6.
"Santana, I'm real fucked up right now…"
"Yeah. I can tell." He never uses her full name. Hasn't since they were kids. They're still kids, kind of, but he's had a kid. It seems like forever since he's called her by her name –almost as long as since she's called him Noah- and almost as long since he's called her on the phone like this. Lately, the only reason he calls her up is for a booty call. And he's taken to texting anyway, since it's faster. Usually, he'll call her drunk because his asshole father's in town. She knows that's not the case tonight, though.
"Can you come over?"
She sighs into the phone and rakes her fingers through her hair. It's down and she's in a pair of sweats and already wearing her glasses. She looks basically like shit, and as much as she'd like to doll herself up for him (just so he can see what he's missing, obviously), she can tell by the desperate tone in his voice that he needs her now. The bitter part of her doesn't want to go at all, wants to tell him to call someone else to pick up the pieces. But Finn's still pissed at him and he's pissed at Quinn (not that she'd be there anyway, not tonight). She can't just leave him to drink himself into a coma while his Ma's at work. That wouldn't be responsible.
And, besides, asshole or not, baby or not, he's still her best friend. "Yeah," Santana says, already heading for the door. "Put the bottle down 'til I get there."
"Thanks, San." He's back to the nicknames, which is familiar and somehow comforting. He's still there. "I owe you one."
"You owe me a hell of a lot more than one." She hangs up.
Puck's sitting on the floor of his living room watching The Breakfast Club and drinking straight from a bottle of cheap whisky. Natty Light would've been cheaper, but he needs harder liquor tonight. He's still wearing his clothes from Regionals, though the sleeves of his button up are rolled up and the tie got tossed somewhere in the backseat of his truck on the way home from the hospital. His eyes are kind of glazed over and he's staring blankly at the TV, not really seeing it at all.
"Jesus." Santana's angry-but-concerned tone is one he recognizes, so he barely spares her a glance as she appears in the room. She knows his Ma keeps the spare key under the duck statue out back. "You look like shit." He snorts a little but tips the bottle towards her in a silent toast before taking another long swig.
Santana barely hesitates before approaching him. He's too busy watching the Breakfast Club kids exchange secrets to notice that she's taking his booze away until it's too late. "What the fuck?" He complains, hazel eyes snapping up to glare at her. She doesn't back down, just glares back at him in the way only a Head Cheerleader can. "If you wanted some, you could've just asked."
Puck likes to ramble when he's drunk, and judging by the way his eyes keep losing focus and the fact that the bottle's already half gone, Santana's sure she's gonna hear all about why he's in such a state. So, for some liquid courage to sit through what's sure to be a story that drives her fucking insane, she takes a gulp from the bottle and ignores the way the alcohol burns as it slides down her throat. That goes away after about the third swig, usually. "What's up?" She asks through gritted teeth, basically inviting him to spill. It's all too obvious why he's upset. He's just lost his daughter.
It's still weird to think that her best friend Puck has a kid. Or that he got Quinn Fabray pregnant. Santana tries not to think about it too much because it hurts. She takes another sip of vodka.
"Did you know she didn't even put the goddamn name on the birth certificate?" He barks out a laugh that's distorted and unhappy and not his own. Puck reaches for the bottle and Santana doesn't pull it away from him when he takes another sip. After he'd opened up enough in front of the whole club and sang that song to her, the kid didn't even get the name. It sucked. "Bitch."
Breathing out in a little sigh, Santana pries the bottle away from his fingers and takes her turn. It's still burning and she's still sober, but hopefully she won't be for long. This night would be a hell of a lot easier to get through drunk, even if she knows Puck's gonna wake up tomorrow morning just as bitter and with a hangover from hell. And she'll have to listen to him bitch then, too. Awesome. "That was a bitch move," she admits, but holds up a hand so that he won't interrupt her. She's not finished. "But Puck, you gotta look at it from her perspective. Quinn's sixteen years old. She shouldn't have to deal with this crap." She shrugs a little, passing the bottle of vodka from hand to hand. "Neither should you. It's what's best for you both…and the kid."
She doesn't like talking about it. She'd gone to the hospital with the rest of the Glee Club, sat in the waiting room while Quinn gave birth. They'd all stood behind Puck in the hallway and looked at little Drizzle/Beth Fabray-Puckerman through the glass. Puck had leaned his head against the glass and sighed and Mr. Schue had hugged him. Even Finn had given him an awkward-but-firm pat on the shoulder. That little baby girl had done nothing wrong. Her parents were stupid teenagers, but Santana could hardly look at her. She only reminded her of how Puck had been her boyfriend and Quinn was her friend and they'd still screwed. And screwed her over.
She knew it was wrong to blame the baby, but it didn't make her any easier to look at her. Santana took another drink.
"But she's my kid." Santana's starting to think she's gonna need more alcohol for this, but Puck's taking the bottle back and drinking like he's dehydrated and it's water and not vodka. He slams the almost empty bottle against the coffee table. The glass on wood makes a really loud smack in the dark and quiet house. "I have a kid and I'm never gonna see her again. I barely even got to hold her and…fuck this."
