"Fellow Students of McKinley- has rebel-without-a-cause and self-proclaimed badass Puck been reduced to a shell of his former self? So it would seem by the scene witnessed after school in our very own hallowed halls, where multiple sources have alleged the fearsome jock chasing after one delicious Ms. Rachel Berry (whom, if you remember, was herself subject to unconfirmed reports of obsessively pursuing the aforementioned footballer recently). No clarification on what the conversation between the two entailed, but according to one fellow jock, Puckerman "looked like a goddamn pussy". Has the resident sex stud of William McKinley lost his touch? Or has Rachel Berry's siren spell caught another helpless Jew in its snare?"
Puck felt like he was in Bizarro World. First off, his own badassness was being called into question when he noticed the nerds, geeks, dweebs, and general lesser half of McKinley watched him with curiosity instead of with fear (damn JewFro and his creeper tendencies). Even more so when he found himself opposite Quinn in the halls. They stood in a face-off, her expression first triumphant, basking in his pain, then suddenly flashing in fear as Finn came between them, pulling her into a tight embrace and kissing the top of her corn-silk head. It was as if she just realized in that moment that he could easily destroy her relationship and reputation.
What surprised Puck was that he didn't care about any of it anymore—period. Even though he knew that people thought he was kind of a pansy now from the shit that went down in the hallway (though they still were smart enough to look away when his gaze passed over them), and it was all that damn blonde bitch's fault: he didn't want to ruin her, and he didn't want to hurt Finn. Because it wasn't like any of it was going to help him get Rachel back. And who fucking cared about Quinn Fabray anyways?
And then there was Rachel herself. She wouldn't speak to him; wouldn't even speak near him if she could help it (and when she couldn't, it was in concise, clipped tones). She ghosted around him as if he didn't exist. He never thought about how used he was to Rachel speaking. Even before he'd been outted in this whole mess, she'd been talking at, near, or to him constantly. He'd always said he'd like to pull her plug, but, now that it was all but gone, he found himself really missing the sound of her voice.
He tried the Berry method of fixing things—he'd actually manned up and sang in Glee. Sang to her. But possibly for the first time since he'd known her, music failed to move her and his I'm sorry by Buckcherry fell on deaf ears.
Puck thought hard as he lay sprawled out on his bed that night. Maybe he was going about this all wrong—trying to fix the relationship he and Rachel had before. That relationship, while safe and awesome for him, was built on secrecy and half-truths. The foundation was shaky because only one of them-Rachel- had been doing all of the work. Now he had to show her that he was all in, and (as she had so often told him) actions spoke louder than words.
So what did he want? Well, best-case scenario was Rachel back, preferably naked. But, considering what had gone down in the last few days, that was really stretching the game in term of possibilities. So what was the bare minimum of what he needed? Puck rolled onto his stomach.
What he needed, he realized, was Rachel to forgive him. To believe he was still capable of being a worthwhile human being- because if she believed it, then he knew he could figure shit out. Because if she believed it, it had a chance of being true. Really? He just needed to know someone like her could believe it. So now he just needed to figure out how to get her to do that.
Rachel walked out of her classroom toward her locker. School had finally ended, and she just wanted to go home, draw a bubble bath with lots of therapeutic salts and scented candles, and make some herbal tea to soothe the non-stop ache she'd felt for the last week. Ever since the truth about Noah—Puck, she corrected herself sternly: Noah had never existed—had come out, she'd felt like her heart had been ripped out of her chest and was left with a dull, throbbing void.
When she reached her locker, she sighed inwardly as Kurt and Mercedes stood against the row of metal doors waiting for her.
She turned her mouth upward into a smile. "Hello Kurt; Mercedes," she greeted them. "Is there something I can assist you with? Though I must inform you that I'm expected home soon so whatever it is will have to be quick—"
"Nothing like that, Diva," Mercedes interjected smiling.
Kurt looked like he was ready to explode. "Notice anything different today?"
Rachel thought back to her day—class, quiz, class, lunch, movie about bugs, study hall, class. "Not really," she admitted.
