Santana's birthday party had gone well - for most of them. Quinn, for her part, had spent the majority of it getting progressively drunker. By the time everyone (including Finn, for some reason) had left, reducing the party's guests to just herself and Puck (well, and Sam, but he was passed right out on his bed and in no condition to overhear anything that happened), she was well past her limit. She looked at him, her head tilted, and came to a decision. Rachel had been right. He needed to hear it, and he needed to hear it from her. It didn't stop her stomach from doing crazy loop-the-loops, or the tears from beginnning to pool in her eyes. She stood, staggering a little, and wandered over to where he was staring blankly at an empty bottle of vodka.
"Noah," he used his real name, trying to make sure she had his attention. "We need - can we talk?"
Puck wasn't horribly drunk. He was at the stage right before that, where he was very hyperactive, and also quite confused by... well, everything. He was wondering idly whether this was how Finn felt all of the time, when Quinn spoke. He turned to her, with a bright smile that would never cross his face, while sober. "Yes, Quinny-quinny-quin-quinn-quinn?" He replied, clumsily putting the empty bottle down so that it wobbled precariously, on the edge of the table, before righting itself, and bounding over to her.
Quinn took his hand. "You need to come and sit down, Noah, okay?" She just hoped what she was going to say would sink in. She hadn't realized how drunk he was, and this hyperactive version of him...she wasn't sure it would get through to him. But she had to try. She might never be this brave again.
She led him to the couch, easing him down onto one cushion, and sat down beside him, taking his hand. "I need to explain to you - I need to tell you why I disappeared. But I need to know you're listening. I can only do this once. Are you understanding me, Noah?"
Puck's face fell, but he nodded, as Quinn pushed him down onto the couch. "M'liss'nin, Q," he slurred, looking at her seriously. The expression didn't look right on his face, so soon after he'd been all giddy and full of energy.
She didn't know whether he'd remember any of this in the morning, but she pressed on all the same. She needed this out in the open. "Do you remember...that night?" she hoped she didn't need to elaborate. "We weren't...uhm, we weren't careful. That night."
She knew he was horribly wasted, but she prayed she wouldn't need to spell it out for him, that he'd make the cognitive leap required.
Puck frowned in confusion. Not at what she was talking about, but at the fact she'd asked whether he actually remembered the only time he'd ever made love with anyone. He remembered every last thing about it, even in his less-than-sober state. "Yeah... I 'member. We had other things on our minds." He shrugged, not understanding what she was getting at, right away.
He continued to try and figure out why she'd brought that up, while he waited for her to continue. After quite a few long seconds of silence, something finally clicked in his brain, and his eyes went wide.
She saw the moment when it hit him, and she nodded slowly, confirming what he was thinking. "Yes," she whispered with tears in her eyes. "Yes."
His stomach gave a violent lurch, but he clamped down against the need to be sick. Puck closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He clutched Quinn's hand tighter, trying to anchor himself to her, to anything.
He forced his eyes open, and when he did, there were tears gathering in them. "W-why... Why did you leave? What happened? Did you..." He railed off, unable to ask her what happened to the baby.
Quinn clutched his hand equally hard back, struggling to keep any kind of composure. She was so close to losing it. And she needed to finish explaining first.
"Because I c-couldn't," her voice hitched. "I was sixteen years old, Noah. I couldn't have a baby. I couldn't...I just c-couldn't. So the Doc - he helped me find someone. Someone who could t-take her. I never told him whose it was, just that I couldn't keep it."
She stifled a sob. "I'm sorry I left," she whispered. "I'm sorry I was scared, Noah. But I couldn't - I couldn't stay. I couldn't have a baby, I couldn't be a mom. I'm s-sorry," she started to cry in earnest, and she couldn't hold it in any longer.
It didn't occur to Puck, in his shock, to be angry with the sobbing girl, sitting next to him. It hadn't registered, that she had knowingly taken a child that should have been just as much his, away from him, forever. Instead, he focused his anger on his so-called "father".
"He's a telepath Quinny," he said, softly. His true feelings, only reflected in the set of his clenched jaw. "He knew... This whole time, he lied to me." The tears that had been gathering, finally started to fall down his cheeks. It seemed that pain of the deceit, was the thing that flipped the switch. "Every day, for months, I asked him - begged him - to tell me where you were, so that I could go find you... And he lied... Every day since, by saying nothing... I-I don't... I don't understand." He didn't know what to do with the information, that he'd been completely betrayed by the nearest thing to family, that he had.
