A/N: Many thanks for the reviews last chapter! You guys are great.

I hate to give away parts of this chapter before you even read them, but I feel like I should probably warn that things get a little…graphic toward the end. It's nothing too detailed, but still. I don't want to offend anyone.

Rachel thinks it's odd, seeing Puck at his house. He's still a crass, boorish, oversexed miscreant, of course, but it's not quite as obvious here. He's actually tolerant of Elizabeth, his little sister, even though she keeps hanging on his arm and asking him questions ("Is she your girlfriend, Noah? Are you going to kiss her, Noah? Do you loooove her, Noah?") and trying to convince him to play a Jonas Brothers song on his guitar again (he swears up and down that he's never done this, but the blush creeping across his face gives him away). When she runs off to ride her bike with a neighborhood friend, Puck reminds her to wear a helmet and not to go past the stop sign at the end of the block and to let him know if any of the boys give her shit, because he'll pound their fucking skulls into the asphalt and no one will ever find the rest of their bodies. Rachel half-smiles at this (while the sentiment is sweet, she's kind of horrified that he would use such language around a child, and she makes a mental note to show him some studies regarding exposure to violence in childhood), which elicits threats of deleting her entire iTunes library if she doesn't "wipe that stupid smirk" off her face.

"You're a good brother, Noah," she says. "It's sweet."

He shrugs, then hands her a wooden spoon and gestures to the saucepan on the stovetop. "Be a normal girl, for once, and make yourself useful if you're going to be in here."

His mother will be home any minute, and she can tell that he's getting antsy, so she lets that one slide (though she's silently practicing what she'll say when she brings it up in a few days. "If you think that I'm going to be objectified and treated like a domestic house slave, well, you've got another thing coming, young man. I'll have you know…"). She knows all too well how terrifying it is to be in his position, and despite his general lack of tact and sensitivity, he was supportive of her when she had to face her dads – of course, now she has to deal with the after-effects of his stupid lie, but still, she wants to be supportive of him, too. He would argue that being supportive of him would definitely not include forcing him to tell his mom before he's ready, which is why she's thinking these things but not saying them (which is something she's never really tried before now, and it's really hard).

She feels the low rumble of an opening garage door and looks to him with a smile. "It will be fine."

"Yeah, maybe she'll just shoot me to death instead of skinning me alive and then shooting me to death," Puck snaps. He's suddenly white as a sheet, and she feels awful. Normally she can't find much sympathy for him, because almost everything that happens to him is unequivocally his own fault, but he was thrust into this situation the same way she was.

The slamming of a car door is heard, and soon the door leading to the garage swings open, and Mrs. Puckerman appears. She's a small woman with dark hair and tired features. Rachel thinks it's probably Puck's fault – living with him must completely exhausting.

She drops her purse and coat on the table, then greets Puck with a quick hug. "Are you cooking something, Noah?"

"Well, she's helping," he says, throwing a glance in her direction. Mrs. Puckerman must not have noticed her at first, because she nearly jumps when Rachel speaks.

"Hello, Mrs. Puckerman," she says, flashing a winning smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Mrs. Puckerman blinks. "Oh. Hello." She looks to Puck, confused.

"Mom, this is Rachel." Puck comes up beside her and snakes an arm around her waist. "She's kind of like…my girlfriend."

Rachel is slightly annoyed that he's so hesitant to say it, but then, it is a rather tentative arrangement, and it's not like she's shouting it from the rooftops either. He could at least try not to wince, though.

His mother looks like she could burst into tears at any moment, much to Rachel's surprise. What could she have done to make her hate her already? She knows that she can be a little grating, but she's hardly said anything. She wonders briefly if somehow Mrs. Puckerman knows about the baby – some sort of women's intuition or something.

And then Mrs. Puckerman is smiling and laughing and hugging Rachel and squeezing Noah's face and going on about how her Noah has never brought a girl home before, and how she thought that maybe he was gay because he would never talk to her about girls, but no, he's got a girlfriend and she's Jewish. Rachel suddenly feels a bit self-conscious about her nose.

She takes over her spot at the stove, despite Rachel's protests. "Don't be silly! You're a guest, dear. Take a seat and tell me all about yourself. I want to know everything," she says, before turning to Puck. "What's wrong with you? Putting this lovely young lady to work? If I weren't so happy, I'd kill you." She looks back to Rachel. "Do you need anything, Rachel? Noah, see if your girlfriend wants anything, don't just stand there."

Rachel likes this woman.

"Are you a cheerleader, Rachel? Is that how you met Noah?" Mrs. Puckerman asks, placing a serving of pasta on Elizabeth's plate. She had completely taken over dinner, and though Rachel feels a little bad about letting her cook for them when they're about to give her such awful news, she's also kind of relieved, because she's pretty sure Puck can't even boil water and she's not exactly Julia Child, either.

Puck laughs at his mother's question, as if there's no way Rachel could possibly be a Cheerio. She's purposed not to glare at him while in the presence of his family (they have a pretense to uphold, after all), but his flippancy brings her fairly close to stomping his foot under the table.

"We're in Glee club together," she replies. "But we met some time ago."

On the second day of our freshman year, when he threw eggs at me, she'd like to add.

She nods, taking a seat at the table. "And how did you become close? My Noah is such a sweet boy – I'm sure he just swept you off your feet."

