"He called you" Henry said as he woke her up at 6:15.

"What?" she asked, sleepily. "Who?"
"Puck. He called you at 3 am. I woke up and saw it on your phone."

She groaned as she reached across him to pick the phone up from the nightstand. He had been right. Puck had called, once. At 3:13. He hadn't left a message. She didn't even know why she had saved his number. He had said something about if she got lost in the forest again and she had laughed and it had been stupid. But she hadn't thought that he would call.

"Okay" she said, getting up.

"Okay?" he asked. "That's it? You're not even going to try to explain this to me?"
"What is there to explain?" she asked. "He called me. I didn't wake up. He didn't call again."
Henry stared at her as she pulled off her sleeping t-shirt before making her side of the bed. She decided not to look back at him.

"I thought... I thought you're little fling was over" he said. "I thought I made it clear that… And you said-"
"It is" she said. "I don't know why he called and I won't find out."
"You haven't called him since you came back?"
"No."

She went into the bathroom to pee. When she came back, he was fully dressed and still annoyed. She ignored him as she dressed. She had done a lot of things wrong but this one was entirely on Puck. It was not her doing.

"Does he understand that you two are over?" Henry asked. "Does he understand that you are with me?"

"Yes" she replied.

"Then why did he call you? In the middle of the night?"
She sighed.

"I don't know. Do you want me to call him up and ask?"
Henry clenched his jaw. In some way it was satisfying to see him fight to stay composed.

"No" he said. "No… Let's not… Let's hope he doesn't call again."

"Yeah" she said.

They ate breakfast in silence. Quinn had the phone in pocket of her pants. She could almost feel it burning her skin through the fabric. Why had he called? Why had he called so late? Was something wrong? She wouldn't call back. She couldn't do it to Henry. But she wondered.

"Bye" she said to Henry half an hour later. "See you later."

"You're not going out again tonight?" he asked sarcastically. "Some more wine with Santana?"

She ignored the harsh tone in his voice.

"No" she replied. "Tonight, I'm going to study."
"Good."

"Yes" she said. "Good."
She left the apartment and inhaled the heavy New York spring air. He had called her. Why? Why hadn't he left a message if he had something to say? She called Santana.

"What?" she muttered sleepily.

"Did Puck call you?" Quinn asked.

"What?"

"Did Puck call you in the middle of the night?"
"No, he doesn't love me as he loves you, sadly."
"Could you call him? To see if everything is okay?"

"Of course everything is okay" Santana groaned. "He's just a little in love with you."
"Something serious could have happened."

"No" Santana said. "This isn't another Finn situation. If he called you in the middle of the night, it's because he loves you, not because someone died."

"Couldn't you make sure?"
Santana groaned even louder.

"Bye, Quinn" she said.

"Please?"
"Bye."
She hung up. Quinn stared at her blank display. She was fifteen minutes late for work and had to sprint up the stairs to be in before her boss.

…

It was Steve who woke him up the next morning. Puck had fallen asleep, slumped over the desk filled with bills and invoices. If it had been messy before, it was nothing in comparison to what it looked now.

"Come on, man" Steve groaned. "You slept here?"
"Yeah" was all Puck could muster.

His shoulder pulsed with pain. He began to pat his pockets, looking for his pills. They were gone. He must have left them at the bar or at that girl's. He couldn't even remember her name. Had he even asked for it?

"You look like shit."
"Believe me, I feel worse."
Puck stood up. He was unsteady on his feet, still drunk. Incapable to any work, again. If he kept this up, he would get fired in a week.

"Should I drive you home?" Steve offered.

Puck nodded.

"Or, drive to a pharmacy. I need more pain pills."
Steve frowned at him in a concerned way that Puck had never seen him look before. They were almost friends, the kind of friends that could eat lunch together without it ever being weird and could go out drinking on Fridays. They didn't know each other well.

"You sure, man?"
"Yeah" Puck said. "I mean, I dislocated my shoulder and now I've slept on it. It hurts like fuck."
"You probably shouldn't have been drinking yesterday if you had taken pills."
"Probably."
Steve drove him to the nearest pharmacy but Puck wasn't allowed another tube of pills. His doctor had only prescribed one and the pharmacist didn't seem to believe his explanation about losing it. Maybe it was because he looked like shit, like addict or something.