He pulled the crying blonde closer and let her cry into the fabric of his shirt. "Ssshh..." He began rubbing soothing circles on her back. "It's ok." Apart from his anger at being lied to, Puck felt completely numb. He didn't know how to make it feel real. Then it hit him. Quinn had said her. The baby was a girl. He had a daughter, or at least he should have had a daughter... Then the loss kicked in.
"If he knew," she conceded in short breaths, "and I don't know if he read me or not, then he only did it because I told him I didn't want to get found. Please," she begged, "don't be too hard on him. I was never going to tell - I bottled it all up inside, and I was going to keep it there - but I couldn't anymore. It's not his fault, it's mine."
She didn't know how she'd managed that many words around her tears, but she let him pull her close, her tears wetting his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she repeated, for want of anything more constructive. "I'm so sorry."
"Even if he didn't read you…" he said slowly. "He had to know. On some level, he knew. I can't... I can't forgive him for that." He shook his head.
"It's ok," he repeated. "It'll be okay." He wasn't even sure who he was trying to reassure with his words, as he held her close, trying to stop his own tears, with no success.
This hadn't gone the way she was expecting it to. He was supposed to be mad at her, she hadn't been trying to get him angry with his father. But she didn't know how to help that, so she just molded herself to his side. The tears weren't stopping - they felt like they might never stop - but at least it was in the open now. She didn't have to carry the secret anymore. "I gave her a name," she whispered, not sure whether he wanted to know that or not, but trying to share everything with him now.
"Mmm?" The questioning noise was all he could get out, to ask Quinn the name of the child. Part of him wasn't sure that he did want to know. That it would bring the reality of what he could never have, far too close. But the idea of never knowing anything about her, felt hopeless, somehow. He couldn't help but wonder a multitude of other things about her, things that he couldn't know exactly. He wanted to know what she looked like, whether she had Quinn's nose, his eyes, whether she was fair like her mother, or had a more olive skin tone, like her father. Neither of them would ever know what she'd look like as she grew and changed. They'd never know what her voice would sound like, or her laugh. Would she take after either of them, as far as her personality was concerned, or would she be more like whoever Quinn had given her to? And what were they like? He wanted to know what kind of people were raising their baby. He trusted Quinn to have made sure they were suitable parents, but that didn't help him be any less worried about it.
"I named her Beth. It was the only thing - the only part of me I could leave with her. Her name," Quinn cried bitter tears. "I only saw her once." She knew it wasn't fair to complain to Noah of all people, but she was drunk and feeling melancholy and bitter. Wondering, as she had since the first day, whether she'd done the right thing. She wasn't looking for validation, or acceptance, just...someone to listen. Someone who'd understand.
"Beth," he repeated quietly, as if testing the name out. He liked that name. He liked having something to refer to her as, other than "the baby", even in his head.
Only saw her once? He wasn't certain what she wanted from him. Sympathy? Or was she trying to rub it in, that he'd never gotten to see the only good thing he'd ever done, and never would? Was him yelling at her going to make her feel better? Either way, he wasn't going to indulge her. He didn't feel capable of either thing, right then. So he just sat there, continuing to cry a steady stream of pained tears, and clinging to her, trying to wring whatever comfort he could from the embrace.
She loved how it sounded from his mouth. Suddenly everything she'd decided all those months ago seemed poorly thought-out, and she was reminded why she hadn't come to him in the first place. It would have been too easy to fall into a trap, to be convinced that they could raise a child together, have that kind of life, when they (or at least she) weren't prepared for that.
She didn't have anything more to say, anything further to explain why she'd done what she'd done. She only pulled herself closer to him, crying softly and continuously against his chest.
He cried silent tears, until there were none left to cry, and even then, he sat there just sobbing softly for a while, his face buried Quinn's hair. He was exhausted, feeling like there was nothing left in him, he was completely empty. Hollow. The crying had been strangely soothing, but now it had stopped, he just felt lost, and somehow alone, even though Quinn was still right there.
Quinn lay there, feeling like they were a million miles apart. She knew she'd just fractured them, probably beyond repair, but she still felt a sense of relief that she'd finally got things out in the open. No matter what it cost her, at least there would be no more secrets.
"This sucks," he mumbled, not moving. He felt like if he did, it would signal the start of trying to do something terribly difficult. Carrying on.