Puck's trying to stand but he's unsteady. Santana's got a hand on his arm and she's giving him her best sympathetic look. It's hard because she's still bitter herself, but he's Puck and she's Santana. She'll be there for him even in the worst times even if she'd much rather not have to do the comforting thing. It's not really her style. He sighs loudly and sinks back against the couch, leaning his shoulder heavily against her. "I'm just like him, y'know."
"You're not," she says automatically. It's not hard to figure out what Puck's talking about. He's named after his father and has been walking in his shadow since the day the deadbeat left town. As much as Puck is like his dad –star football player, womanizer, teen father- he's so not. Unlike him, Puck took responsibility for his kid. His dad had knocked his Ma up in high school and they'd done the wedding thing, but look how that turned out. At least Puck had been there for Quinn and had let her do what they had to do. "Giving her up? That's the best gift you and Quinn could've given her. Just by doing that you're ten times the dad yours ever was."
He's reaching for the vodka again and Santana swats his arm away from it. He glares at her and she just shakes her head subtly. Puck falters when he realizes she's looking at him with pity. There's no challenge there, no combative glare to match his. Santana only does that when he's really messed up, and that's enough to send him over the edge again. "I wanted to keep her," he confesses, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. He feels like such a fucking girl right now and he doesn't want to cry in front of Santana Lopez. She knows him for being strong (mostly) and though he knows she'd never tell a soul, he doesn't like showing weakness. It's something they have in common. "I wanted to try and be…" The rest of the sentence is lost in another sigh.
"Puck, you don't know how hard that would've been." Shaking her head, Santana squeezes his arm gently. "You and Quinn fight as it is. A baby would've only made it worse." She doesn't mean to be harsh, but it's true. She can tell he cares about the blonde, but they're in high school. How many of those relationships actually work ten years down the line? That kid probably would've ended up in a broken household. Puck of all people wouldn't have wanted that. He grew up in one himself.
"She's my baby girl, though." His voice breaks once on my and again with girl. Before she knows what's happening, Puck's collapsing in towards her and she's wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. He's not crying (yet), but his body is actually shaking with what she can only guess are suppressed sobs. The last time she saw him like this, they were eight and his Pop had just walked out. Since then, it's always been him comforting her. But Santana takes to it instinctively, holding him firmly but not too tight, rubbing his back a little. She doesn't let go. It's like she has to hold on to him to hold him together.
"She always will be, Puck. No one can take that away from you."
He's quiet for a while, and soon, the shudders wracking his body stop. Santana thinks he might have fallen asleep, which is fine with her. She'll stay here all night if she has to so she can make sure he doesn't die of alcohol poisoning or something. She stops stroking his back and stares at the bottle of vodka. It's very tempting to finish the rest of it off because she's got a pounding headache and she wishes she could sleep, but her mind's too full.
As she's reaching for the bottle, though, Puck stirs. He wasn't asleep after all. She knows because he's a heavy sleeper. Her movements wouldn't have woken him up. He pulls back a little and he's staring at her with this intense look in his eye. "What's-" Santana swallows the rest of the words as he leans towards her. She knows what he's doing. He's gonna kiss her. They've shared many drunken kisses over the years, so this should be no different.
Except Puck was never a father before. And he was never looking for some sort of approval or way to distract himself from giving his baby up. Santana kind of wants to kiss him, since she's missed it, but she knows that when they wake up in the morning he probably won't remember any of this and she will since she hasn't had that much to drink. She can't sit around pining and remembering the way his lips taste. She just can't do that to herself anymore, at least not while there's no chance. Puck's too messed up right now to be thinking clearly. She can't blame him.
But she can't kiss him, either. So she turns her head so that his lips sloppily catch her cheek instead. Puck draws away when he realizes this, raising his eyebrows at her in question. "You're drunk," Santana says by way of explanation. Her eyes say you don't want this. He licks his lips and closes his eyes before sinking into her again, curling up and resting his head in the crook of her neck. Santana lets him. The last time he did that, he'd done it so she wouldn't see him cry. He was such a boy, even now.
They sit like that for a while, on the floor with an open vodka bottle between them. No matter what, they always end up like this. It's been this way since they were eight years old. Whenever one of them goes through something big, they end up together, curled up and quiet. Usually, there's alcohol involved. They never talk about these times –not when his Pop left or when her Grandpa died- except sometimes when they're alone. Mostly, they pretend stuff like this doesn't happen. He's Puck and she's Santana. They're tough, the asshole and the head bitch. They don't show emotion like that.
When Mrs. Puckerman returns from her shift at the hospital, she finds her son asleep on the couch with Santana Lopez holding tightly to him. She doesn't say anything or even wake them up, just tiptoes upstairs. She's not stupid. She knows what her son does and what Santana is to him. But they'd always been best friends first and she can tell by the way Santana's got her arms wrapped firmly around his middle and the way her Noah is clinging to her that some things never change.
Author's Note: Well, there ya go. Five Times Santana Lopez Kissed Noah Puckerman (And One Time She Didn't). I know this ended on a kind of...depressing note, but at least it's sort of open-ended. You guys can imagine that Puck and San work out their differences. Also, I figure someone had to help him through that night. I hope you guys enjoyed this little series. And don't worry. I've got an idea for another Puck/Lopez story. So keep an eye out for that. Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I am only responsible for their fictional corruption.