"No luck" he told Steve.

"Sleep it off, man."

"I will."

He walked up the stairs to his apartment on unsteady feet. How could he still be drunk? Steve must have been right about mixing pills and alcohol. He couldn't fit the lock in the keyhole and gave up in a frustrated cry. Without contemplation, he knocked on Cindy's door. She opened in the robe again.

"Can you help me unlock my door?" he asked.

She looked at him with a look filled of disgust and compassion.

"What have you done?"

"I got drunk yesterday."

"And you're still drunk?"
"Seems so."
She let him in and when she turned the doorway, he took her hand.

"Stay with me" he begged.

"I need to get ready. I'm due at work in a few hours."
"Just stay, please."
It wasn't fair. He knew that she was in love with him. It wasn't fair to use her. He just didn't want to be alone. She agreed and lay next to him on his bed. She kissed his neck, his cheek, his mouth. All he could think that she must really love him if she could kiss him when he was in this state.

"Go to sleep" she whispered. "Everything will feel better when you wake up."
He doubted it.

…

"I need to get going" Cindy whispered.

He didn't know how long he had been asleep but through the window, the sun was blazing. It must almost be midday.

"Okay" he said.

She bit her lip, probably wanting him to say something else.

"Thank you" he said. "For staying with me."
"Of course. Anytime."
She smiled. She played with the string of fabric that tied her robe. Did she want to take it off?

"Could you pull down the blinds?" he asked.

She did. The room was darker now. It soothed his head which now was hurting almost as bad as his shoulder.

"Cindy-" he said, trailing off.

"Yes?"
"You should get to work."

She nodded. He should tell her about Quinn. He should tell that it didn't matter how much she tried, he would never be able to love her. He should but not now.

"I didn't think you were the type to get drunk on a weekday" she said.

"Really?" he smiled. "Some of the people I know are probably surprised that I don't get drunk every Monday."
"They can't really know you then."

"No, well, they don't know the grownup me at least."
She sat down on the edge of the bed, still playing with that rope thing. Didn't she need to get to work?

"I can tell that something is wrong" she said. "I could tell the moment we met in the hallway that other day and you… I could just tell."

"It's fine, Cindy. Promise."
"You can talk to me" she insisted.

"It's nothing."
She reached out and patted his cheek. The touch was supposed to be soothing but it just irked him. He wanted to her to leave so that he could shower.

"Is work okay?" she pressed on.

"Cindy, you don't really want to know."

"Yes, I do" she insisted.

He closed his eyes for a second. He need aspirin and a cold shower and to sleep in front of the TV for a few more hours. That would take care of the hangover.

"It's love" he said, simply. "I'm in love with someone who's never going to be with me."
Her face fell. Puck had never really understood that saying until just now. She looked like she was about to cry.

"A girl?"
"Yeah."
"Did you just meet her or…"

"No, or yes, I just met her again. At the reunion. But I've been in love with for like twelve years or so."
Cindy sat absolutely still. No playing with the rope that tied the robe. No biting of lip. He reached out to pat her hand.

"You should get to work" he said.

She nodded but didn't leave.

"Did you want me to stay with you today because you missed her?" she accused.

"I was drunk. I was lonely."
"Is that a yes?"
"I guess so."
She left after that and Puck wondered if it was the last time he would ever see inside his apartment.

…

It was both easy and hard to slip back into routines. It was easy because she knew it so well and it was easy because she really did need to study for her exam. It was difficult because she kept thinking about him. The way he looked at her. The way she had felt. His phone call. She found herself sitting at the dinner table with Henry, watching him speak about something and think about Puck. Of their history. Of the time they had fought after Finn died. Of the phone call. Damn it. She wished that he hadn't called.

