A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews and alerts and favorites. I appreciate it more than you know. This chapter is a little shorter, but it was a good stopping point. This story is winding down, but it's still got several chapters left.

Thanks to Mandy for all of her help and to Becca for the beta and everyone else that read along the way. You're awesome, all of you. :)

Would like to point out that I do not own Glee, sadly, and I'm also not a medical professional, so any restrictions that Noah has might not be spot on. Kthanks.

After five days of being in the hospital, Puck was fucking over it already. He slept for shit because the damn adjustable bed was uncomfortable as all hell and he never got more than a couple hours at a time with the nurses walking in and waking him the fuck up to check his vitals. The food was disgusting; the only decent meal he'd had in the last five days was the burger and fries he'd threatened out of Chang's hands when that asshole came to visit.

In short, he was pissed off and ready to go the fuck home.

As he scowled at the gruel they tried to call breakfast on his tray, the door to his room opened and his mood improved instantly when Rachel walked in with a smile on her face and a paper bag in her hand. Yeah, his girl was fucking awesome like that. He dropped his fork and unceremoniously pushed the tray away before grinning at her. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Rachel said, her smile widening as she reached his bed. "I brought you some breakfast."

"Thank God," he groaned, snatching the bag from her hands like a greedy child before pulling her down for a kiss. "I'm so fucking hungry I feel like I've been in a concentration camp for weeks. Ooh, breakfast burrito. Score!"

"Noah!" Rachel admonished, her hands snapping to her hips, eyes narrowing.

"What?" he asked with his mouth full.

"How can you make such a horrible and insensitive joke about the atrocities committed against our people?"

Puck's forehead scrunched in concentration as he tried to remember what in the holy hell he'd just said. (Another thing he can thank the hospital for. Brain drain.) Oh. Oops. "Fuck's sake, babe, I was joking. Obviously I'm not down with Nazis. But look at that disgusting shit on my tray," he said, motioning to it and taking another enormous bite of the (delicious!) burrito she'd brought for him. "However this? S'really good," he mumbled. He swallowed and smiled up at her, watching the annoyance on her face fade away. "Thanks, babe."

Rachel lowered her hands and shook her head. It was hard to remain annoyed when he looked like he looked and said babe the way he did. She decided that was probably both a good and bad thing for their relationship. (Relationship. She was still getting used to that.) "You're welcome. Do you know if you're being released today?"

Inhaling the last of his burrito, he grunted, shrugged his shoulders. "If I don't I've already got my escape route planned. Your assistance will be required." He wadded up the wrapper and tossed it on the tray. "Seriously—I can't fucking handle one more night in this joint."

She perched on the edge of the bed and smoothed a hand over the thick stubble on his cheek. (She hadn't told him, but that intensely scruffy look on him was insanely hot.) His bruises had faded from black to yellow and the bandage above his eyebrow was gone, the gash there scabbed over. Overall, he looked a thousand times better than he had the day of his accident. "What's my part of your plan? Donning some scrubs and wheeling you out on a gurney?" she asked with a playful lilt to her voice.

Puck smirked and palmed her denim clad hip. "I was thinking more along the lines of a tight, black cat suit," he replied thickly.

Rachel laughed. "How would a cat suit be inconspicuous in sneaking you out of the hospital?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, a grin forming on his lips. "Was thinking you'd just look fucking hot in it and then I didn't get any further." She shook her head at him but giggled and pressed her lips warmly against his. "I can't wait to get out of here so I can have sex with my lady friend," he said lowly against her mouth. He chuckled when she pulled away and scowled at him.

"I don't care how many times you try and use that term to desensitize me to it, Noah, it's not funny."

"It's hilarious, Smalls." He poked at her face until she smiled. "But seriously, once I'm outta here, I'm taking you on a date and then we're gonna have sex and make this relationship all official like."

Rachel sighed and pressed her lips together to keep the smile from forming. "I was unaware that we weren't official until we had the sex," she said, amused.

"And a date," he reminded her. "'Cause I'm classy like that."

"Yes, if you look up class in the dictionary your picture is listed under the definition," she said dryly.

"Right?"

She rolled her eyes. "I was being facetious."

"Fa-what?" Rachel pushed to her feet and he grabbed her wrist, and chuckling, pulled her back down on the bed. "Relax, babe. I know what facetious means." (Honest, he did.)

