A/N: Okay, kids, over a thousand hits on Saturday? Really? You're talking crazy, and I freakin' love it. I love it. You guys are terrific. Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, and favorited so far. You make me happy.
I really, really don't love this chapter, and I'm not just saying that to garner positive reviews. I had a hard time writing it and the end result is really just meh to me. Oh well.
Puck is not a stupid guy. People think he is, because he's so handsome and masculine and athletic and awesome, and there's just no way that he could have a brain to go along with all his other winning features, but the fact is, he's pretty smart, too.
At least, he's smart enough to know when a girl is about to drop a fucking a-bomb on him and ruin his whole life. It's not hard to spot the set up once it happens a few times (and it's happened to Puck, well, more than a few times). They always track him down at school and are, like, we need to talk. Like they've forgotten how to send a text message or something? And then they're all, I think I'm pregnant, you're the father, wah, wah, wah. So then he goes, did you take a test? And eight out of eight times (which, if his mother asks, is a totally random figure and not the amount of times this has happened to Puck), they say No. And then they take one and it's negative and they all move on with their lives, and Puck makes a mental note to be more careful, and then he never is.
So, when Rachel Berry tried to corner him on the football field, he ignored her. He had a date with a case of cheap beer and some giant ass fish, and her crazy girl drama could be dealt with at any time. And then she started screaming at him, and he was pretty sure a pack of wild dogs was going to start running toward her at any second, that's how fucking high-pitched her voice was, and he couldn't stand it.
So he let her do her thing, and he was all prepared to go through the motions, but she had this look in her eyes that he hadn't seen, and he suddenly got the feeling that she wasn't being dramatic or stupid, and then he knew that she knew, and then she started talking about doctor's appointments and heartbeats and he wanted to throw up.
And now she's standing here in front of him and her mouth is moving a mile a minute and he can't even hear what she's saying because his pulse is pounding in his ears, and he can't even see straight, and he feels like he needs to sit down, so he does. The grass is cold and damp, but it doesn't really matter because all he can feel is his heart about to fly out of his chest.
And now she's yelling again and he wonders if his ears are actually bleeding.
"Do you ever stop talking?" he snaps. "Christ, Berry, I'm trying to think."
It comes out harsher than he thought it would, and he almost cares, but now she's silent and that's all he really needs at this moment.
Rachel Berry is pregnant. How could this even happen? They did it once (unless boob touching counts for something) and that was forever ago. When was that? He can't even remember. Four or five months ago? That can't be right. None of this can possibly be right.
Rachel sits down next to him. She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on her palm. He shouldn't be surprised that her silence lasted a total of five seconds, but he's still a little startled when she looks at him and asks what he's thinking.
"It's essential that keep our communication open and honest," she adds, and he figures she doesn't really mean that, because if he were being open and honest he'd tell her that right now he was wishing that she didn't exist.
She keeps staring at him, and he knows that she's not going to let up, because she just doesn't do that.
"How far along are you?" he asks. He's not really sure why it matters, but it seems like that's what everyone always asks when they find out someone is having a kid.
"Twelve weeks. And five days," Rachel sputters. She seems a little surprised at the question, and then a little embarrassed for answering with such specificity. "Or somewhere around there."
He nods, but it really means nothing to him – she could have said she was ninety-seven weeks, thirty-two days and four hours along and he would still just nod. He doesn't really know much about this whole baby-cooking business, except that it makes chicks fat and crazy. He tries to picture Rachel more fucking nuts than she already is, and suddenly he's kind of scared for his life.
"Do you know what it is, or whatever?"
Rachel raises an eyebrow and reiterates that she's only twelve weeks. So that's a no, he figures? She could have just said that (unless it's physically impossible for her to not act like an obnoxious know-it-all – he's wondered sometimes).
"I'm going to keep it," she blurts suddenly.
He kind of figured she was going to get it taken care of, or give it up, or something. She's got all of crazy plans and ideas (he knows this because she never shuts up about them) and he doesn't see a kid fitting in there. Plus, she's one of those crazy feminist chicks and he remembers one time he slushied her, she had just printed off a hundred flyers for some counter-protest at Planned Parenthood or some shit like that. He's surprised that she's choosing to go this way, and he's also surprised that he's kind of relieved.
"You don't have to do anything, you know," she adds. "If you don't want to."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm willing to offer you an opt out. You don't have to be a part of this." She gestures toward her mid-section. "I'll understand. I don't want to be a part of this."
He frowns. Does she really think so little of him? He's not up for Human of the Year or anything (okay, he can be a total asshole sometimes), but he's not a juvenile delinquent, either (okay, he is. But he's not a deadbeat).
"Listen," He turns to her. "I'll do what has to be done, okay?"
Rachel eyes him suspiciously. Leave it to Berry to make this more difficult than it needs to be.
"I have no expectations regarding our future together," she says coolly. "Obviously, basic civility would be ideal, but only for the benefit of our future offspring."