She didn't go over to Santana's again. It felt like a deceit towards Henry to leave him in order to talk about Puck, which Quinn knew that she would do if she got the chance. She asked if Henry wanted to come with her one of Rachel's shows but he wasn't interested musical theatre so she didn't go either. Every night, they sat quietly next to each other and did their work. Sometimes he played soft jazz. Sometimes they had the news on in the background. Sometimes it was just quiet. She sat at her desk and stared at her books and felt bad for not wanting to sit like this for the rest of her life.

She did pass the bar. On her first try, two weeks after the week at Rachel's lake house. As she walked from the examination hall, all she could feel was relief. Being a lawyer would award her a higher salary, even if her work duties wouldn't really change. Henry bought expensive champagne and they toasted in the kitchen. He kissed her, for real, for the first time since she had gotten back. She felt relief about that too and kissed him with more force than he had probably bargained for. They had sex that night and when Quinn woke the next morning, she wondered if he had only done as a celebratory gift to her or because he only wanted her when she was successful.

"We're going out" Santana announced as Quinn opened the door the next day.

"What?"
"We're going out to celebrate" she said. "You passed your bar thing! Let's get drunk on champagne."

Henry was on the couch. Quinn could feel his gaze on her back. She knew how he saw Santana; as a shallow and stupid gold digger with no respect for the arts.

"I've already changed into my sweats" Quinn said lamely.

"Well, change" Santana sighed. "Quinn, it's Friday night! And don't even think about blaming schoolwork because now you're finally done with it."
"Henry made dinner."
"Okay. Eat and then we'll leave."

It was impossible to say no and Quinn didn't really want to either. She did want to celebrate. She didn't have to talk about Puck, she told herself. Maybe Santana wouldn't even ask.

Sharing the dinner table with both Henry and Santana was not Quinn's most comfortable dinner. They disliked each other equally and neither tried to hide it. Quinn fell quiet as they asked each other pointed questions; her about him being old and him about her being a celebrity slut. Quinn looked between them and wondered how she could love two people who were so different.

"What do you think, Quinn?" Henry asked her when he and Santana had disagreed about the role of product placement in network TV.

They both looked expectantly at her. She mumbled something about it being necessary because of the decreasing amount of traditional TV viewers but that it compromised the cultural experience; hoping that it would please them both. Instead, neither of them looked satisfied.

"Let's get going" Santana said. "Rachel's show is about to start."

"We're going to that?"

"Yeah, you want to see it, right? I know you backed out on tickets just a week ago but you promised her that you would go."

"I did."
Quinn went into the bedroom to add another layer of mascara and Henry followed her. He placed a hand on the small of her back and kissed her neck.

"I love you" he said.

"I love you too" she said, surprised at his affections.

"But I hate her."
"I know. It's not like you're hiding it."
"She's a bad influence on you" he murmured.

"I'm not a child."
They had had this discussion many times over the years. It never ended well. It never ended in anything except that Quinn became annoyed but still didn't see Santana again for a while.

"Tell me to have fun and be safe" she begged him.

"What?"

"That's what you're supposed to do. Not tell me that you hate my best friend. Tell me to be safe and have fun and that you'll wait up. Or something."
He looked strangely at her.

"Okay" he said slowly. "Be safe. Have fun. But I won't wait up."

…

The show was great. Of course. And Rachel was great. It felt like déjà vu; seeing her performing on a stage. Quinn had heard her singing voice so many times over the years, singing everything from Opera to Hip hop. She knew her acting, knew her facial expressions, recognized her every movement. It almost made Quinn feel weepy seeing up on a Broadway stage. All that practice in Glee had led to something. It was satisfying in a way that Quinn had never thought of before.

They went out afterwards, Santana holding one of Quinn's arms and Rachel holding the other. It was the first really nice evening of spring in New York and they sat outside and drank out of fancy glasses.

"You were wonderful" Quinn said and wondered if it was the first time she had complemented Rachel in an honest way.

"I've seen that fucking show so many times" Santana said. "And I still like it. So, I guess it counts for something."
Rachel waved their praise away. Her cheeks were still flushed with the excitement of being on stage. Quinn envied her. That was her job. Quinn's job was getting headaches over cases that involved the merging of two companies. She never left the office flushed with happiness. Henry did sometimes, if he had started a great discussion in class or if he had had a break-through in his research. Santana would too, if she got to do some real acting.