The door to his room opened again and a middle aged nurse walked in.

"Yo, Betty," he greeted. "Am I getting' outta here today or what?" he asked, his hand resting comfortably high on Rachel's thigh.

"Yes, Mr. Puckerman you are," Betty replied, flashing them both a warm smile.

Rachel turned and smiled brightly at Noah. He smirked and squeezed her leg.

"I've got your discharge paperwork here and your prescriptions. I just spoke with the doctor and he gave me your discharge instructions. He wants to see you in a week to check your progress. I've included his office number, so call and set up an appointment. You're not to lift anything heavier than 40 pounds until the doc gives you the okay. And," she said, pausing to look up briefly at the patient and his girlfriend, "you are to refrain from sexual intercourse for the next four to six weeks."

Rachel's eyes went wide but she said nothing. She wanted to look at Noah's face, but she was afraid he'd kick her out of the room because she was sure she'd laugh.

Puck's face fell and any elation he felt previously over getting out of the damn hospital had been murdered. "Betty, you're not funny."

"I'm not joking. You sustained very serious injuries and you're recovering from surgery," she informed him matter-of-factly.

"So I can't have sex?" he asked, baffled.

"For four to six weeks, that is correct."

Four to six weeks? Un-fucking-acceptable. "Jerking off is still cool though, right? 'Cause four to six weeks without that—not happenin'."

Rachel closed her eyes and felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.

The nurse barked out a quick laugh and tried to mask it with a cough. "Masturbation is acceptable."

"Sweet," Puck said, nudging Rachel. "Means your mouth and hands are good, too," he told her, wagging his brows.

She gasped and felt her face flame and her temper flare. She wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole for embarrassing her so spectacularly.

"Mr. Puckerman, I suggest if you ever hope to have any part of your girlfriend's person touch you again that you shut your mouth and shut it now."

Puck's mouth snapped shut and he sat silently just blinking owlishly at the nurse. He could feel Rachel's body vibrating with laughter after the nurse 'put him in his place.' He didn't think it was very fucking funny at all and he suspected she wouldn't either once she was forced to endure a four-to-six-week drought of Puckzilla-style lovin'. Motherfucker.

"Smart boy," Betty laughed. "Just need you to sign these forms and you'll be free to leave."

He hastily scribbled his signature on all of the necessary forms and handed them back.

"Press the call button when you're ready and we'll bring a wheelchair down for you." With that, she turned on her crepe soled shoes and breezed out the door.

"No fucking for four to six weeks? Are they kidding me with this?" he groused, pushing his body up higher in the bed.

"Noah," she sighed, "you're recovering. It'll be fine." Though she wasn't entirely sure that she could last that long without him either.

Puck scoffed and rolled his eyes before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her towards him. "It's unfair, Rach. We just got shit figured out and now I can't have sex with my hot la—girlfriend. Could this day seriously get any worse?"

When the door opened at that exact moment and his mother and sister walked in arguing about ice cream flavors (no fucking lie) he wished he'd learn to keep his damn mouth shut once in a while.

"Rach, baby," he grumbled, pulling a pillow from behind his head and handing it to her, "just smother me now and put me out of my misery."

By the time he walked through the front door of his apartment, he wanted to take an ice pick, or a screwdriver, or any other pointy object and drive it through his temple. Rachel had called a cab and had it waiting downstairs for them at the hospital and because his mother was fucking cheap and Rachel was too nice to say no, the four of them had shared the cab from Lenox Hill to his apartment while his mother blathered on and on about stupid shit that absolutely no one, least of all Ranjit the cabbie, cared about.

He wanted his bed. He wanted sleep. And he wanted both now. (He also wanted quiet, but with Rose and Sarah all up in his apartment, he fucking knew better.)

Rachel's hand came to the small of his back and gently nudged him towards his bedroom. She shut the door behind them, drowning out the chatter in the living room. She leaned against the door and huffed out a long, exasperated breath before lifting her eyes to his, which were decidedly amused.

"Intense, right?" he asked knowingly, toeing off his shoes.

That was definitely one word to describe them, she thought. And as nice as she found his mother and sister, the last few days with them had been a little…overwhelming. Still, her relationship with Noah was too new and she couldn't very well insult his family to his face. (There were lines you just didn't cross.) "I just need a minute," she told him honestly.