"Yeah," she agreed in a whisper. "It really does." She made no effort to get up. It would feel a lot like goodbye, she knew, and she wasn't ready for that yet.
Puck tried, but failed to suppress a yawn. He was terrified of giving her an excuse to leave, but he'd inadvertently gone and done just that. She was going to get up and walk out of the room, taking every good thing he'd ever felt about her, with her. Then the next time he saw, or even thought about her, all he'd feel was bitterness and anger, maybe even hatred. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did. The idea actually felt a little like déjà vu, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
He locked his arms, firmly but gently behind Quinn's back, not permitting her to go anywhere. Five more minutes. He just wanted five more minutes before he had to let go. He began to tremble with the effort it took, not to cry again. He was losing everybody that he loved in the space of a single conversation; a daughter he hadn't known about until it was far too late, the man who'd raised him, and now Quinn. So this wasn't too much to ask, was it? Just a little longer? He was trying to let his actions speak for him, to plead her not to go just yet. But he was pretty sure that the words "don't leave me, Quinny... Please?" had escaped his lips, at some point. Even if they were barely audible.
She wasn't sure whether she'd heard him right - or even if he'd spoken, if she were honest - but the arms locked around her left little doubt about what he wanted. And she had no difficulty obliging him. She was in no shape to leave, and she knew that when she did things would never be the same. And so she simply molded herself to him, whispering softly in his ear. "I'm not leaving," she promised. "I'm still here."
The realization that he'd just lied to himself, surprised him more than it should have. Five minutes wasn't enough. But it had to be. He couldn't keep her here forever, no matter how much he wanted to. So, he mentally set a timer and blinked away tears, as he felt the clock running down on him, way too quickly.
She didn't think there was anything left to say - nothing she could do to make things better. And so she held him just as tightly, praying for something that would ease the hurt.
It seemed like only seconds had passed, but Puck knew the time he'd allotted himself was just about up. He forced himself to loosen his grip on Quinn, but kept his arms resting gently against her back. He hoped that she understood that she was now free to leave whenever she wanted, but also that he didn't want her to want to leave. That while she was still there, he could and would keep loving her.
It dawned on him that at some point they'd somehow moved, so that he was resting comfortably back on the couch cushions, and he could easily pull off pretending to be asleep. That way, he wouldn't have to watch the most important person in his life, walk out of it forever. But he quickly shook that idea off. Last time, he really had been asleep when she'd packed her things and walked out of the front door, in the early hours of the morning. This time, he was going to get to say what he would have wanted to say then, if he'd gotten a chance.
So he just stayed where he was, bracing himself for the goodbye, and waiting for Quinn's next move.
She understood that she had his permission. That she could get up, walk out, and the new phase of their lives - the one where he wouldn't even be able to look at her - could begin. And she knew it had to happen. But it didn't have to happen right this second, did it?
She curled herself more tightly against him, curling up and closing her eyes. Just a little while longer. She wasn't ready to be hated yet. She had enough people in her life that hated her already, she couldn't face another. Just a few more minutes was all she asked for.
Puck relaxed a little, and kissed the top of her head when it became apparent that she wasn't going anywhere with any particular urgency. He wanted to let her know that he understood.
He sighed and continued to take as much comfort from this as he could, while he had it, and try to give her some kind of comfort in return.
Between the alcohol in her system and the comfort and familiarity of the position they were in, Quinn found herself drifting in a place that wasn't quite sleep, but wasn't consciousness by any stretch. She began to cry again, not wracking sobs but just silent tears that slipped down her cheeks unnoticed. "Don't," she mumbled. "Please."
He didn't understand her, but talking wasn't really at the top of his list of things to do, right now. He just mumbled some sort of compliant sound to placate her.
"Just..." it came out as a breathy sigh, "don't hate me forever." She didn't even know she was talking, really, still drifting in that in-between place she occupied.
What was he supposed to say to that? I'll try not to? No. He could lie to her, for her own good. "Not forever," he whispered. Hell, it might even be true... But he wasnt sure.
"Thank you," she sighed, unconsciousness claiming her now his words had eased her mind. She hadn't meant to fall asleep - it was the last thing she'd had in mind - but she was drunk, sad and tired, and she couldn't keep herself from drifting off.
Was she... was she asleep? He waited a while, until her breathing started to even out, and he was sure that she wouldn't just leave as soon as he fell asleep, before letting himself start to drift. "Night Quinny. Love you," he whispered, before following her into an exhausted slumber.