"When are you going to California?" Quinn asked.

"Two weeks. God, I'm excited. And scared. What if I mess up all my shots?"
"Aren't you only in like one?" Quinn teased.

Santana rolled her eyes and ordered them another bottle of wine. Rachel told a story about a taxi driver who had asked her out and was coming to the show on Monday. It was strange to hear him talking about someone that wasn't Finn.

"What about you, Quinn?" Rachel asked. "How is Henry?"
Santana snorted loudly.

"I'm not going to talk about him with you" Quinn said.

"Why not?" Rachel asked, actually looking affronted.

"Because you hate him on principle."
"I don't hate him" Rachel argued.

"And I don't hate him on principle" Santana said. "I just had dinner with him. I hate him from experience."

Quinn just shook her head. She would not let Santana influence her opinion about her own partner. She did not know them or their relationship. Santana didn't understand the feeling of safety Quinn felt when she was with him.

"Santana, please don't" she said.

"Fine."

Rachel filled the silence once again. She seemed to never run out of stories to tell. Quinn leaned back and listened. She tried to laugh at the right places but the feeling of irritation and dread had already filled her. Why would Santana say something like that? Quinn would never say that she hated one of Santana's girlfriends. And why did Quinn care what she thought? She never had before.

…

Santana had to take a call and left Quinn and Rachel alone. They had finished the second bottle of wine. Quinn had had enough of alcohol for one night. She didn't want to come home drunk.

"She doesn't mean it" Rachel said. "She doesn't really hate him."

"I know" Quinn said. "She doesn't know him well enough. But she hates the idea of him."
"She only wants what's best for you."

"She thinks that he is too old."

"Don't you?" Rachel asked.

She had a habit of tilting her head to one side as she asked questions. Her eyes were widened. She looked like a mix between a shrink and a concerned mother. In High School, Quinn had always hated that look since she was convinced that it was insincere. Now she wasn't so sure. Rachel really did seem to care.

"He is older."

"True."

"I mean, he had another life before me. He had a family and a house with a garden. He went to little league practices and celebrated anniversaries with his wife."

"I think that would bother me" Rachel said.

"He's done with drama. So am I. I like that."

"I can understand that."

"I'm not scared that we will fight and he will leave me. I know that he will always come home at the end of the night. Isn't that what you want from a relationship?"

Rachel shrugged. Her bangs flopped as she did. Quinn should ask her how she felt about Finn. If she wasn't dating anyone because of him. Still. After all these years. She would, she promised. Later.

"A feeling of security shouldn't be underestimated" Rachel agreed.

"But?"

"But… I don't think that it is all I want from a relationship."

They turned quiet as Santana came back to the table. She sighed loudly as she sat down.

"Puck's drunk" she announced. "Again."
Quinn looked away. At the people on the street. At the streetlights. At the sky. Anywhere but at Santana.

"Does he have a problem?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah" Santana replied. "But not an alcohol problem. He's a little depressed, I suppose."
"Maybe he should talk to someone."

"Yeah, he should talk to every girl he brings home instead of fucking her."

Quinn closed her eyes. She didn't want to hear this. And of course she wanted to hear more.

"We all handle our issues in different ways" Rachel mumbled.

Quinn could picture him with other girls. Pretty girls with red hair or black hair or brown hair. She could see him kissing them and bringing them home to his apartment. She could imagine what they would do in this bed and how he would wrap his arms around her. It made her feel sick.

"He's never mentioned calling you in the middle of the night, Quinn" Santana said. "It must have been a drunk dial or something."
"Okay" Quinn said.

…

His shoulder was healing nicely. It was the only good thing. Everything else sucked. He drank too much and stayed too long at bars and made out with too many girls. Some of them he brought home, some of them he even brought home more than once. But he never remembered their names. Jane. Susan. Amy. He had their numbers in his phone but he didn't know who was who. Every time he called them over, it was a surprise to see who was there when he opened the door.