"They're batshit crazy, babe, I know. You can say it." He sat down on the bed and ran his hand over his jaw. He needed to shave, but he'd also noticed the hot way Rachel'd been eyeing it and how she'd run her hand over his face a little more often than she normally would. Maybe he'd just keep it for a while.

"I do not think that," Rachel insisted, pushing her body away from the door and running her fingers through her hair. She walked over and stood between his legs, brushing her thumbs over the sides of his face.

(Oh yeah, definitely keeping the scruff for a while.) "Wanna take a nap with me?" he asked, yawning hugely.

She really did. More than anything. But his mother and sister (mostly his mother) were in the living room. "No," she shook her head and his face soured. "You know that I do, but your family's in the living room," she told him quietly, resting her hands on his shoulders, smiling when his hands smoothed up the backs of her thighs to rest on her backside. "And you need to rest," she added when he opened his mouth to protest. "I'll be here when you wake up. Okay?"

Puck nodded, too tired to argue, and tugged on her sweater until she lowered her mouth to his. He caught her bottom lip between his and kissed her slowly. "You better be," he told her.

It was dark and quiet when he woke up from his nap. Rolling over, he glanced at the clock, realizing that he'd been asleep for close to five hours. Hell, that wasn't a nap, it was a mini-coma. He listened closely, expecting to hear his mother's voice reverberating throughout the apartment or his sister bitching about something. But the only thing he heard was some music playing softly in the living room. He half wondered if his mom and sister had driven Rachel so completely crazy that she'd ended up silencing them for good. Pushing to his feet he carefully stretched his arms overhead, wincing when his left side burned. He needed a shower and some pain medicine. His stomach growled and he added food to that short list.

Opening his bedroom door, his mouth watered from the delicious smells wafting from his kitchen. He saw Rachel standing at the counter putting a salad together and singing along quietly to the old country song playing on the stereo. She looked up from the kitchen and paused, smiling warmly at him. He felt a crooked grin tug at the corner of his mouth and he walked closer to her.

"How was your nap?" she asked as she resumed dicing up a tomato.

"Good." He glanced around the apartment and noticed that it was now spotless. He remembered it looking like a hovel when he walked in earlier (thanks to his freeloading sister, no doubt). "Did you off Ma and Sarah? S'quiet in here. And really clean."

Rachel put down her knife and looked up at him, noting that he looked a lot more refreshed after his nap. "I spent the afternoon grocery shopping and making some meals for you with your mother while Sarah painted her nails and filled me in on the reason she fled the great state of Ohio—he sounds like a piece of garbage, if you ask me—and then your mother started ranting at her in Yiddish about her dating a goy in the first place and then being so lazy—something about how did she ever expect to become a good Jewish wife if she didn't even know how to run a household. Sarah said "God Rose, don't plotz," and then your mother got very quiet and had this really intense look on her face, which, if I'm being completely honest with you, is a bit terrifying. Your sister flew off the couch and started cleaning, which was amusing, but really rather pointless as your mother went right along behind her and redid everything anyway." She sighed and resumed chopping vegetables. Then she smirked and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "After all that mishegas I got them tickets to see Wicked and sent them to dinner at Lattanzi. They left about an hour ago."

"Christ, you're good. Thanks for not running away screaming," he said, only half teasing. He walked into the kitchen, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "What smells so damn good in here?"

"Manicotti and garlic knots," she answered sweetly. "And I made a cheesecake for dessert. Oh, and if you need more pain pills, I got your prescription filled while I was out shopping." She gestured to the bottle of pills on the counter and felt him smile against her hair.

"I hit the fucking jackpot in the girlfriend lottery," he mused, pressing a noisy kiss to her cheek and making her chuckle softly. He lowered his hands to her waist and snuck his fingers under the hem of her sweater to brush against the soft skin of her stomach. "I'm gonna grab a quick shower and wash this hospital funk off."

Rachel tipped her head back and kissed the underside of his jaw. "Okay. Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes."

He popped a pain pill as he left the kitchen and winked roguishly at her on his way to the shower. Her answering smile was coy and he would swear a little naughty. He shook his head and cursed the doctor's four-to-six-week-sex-ban. Asshole.

