, but I did it anyway."

"Jessica was toxic!" She argued vehemently, her hand lifting to his shoulder and squeezing it to force herself back into his line of vision. "Everyone knew that and respects you for making that decision." She nodded eagerly. "We'll be so much better without her. We are so much better without her."

He could have blamed it on the way she said "we" instead of "you" or "the studio" or how close she was, with her small hand slowly sliding down from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow. Her reassuring words were comfort enough, too, but the truth was that he didn't need any excuse. He'd wanted to kiss her every day since the last time they'd kissed, if not since she'd ambushed him outside the studio seven weeksago. So he did. He pushed some hair back behind her shoulder, keeping his hand on her neck before using his thumb to coerce her chin upward. Then, he rose to stand at the same time his lips descended onto hers, kissing her softly for just a few moments.

Rachel's eyes fluttered open the second he pulled away, her breath caught in her throat as she replayed the last few seconds in her mind over and over. His eyes had changed dramatically in such a short amount of time, the hollow, shallowness of his gaze replaced by a fire that she hadn't let herself remember existed. His mouth started to move, but she couldn't hear it over the sound of her heart thundering in her ears. Nevertheless, she kissed him quickly before he had the chance to take any of it back, before the feelings inside her managed to be chased away by fear or rational thought.

Puck groaned when she kissed him back, his hands falling from her face and his arms encircling her waist while hers were thrown around his neck. He quickly switched their positions, turning her and pushing until she sat on top of his desk. He settled more firmly between her legs when she used her feet to pull at the back of his knees, and his hands drooped from her waist to her hips and then her ass, pulling her closer still. She whimpered at the contact, her hold around his neck loosening only so her tiny hands could fist the material of his dress shirt. He knew what she wanted - he wanted it, too - but between the height of the desk and her own small stature, the angle didn't work out.

Not until she continued to pull.

Without breaking their kiss, her back lowered to rest against the clean surface of his desk, her hands yanking him with her until he hovered over her. She'd secured her legs around his waist, adjusting the angle to delicious perfection by letting most of her bottom half rely solely on that hold. She could feel one of his hands move from its spot at the side of her head to maneuver under her shoulders and then cascade down her side; it might have tickled if it didn't feel like his touch was leaving a trail of fire behind it.

"Noah," she mewled, arching her back off the desk when his fingers danced temptingly against a sliver of skin exposed on her hip.

"Fuck, Rach."

Whether it was the spoken words or the fact that the new position made her realize he was supporting nearly all her weight, the gravity of the situation suddenly and abruptly dawned on both of them. Their lips stilled and parted, the sound of their breaths mingling between them the only thing that could be heard over both of their racing hearts and minds. They were in his office. They were making out on top of his desk in his office. She was literally wrapped around him - wrapped around a man who wasn't her husband.

"I-I have to go," she stuttered, trying to ignore the whiplash of cold air that enveloped her when he swung off her body and stepped away; it stung even if she'd been equally adamant about putting distance between them. "I'm sorry. I'm …"

He watched her struggle into her shoes, too overwhelmed with everything to remember how they'd ended up on the floor in the first place. He could barely hear her continued apologies as she walked out of his office and then presumably the building, their eyes locking once more through his last office window before he allowed his head to sag. Slowly, his feet moved him toward the couch and he collapsed into the soft cushions, his head hanging into his hands. His position was so similar to how it had been a couple of weeks ago in the sound booth when they'd got caught up, and he knew it was because nothing had changed from then to now.

She was married. Not just that, but she was working on her marriage - if only for the sake of her family. She had a son. Puck had done a lot of terrible stuff in his past, having no issues with a manwhore label, but he didn't want to add homewrecker to his resume. Christopher didn't deserve that, and neither did Rachel. Hell, Finn didn't deserve it either; he deserved a lot of things, but it wasn't Puck's place. He couldn't be the catalyst. He didn't even want to get in the middle of everything, even though all his actions thus far were making it pretty obvious he'd crossed that line a few times.

Puck groaned, hoisting himself off the couch and starting to pick up the objects that he'd thrown from his desk. Each item seemed to mock him when he set it back in its spot, everything a trigger for his and Rachel's situation in one way or another. The desk calendar reminded him how quickly things had progressed since she first arrived, the tray of pens hinted at their conversation about writing and rewriting history. Even the stupid mug that had magically managed not to break seemed symbolic. It was all too much, and he kept berating himself the entire time for what had happened, putting most of the blame on himself even though they had both definitely participated in what had transpired.

Slinging his bag around his shoulder and slapping the lights off with the other hand, he exited his office and trudged down the hallway like it was the Green Mile. But he stopped dead in his tracks the second he rounded the corner, nearly tripping over himself when he noticed her standing in front of the main door. Her back was to him and he could see her hand on the door handle, but for whatever reason she hadn't left like she'd said she would. And, despite everything he'd thought in the past few minutes - all the valid reasons and self-deprecating insults - hope surged through him.

"I thought you had to go."

Rachel inhaled slowly, the unsteady breath rushing out of her as soon as she turned and focused on his face. She imagined his expression mirrored her own, so full of contradictions. His eyes danced over her frame, unsettling her more than she already was, but his jaw was set, square. He looked so much like the boy she'd always known and the man she'd only recently learned to appreciate, and it was just another example of how split she felt in that moment.

"I … I don't know what I have to do anymore," she admitted quietly, confusion clouding the statement. "I don't know what I should have to do anymore."

Puck knew what she meant. He even knew what he should say. But, just like her, he was sick of thinking about all the reasons they shouldn't pursue anything between them. He'd done the noble thing once and it had haunted him ever since. He couldn't wait another 10-plus years for his chance. "I have to kiss you again."

She gasped lightly. "You do?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he actually laughed at her surprise. When had he ever not wanted to kiss her? Wasn't that the whole problem, the reason he stayed away for so long? It was exactly the reason he should keep staying away - this wouldn't end well for him, he knew that. But that kiss had awoken all those feelings in him that he'd thought had been long gone (or that he'd told himself didn't mean as much as they obviously did); or, at the very least, feelings that he'd convinced himself were gone on her side.

"Yes," he finally answered, taking a step closer to her and feeling that tinge of hope multiply when she, too, moved forward. "I have to."

He emphasized that word again, and there was something about how she'd been using it and how desperately he had that connected in her mind. It was that age-old distinction, between want versus need, and never in her life had that separation been so obvious. She didn't want to kiss Noah. Even completely in the moment, she knew what it meant if they did; she knew the risks and understood the damages. They weren't worth it, not for something as frivolous as want. But … need. It entailed something completely unique, something that had been lingering inside her since their embrace a few weeks ago. Something that only ever surfaced in his presence. Something she couldn't ignore anymore.

"Please."

His last effort was greeted hungrily by her lips, her deafening whimper drowning out the rest of the world - doubts and fears included.