"I think I can manage that."
"You would have to stop slushing me," she adds, as if she's trying to change his mind. "Not just in the face, but altogether."
Puck smirks. "You drive a hard bargain, Berry."
He stands up now, reasonably certain that he's no longer about to have a heart attack, and extends a hand to Rachel. She grabs it after a moment's hesitation, and then she's up and they're inches apart, and he wonders what would happen if he leaned just a bit closer, because she's actually pretty cute when she's not making any noise, and then a ruckus over by the locker rooms sends them flying in opposite directions.
"Puck!" Karofsky yells. "Are you coming?"
"Yeah," he replies. "Yeah, I'll be there in a second."
He glances at Rachel, then at the guys, then back at Rachel.
"I'll…call you or something," he offers before taking off toward the school.
Much to Rachel's surprise, he fulfills this promise a mere twenty minutes after they had parted ways on the football field. She's preparing for a new Myspace video when he calls to see if he can pick her up in a few minutes, and she's too shocked to say anything but yes.
She's barely had a chance to locate her shoes when a small rock hits her window. She rushes across the room and pulls the blinds open just in time to see Puck launch another pebble toward the glass.
She pushes the window up with one hand and throws the other in the air.
"What are you doing?!"
"Picking you up," Puck replies, like this is totally normal. For him, she thinks, it probably is.
"Funny, it seems to me that you're trying to shatter my bedroom window," she huffs. "Meet me on the front porch."
Puck's eyes widen. "I'd rather not."
"Would you prefer I repel down with a rope fashioned out of my bed sheets?"
"It's just…aren't your parents home?"
"Yes?"
"I just figured I'm probably not their favorite person right now, what with my impregnating you with my bastard sperm and all. I mean, I know they're gay, but they could probably take me if they tried."
"Will you shut up?" she hisses through gritted teeth, her eyes practically bulging out of her skull. "They don't know yet."
"Oh."
"Meet me on the front porch," she repeats. "And stop talking."
"Did you ever think you'd have kids?"
The question comes after several minutes of sitting silently in Puck's truck, parked in front of Rachel's house. They had driven around Lima for hours, discussing pregnancy and babies and the future and all sorts of other things that neither ever imagined discussing with each other. Sometimes they talked Glee and American Idol, too, when the conversation got too heavy.
He had pulled into the driveway half an hour earlier, but Rachel couldn't bring herself to get out of the car, and Puck couldn't bring himself to make her.
She glances out the window before answering.
"Not really. I mean, maybe someday, after I was inducted into the Actors Hall of Fame, but…not really. Did you?"
"No reason not to. It's just what people do, you know?"
"Not everyone."
"Everyone in Lima."
"We won't be in Lima forever."
Yes, they will. Rachel was going places, and now she's not. Puck figured he'd probably stick around, and now that's been decided for sure. He knows this and she knows this, and suddenly the air is thick with tension.
Neither of them can think of anything not depressing to say at this point, so Rachel mutters a quick "I should go" and Puck replies with a quiet "Yeah, it's late" and then she's out of the car and up her driveway in seconds.
Rachel can tell that this is going to be a great day. She woke up feeling well-rested for the first time in months, she barely gagged when she brushed her teeth, and somehow her hair looked amazing before she even brushed it. On top of all this, she is happy. Inexplicably happy. Telling Puck had lifted a huge weight off her shoulders, and she feels like she can almost breathe again. This is going to be a great day.
Or maybe it's not.
She notices a few whispers in the parking lot, but brushes them aside. As she walks the corridors of the school, however, the stares and hushed laughs become incredibly obvious. The sinking feeling in her stomach is growing more and more pronounced, until it's impossible to ignore.
When she spots Puck, she grabs his arm and quickly yanks him into an empty classroom.
"We have a problem," she announces. "Who did you tell?"
"Who did I tell?" he repeats, his mouth gaping. "No one. Who did you tell?"
"No one." Rachel scoffs at the accusation. "Except Mr. Schuester, but he's a teacher, so that doesn't count. And Quinn knows, but I didn't tell her."
"Well, somehow everyone knows. Everyone."
Rachel is pacing the length of the room at record speeds. "Quinn told me she wasn't going to tell anyone. She wouldn't, would she?"
"How am I supposed to know?"
"You guys are friends, or friends by association, or something. You'd know better than me."
"Well, I don't," he snaps. "What the hell are we supposed to do?"
"We need to prepare a statement."
Puck raises an eyebrow. "…what?"
"A statement. We need to draft a formal response, which we can then refer to when we're questioned. It's the easiest way to avoid the trap of Gotcha Journalism. Find some note cards – it would be best to carry it on our persons at all times."
"Are you serious?"
Her eyes widen. "I most certainly am."
"Shit, Berry," he exhales, running a hand through his hair. "you are the weirdest person I know."