Showers at the hospital had been a fucking joke, so the strong, hot spray from the shower in his apartment felt like heaven as it rained down over his body. Steam billowed around him, fogging up the glass door, and his thoughts turned to his sexy girlfriend (he was still getting used to that term, but he liked it) in the kitchen making dinner. Puck once again cursed his injuries, because he'd much rather have her naked in here with him. He knew from experience just how fun showers with Rachel were.

His left side throbbed when he twisted to grab the bar of soap and as much as he hated the doctor's orders, he knew there really was no way he could have sex right now. Even though his brain may have understood that, his body had other ideas and betrayed him by making his dick hard. He hadn't gotten off in…way too many days. Grumbling, again, about just how long four-to-six weeks was, he closed his eyes and conjured up images of wet and naked Rachel, pretending it was her hand that was stroking him off. (Again, he knew from experience just how good she was with her hands…and her mouth and…)

Once he'd found release, he switched the water to icy fucking cold.

No sex with his girlfriend for four-to-six weeks.

Fuck his life.

Rachel had just finished setting the table and pouring a glass of wine for herself (she thought it well-deserved after the day with Rose and Sarah) when the bathroom door opened and she heard Noah asking for her. She sipped her wine and padded through the apartment, sure that he was about to flirt and make suggestive comments. (She didn't mind.) She also didn't mind the sight of his naked back that was still damp from his shower and the white towel slung low around his hips. (Her boyfriend was gorgeous.)

What she did mind, and didn't expect, were the bruises she saw along his ribs and the pink incision from his surgery when he turned around to face her. It made her throat clench and dry up. She hadn't seen him without his shirt since the accident and she felt a little foolish for thinking that he wouldn't have marks on his body considering the ones that were still on his face.

Puck held up an ace bandage. "Can you…?" he asked quietly. "I can't get it wrapped tight enough on my own." He'd tried, but doing it on his own required too much twisting and that hurt too damn much. He didn't want to be a pussy and ask, but he knew by now that she wouldn't find him weak in doing so.

Rachel nodded silently and set her wineglass on the sink. Taking the bandage from his hand, she raised her eyes to his. "Lift up your arms," she murmured.

He did as she instructed, resting them on her shoulders and letting his fingers comb through her hair. Her hands were soft and warm on his skin as she wrapped the bandage around his ribcage. She had a determined look on her face while she worked; her jaw was tensed and her brows pinched together. It shouldn't have been adorable, but it was on her. "Pull it a little tighter," he instructed. Her expression softened and she turned her big, gorgeous eyes on him, nodding wordlessly again before focusing on the task at hand.

When she finished securing the bandage, she patted her palms gently against his chest. "Okay."

Puck rested his hands on top of hers. "Thanks," he smiled down at her, reaching out to smooth the hair back away from her face. She smelled like apples today and she just looked so pretty, standing in her jeans and sweater and bare feet in his bathroom, her brown eyes blinking up at him. "You're good at this," he rasped quietly. Her left eyebrow arched in question. "At being my girl."

Rachel's pulse raced from his words and her lips curved slowly into a warm smile. She liked these rare, quiet moments with him when he was being utterly sweet. She rose onto her toes and laid her lips over his, just to let him know.

"Soon as I'm feeling better, babe, I'm gonna kick ass and take names at this boyfriend bidness."

And just like that, the quiet moment was over. But, as the dry laugh escaped her lips, she decided she liked these moments with him just as much. (Maybe slightly more.) "Oh, you're already better than you think, Noah," she told him, tilting her head and smiling coyly up at him through her lashes. He smirked proudly at that. She grabbed her wineglass and patted his chest again. "Dinner's ready."

"K, babe. Jus' gotta put some clothes on." He watched her reflection in the mirror and she was, without a doubt, totally checking him out. Her eyes eventually traveled their way north and he smirked knowingly when their eyes met, grinned when her cheeks turned pink. She turned and headed for the kitchen. Puck stepped out of the bathroom, his fingers hooked into the towel at his waist. "Hey, Rachel?" he asked impishly.

Rachel wheeled around and the towel he'd been wearing hit her in the face.

"Mind hanging that up for me?" He smirked again and turned to walk into his room. Glancing over his shoulder he saw her staring wide-eyed and mouth agape. He grinned and strutted into his bedroom. It was nice to know he wasn't going to be the only one having a hard time during their sex-free period.

A/N 2: I promise Finn and Quinn will return in the next chapter. Thanks for being patient.