Cindy ignored him if they ran into each other on the landing. Puck didn't blame her. She eyed the blonde girl who was drunkenly holding on to his arm and stepped into her place. He had never thought that he would turn back into being this person. It was high school Puck who had fucked too many girls he hadn't cared about. But it was fitting, he guessed, because back then, it had also been about Quinn. Life was a circle and all that.

…

He drove to Lima on Friday night. His mother fed him food that actually tasted something. They watched some talent show on the couch.

"Why are you unhappy?" she asked.

"Why do think I'm unhappy?"
"A mother can always tell."
"I'm fine" he promised.

"Is it a girl?"

He sighed.

"Mom…"
They watched a girl sing "Halo" in the wrong key. She cried whilst she sang. It was very emotional moment, it seemed.

"I worry about you" his mother said.

"Why?"
"Do you have any friends up there?" she asked. "A girlfriend?"

"I have friends" he replied. "The guys who work at the shop."

"What about a girlfriend, Noah?" she pressed on. "When I was your age, I had two children."

"But no husband" he reminded her softly.

She gave him a scolding look but it had been years since his father had been touchy subject. They had all accepted that he was asshole. There was no point in being sad about it.

"I should be worrying about you" he told his mother. "How are you coping with Hannah being gone?"
His mother shook her head at him, waving her finger.

"Don't change the subject."
"I'm not, I'm just asking."

"I am well, Noah. I have work and a new house. I have friends and family here."

"No boyfriend?" he teased.

She shook her head at him again but he could see her smiling.

"It's nice that we worry about each other" he said.

"You're my son, I'll worry about you until the day I die."

"If I don't get married?" he asked.

"No" she sighed. "Then I'll probably worry even more. And grandkids, God, I don't want to think about it."

"You already have a grandchild" he said.

"Well, I'm not allowed to worry about her, am I?" his mother replied.

He shrugged. He didn't worry about Beth anymore. He thought about her but never worried.

"I met Quinn" he said. "At the reunion."'

"Oh."

It wasn't a polite oh. It was an oh of realization. Puck wished that he had kept his mouth shut. He was a terrible liar. Always had been.

"I mean, since we were talking about Beth" he hurried to say.

"Right" his mother said.

Another girl was on the TV-screen now. She told the camera that she had once lived on the street. Tears were welling up in her eyes. Why was everything crying tonight?

"Did you fight?" his mother asked, not taking her eyes from the screen.

"Yeah" he replied. "And no. We fought in the beginning. And then, we didn't."

"You haven't mentioned her in years. I mean, years, Noah."

"I know."

"And now you bring her up, just like that."

"It's not just like that."

He got up and made popcorn in the kitchen. He never remembered to buy popcorn himself. And anyway, eating it alone was a bit sad. However, eating it on his mother's couch was a tradition,

"You're almost thirty" she began.

"I'm not" he argued.

"Closer to thirty than twenty."

"What's your point?"
"If you and Quinn haven't worked it out yet, do you really think you ever will?"

He knew that his mother liked Quinn. She loved him more, of course, and always picked his side when they had fought. But she liked Quinn. She knew that she was a good person. She had been upset when they had broken up eight years ago. Or nine.

"Probably not" he replied.

She turned to look at him, ignoring the homeless girl singing a Madonna song.

"You've given up?"
He shrugged and stuffed his mouth with popcorn. He had forgotten the salt. Popcorn was tasteless without salt.

…

He walked the streets of Lima. He had kissed her on many of these streets. God, why had he come back? She was everywhere here. She was on the steps of the school. She was on the bleachers, in the supermarket, outside the gas station. This wasn't a tiny town but it seemed that they had been everywhere together. He passed her old house were her room had had an image of Jesus on the wall and where they had had sex for the first time. He passed Shelby's apartment. He passed the old houses of all their friends. He had thought that it would help to come back, but it really, really, hadn't.

"Maybe you should move back" his mother suggested.

"Burt sold the shop, remember?"
"You could do something else. Go to college."

"You're confusing me with Hannah."

"It could be community college. Part time."
"I'm not moving back, mom" he said.