He sighed exasperatedly. "What are you wearing?" he pressed.
The brunette sighed; she wasn't in the mood for Kurt coming down on her outfit of choice today. "Kurt, regardless of your, quote, 'flawless taste', I'll have you know I am quite content with my choices in apparel—"
"My taste is impeccable," Kurt interrupted impatiently. "But what I meant is which outfit are you wearing?"
Rachel's eyes widened as she realized what Kurt was trying to tell her: the school day had ended, and she was still in the outfit she'd arrived to school in. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen any new graffiti or vandalism or been the butt of any particular prank. She'd gone through her day (and the last three days, now that she thought about it) without any of the harassment that usually accompanied her school schedule.
"Why?" she whispered, as if afraid that speaking any louder the jocks would realize they'd been remiss and trigger a pent-up response.
"Finn," Kurt exclaimed giddily. "I heard he found out about the more pointed attacks and called them out on it." He smiled, mock swooning over their bari-tenor lead.
"I heard that he, Mike, Matt, and Puck went and dumped a gallon of slushie on some key jocks to send a message," Mercedes told her.
Rachel looked at both of them, their eyes gleaming as they continued gossiping about possible tactics used by the Glee jocks to change their status, but said nothing. She had a lot on her mind.
Rachel had forgone her bubble bath and tea therapy session. It irritated her, but some things were more important. As she knocked forcefully on the white front door, she despised her decision that this was one of them.
Finn Hudson appeared on the other side, staring at her curiously. "Rachel?" he asked, looking around as if he thought she was a decoy. "What's up?"
"It was brought to my attention the sudden decrease in harassment undertaken by the elite social hierarchy at our school to myself and fellow Glee members, and I was informed that your influence played a major role," she stated, watching his face scrunch up in puzzlement as he tried to follow her sentence. She sighed. "Kurt said that you told the jocks to stop slushy-ing us, among other things," she clarified.
Finn's face relaxed in understanding, then flushed slightly as he replied, "Well, that's not exactly what happened."
Puck slowly approached Finn in the locker room, hovering by his locker. Finn looked up at his friend in question, and tilted his head curiously as he watched the self-proclaimed badass take a deep breath.
"Dude, your girlfriend's a bitch," he began, though the next part of his speech was cut off by the lanky boy shoving him against the locker, his face reddened and furious as he loudly objected to the term of choice.
"I'm serious man," the olive-toned boy insisted. "She's been making Berry's life a living hell."
The quarterback's expression didn't soften. "You're the one that's been making Rachel miserable, asshole" he retorted. "Quinn's the one who's been trying to help."
"No man," Puck told him, his face somber as his eyes locked onto his friend's. "She hasn't. I'm not saying I haven't been doing all the wrong things when it comes to Berry, but Quinn's been treating her like shit since junior high." He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Especially now, with...well, everything that's been going on."
Finn shook his head slowly, letting go of the other and sitting on the bench as he tried to grasp the situation. He knew that Quinn didn't particularly like Rachel, but it had never occurred to him that she hated the girl.
Puck sat next to him. "She loves you—she'll listen to you," he told him. "She's the fucking queen of this goddamn school. Everything that's been going on could stop if you could convince her."
The gawky teen said nothing, trying to figure out how he'd missed all of this; how Puck, who barely tolerated Glee club, who always claimed giving a shit was for pussies, had gotten it so easily. He'd hardly noticed his friend stand to leave until he realized the guy was frozen, staring at him while he tried to voice something.
"Just promise you'll try man?" His face looked earnest, and the quarterback couldn't help but nod.
That night he'd sat down with Quinn and they'd had the longest discussion in their relationship. It started with a lot of yelling and for once Finn had stood his ground, allowing it to end with Quinn promising to use her influence to help her gleemates to the best of her abilities. And then of course it had been followed with a lot of kissing and various other activities that made his jeans tighten just thinking about.
"So you see," Finn finished, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm glad I could help, but I was just the go-between." He watched as Rachel, wide-eyed and stunned, thanked him again (though somewhat distractedly) and quickly made her way home.