"Alright, guys," Mr. Schuester begins, passing around a stack of sheet music. "I've been working on some songs that I'd like us to try. Finn, let's have…"
He trails off when he notices Rachel's hand perched high in the air.
"We'll get to your part in a minute, Rachel. Like I was saying, Finn…"
"Fellow Glee clubbers," Rachel says, speaking over Mr. Schue. "by now, I'm sure you've heard the rumors that are circling around the school right now, including the particularly libelous accusation that my gay dads are using me as a surrogate for my own sibling. If I may, I would like to take a few moments to clear the air."
She stares at Mr. Schuester, who offers a permissive, though hesitant, nod. With this, she stands, smoothes her plaid skirt, and marches to the front of the room.
"While many of the things you've been told are deeply false, it is true that I am…expecting." She pauses to take in the reactions of her classmates. Most of the group has erupted in a flurry of scandalized whispers, while Brittany looks a little lost and Santana appears completely disgusted. Finn is staring at Puck, who is staring at the ceiling, obviously annoyed (she had ran the idea of a press conference by him during lunch hour, and he told her in no uncertain terms that he'd have no part in it). She meets Quinn's gaze and sees a brief flicker of…concern, maybe? It is quickly masked by a look of absolute indifference.
She continues, "I know that circumstances such as these tend to bring about many questions, and in an effort to dispel any misinformation, I am willing to briefly open the floor for discussion. If you have any questions or comments, please form a straight line, and I will address as many as my schedule will allow."
An uncomfortable hush settles throughout the room.
"Uh, you know, Rachel," Mr. Schuester begins. "I don't really think this is necessary. We all really appreciate your honesty, though. Right, guys?"
There are a few approving mumbles, but the room remains mostly silent. That is, until Artie timidly raises his hand.
Rachel smiles. "Yes, Artie?"
"Well, I was just wondering…I mean, I think we're all kind of wondering…if I may ask…well, is Puck really the, you know, father?"
"Shut up," Mercedes hisses in a low tone, slapping his shoulder.
"You were the one who wanted to know!" he replies, shielding himself from another blow.
"I didn't want you to ask her! That's just –"
"No, it's fine," Rachel says, cutting them off. She stares intently at Puck, willing him to say something, but his stance is unwavering. He squirms a bit under her gaze, but she knows that he has made up his mind and she won't change it (which is infuriating, she'd like to add). She looks away, trying desperately to keep her emotions in check. She has the sudden urge to snap his neck, and she's pretty sure she could do it if she tried.
"Yes, it's Puck," she says flatly. "Next?"
The collective gasp is startlingly loud, but the chatter that follows is quite nearly deafening. She clears her throat, but she knows that she's lost their attention. She crosses her arms, lets out an angry huff, and storms out of the room -- the scene goes unnoticed by nearly everyone. After rolling his eyes, Puck gets up from his chair and quickly follows her into the hallway.
"Wait up, Berry," he calls, trying to match her pace, which, he's finding, is harder than he expected. She's hardcore about her temper tantrums, this girl.
Just as he reaches her, she spins on her heels and starts coming toward him. His first instinct is to cower backwards. He's never seen a girl look so fucking scary before.
"You can't do things like that!" she cries, waving her index finger indignantly.
"Like what?"
"You can't just leave me to fend for myself. If you're in this, then you're in it. All of it. You should have said something in there. You should have been standing next to me. I don't have the luxury of pretending this doesn't exist, Puck, and you shouldn't, either."
"I told you I thought it was a stupid idea!"
"It doesn't matter! You're supposed to support me anyway! How am I supposed to trust that you're going to be here for this baby if you think it's okay to just ignore me whenever you see fit? It's not okay."
"Berry," Puck puts his hands on her shoulders, but she quickly pulls away. "calm down."
"Don't Berry me, Puck," she warns. "I mean it."
He knows she does.
"Rachel, listen to me," he pleads, his voice softening. "I'm sorry, okay? This is all new to me, you know? I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing here. I'm freaking out."
"I'm telling you what you're supposed to be doing here. If you ever listened to a word I said, you'd know what you're supposed to be doing," she replies, her tone as harsh as ever.
"I'm trying, okay?"
"Well, you're not trying hard enough!"
She launches into a new tirade now, and he's not even sure if she's speaking English. She's just screaming and flailing her arms and acting certifiably insane, and he's not really sure what's coming over him in this moment, but all he wants to do is kiss her. So he does.
When they pull apart, Rachel is dumbfounded.
"I didn't give you permission to do that," she squeaks. "Why would you do that?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"That's not fair. You can't kiss me when we're fighting. It's a rule."
"I'd really like to see this rule book, Berry."
"I'm going to resume yelling in approximately three seconds."
"Fair enough."
"When I'm done, l give you permission to do it again."
A/N: Today is my birthday. I'm not even kidding you right now. Aside from horrifyingly large amounts of ice cream cake from Dairy Queen, all I want is to know how you feel about this chapter. What can I say? I'm low-maintenance.