She accepted it but her mouth twisted in worry. He hadn't made it better by talking about Quinn. He was terrible at keeping his mouth shut.

"You could move somewhere else" she suggested.

"Have I complained about Detroit?" he snapped, feeling like his teenage self.

"No but I mean, you don't seem to love it" she responded.
"I don't but it's a town like any other."

"That's not true. You could go to Europe. Or Los Angeles. Or New York."
She didn't know that Quinn was in New York. Puck didn't tell her. He just ate the food she placed in front of him.

"Take a vacation at least" she begged. "You look so pale."
"I just had time off" he told her. "The reunion, remember?"
"Just a week, right? Maybe you could get another week?"
He sighed. This was what it was like living at home. The nice food and popcorn had a price: eternal worry and meddling.

"Santana's going to LA in few weeks" he said, mostly to shut her up. "Maybe I could go with her."
"Yes" his mother said, lightening up. "Some time in the sun would do you wonders."

"I'll look into it, okay?"
She smiled. He just wanted her to be proud of him. She had been proud about the air force, about the nice uniform. But she had been more proud when Hannah went to college. Not that it was a contest.

"Anyway" she said. "Detroit's only a two hour drive from here. You should come home more often."

"I will" he promised.

…

"Puck's coming with me to LA" Santana told Quinn as they ate lunch on the steps outside Quinn's work.

"To work?"

"No, like a vacation, I guess."
"Good for you" Quinn said. "Nice to have company."
"Yeah."

Quinn twirled her fork around inside her heated casserole. She didn't want to back to work. It had been easier when she could at least imagine that it was going to get better when she passed the bar. Now it was almost impossible for her to force herself to show up every morning. She wanted to stay outside on these sunny steps.

"You should come too" Santana said.

"Yeah, right."

"You should quit this job anyway."
"Yeah, right."

"It's not two impossible ideas, Quinn."

Quinn snorted. She closed the lid of lunch. She wasn't hungry.

"That I should go with you and Puck to LA? Yeah, that's possible."

"What about your job?"
"I worked hard to get here."
"So? It sucks. Find something else."
"This is it" Quinn said. "This is the law profession. It's not exciting. It's paperwork and mergers and helping rich companies become richer."
People passed them on the steps. They looked like Quinn. Well-dressed. Stern. Young or old, but the look was the same. Quinn hated them. Suits. She had never understood why people used that word as an insult before. Now she did.

"You could work for me" Santana said. "Use your lawyer voice to improve my contracts. When I'm a big star, you'll be rich."

"Thanks" Quinn said. "Call me when you can afford to pay me minimum wage."

She was crabby and restless. Her suit was too hot for this weather. She wished that she could wear a flimsy summer dress just like Santana.

"I think Puck might be done with Detroit" Santana said.

"San, I don't want to talk about Puck."

"You're not talking, I am."
Quinn groaned. She checked the time. She had ten minutes left of her break. She should probably go in now and start working in order to impress her boss. She didn't. Out of principle.

"It's not like he loves fixing cars" Santana went on. "He could do any job, really. Anywhere."

"I'm sure."

"I want him to move here. Is that okay with you?"

Quinn sighed deeply.

"If I say no, I'm a bitch."

"No, if you say no, you're being honest."

She swallowed.

"This is a big city. I think I could stay out of his way."

Santana grinned.

"Good. I'll work on him. Any tips?"

"Don't tell him how expensive it is to live here."

"Okay."

"Don't tell him how bad it smells in the summer."

"Noted."
"Tell him… about the bright lights and skyscrapers and food joints in every corner. He'll like that."

"Okay."

Quinn checked her watch again. Three minutes.

"Tell him about the pasta place near Houston that we love."

"I will."

"And about how the streets are mapped out so cleverly with avenues going one way and streets the other way."

"I think he knows that, Quinn" Santana said. "He's been here before."

"Oh, right."

One minute left of lunch. She stood up. Brushed dust off her skirt.

"Should I say hello from you?" Santana asked.

"No."

"Not even a little hello?"

"No, Santana."

…