It's Rachel's turn to laugh now, and Puck is not nearly as talented at masking his displeasure as she is. He glowers at her for a moment, before answering the question for her. "It just kind of happened," he shrugs.

Her fathers would never accept an answer like that from her, but she thinks Mrs. Puckerman is probably used to short, vague replies from Puck.

"So, how long have you two been going steady?" she asks, causing Puck to snort.

Rachel looks to him, unsure of how to answer. She still doesn't understand why they need to pretend that their relationship is more than what it is, but she does wonder if both sets of parents should get the same story, simply for the sake of consistency. "I'll, uh, let Noah answer that one," she replies, hoping that Mrs. Puckerman hasn't picked up on her hesitancy. "I'm bad with timelines," she reasons. "A year, a month, a week and four days…it all just sort of runs together."

He mutters something under his breath about throwing her entire collection of sequined leg warmers out the back of a moving vehicle, then casually says, "It's been awhile. Can we just eat now, please?"

Mrs. Puckerman rolls her eyes, but the smile remains on her face. She passes Puck the serving dish before turning her attention back to Rachel. "Tell me more about your little music club. What kind of songs do you sing? Noah can play some Jonas Brothers on his guitar, you know, if you ever wanted to do something like that."

Puck's threats of mass murder fall on deaf ears as Mrs. Puckerman describes, in great detail, the one-man shows he puts on for his sister before bed.

Dinner goes by quickly, and soon Elizabeth is sent to bed. It's getting late, and Rachel knows that the time to tell Mrs. Puckerman is upon them. She almost doesn't want to, because they are having such a pleasant evening – she's clearly made an excellent first impression on Puck's mother, but she knows that none of their previous bonding will mean anything when she learns about their predicament. But if they chicken out now, they'll find a reason to chicken out again later. It has to be done.

She looks to Puck, and they share a moment of unspoken agreement and understanding.

"Mom," Puck begins, his voice smaller than Rachel has ever heard it. "can you sit down for a minute? Please?"

Mrs. Puckerman, who has been fluttering around the kitchen for the past several minutes, stops scrubbing the pan floating in the sink. She quickly wipes her hands on a dish towel, then sits across from them at the table. "Yes, dear?"

"I need to tell you something, but you have to promise not to freak out, okay?"

She nods slowly. "Go ahead."

He takes a deep breath. "MeandRacheldiditandnowshe'sknockedup."

Mrs. Puckerman looks at him quizzically. "Excuse me?"

"She's pregnant, mom. Rachel's pregnant."

Rachel is surprised to find that hearing those words leave Puck's mouth hurts just as much as when she says it herself. The now-familiar weight on her heart is back with a vengeance. She begins to say something (she's not even sure what, but she feels her mouth opening), but then realizes that it isn't her place. There's nothing she can do here, except sit next to him and hold his hand if he'll let her (he won't).

Mrs. Puckerman's expression is unreadable, and the silence in the room is deafening.

"You'll marry her," she finally says.

Rachel is too shocked to speak, but Puck takes care of that for her. "Oh, God, mom," he groans. "Seriously, no. We're not even…"

"I won't have you bringing more shame to this family than your father already has. This is a nice girl, and I'm not going to let what happened to me happen to her."

"I'm nothing like dad," he growls. "I'm going to support Rachel and this kid, but I'm not going to marry her at sixteen. That's insane."

Rachel thinks this is probably not the time to add that her parents would file a restraining order against Puck if they even mentioned the idea of marriage.

"You're having a child at sixteen," Mrs. Puckerman replies. "That's insane." She stands now, and returns to the sink. Rachel's certain that she's just broken an entire stack of dishes. "I don't think you'll ever understand how disappointed I am," she sniffs. "I can't even look at you."

"I'll stay at Finn's, then."

"I think that's a good idea," Mrs. Puckerman replies quietly.

Puck stands. "Come on, Berry."

"Wait, Noah, I think you should…"

"You're walking home if you don't get up and follow me out this door," he says gruffly.

She scrambles to her feet, but can't quite bring herself to leave the room. "Get some clothes. I'll meet you in the truck, okay?"

He agrees, giving her five minutes to get in the truck before he leaves without her.

"Mrs. Puckerman," she says, cautiously making her way toward the older woman. "I just…I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Mrs. Puckerman waves her away without a word.

"…I mean, fuck, I'd sooner get gay married to Kurt, you know?"

Finn nods, but his attention is on the screen in front of them. Puck's unexpected arrival came in the middle of Finn's nightly hour (or five) of video games, but they're best friends, so handing Puck a controller and promising to go easy on him was the least he could do.

"Can you picture the two of us, married?"

Finn furrows his eyebrows. "You and Kurt? I guess, if…"

"God! No! Me and Rachel."

"Oh," Finn laughs, relieved. "Well…no. But I couldn't really imagine you dating her, either, and you're doing that."

"Barely. We just fight with each other and then kiss it out. I haven't even seen her boobs since the night we did it."

"That sucks," he says, his voice drowned out by the sound of explosives. "Oops."

"Dude! You fucking obliterated me!"

"Sorry. Do you want to go again?"

"Nah, it's kind of late." Puck tosses the controller to the side and leans back into his palette of blankets on the floor. It's barely midnight, but Rachel calls at 6:30 every morning to wake him up and discuss their plans for the day. The one time he turned off his phone, she nearly castrated him.

Finn nods, shutting off the game console and then flopping onto his bed. "'Night, man." He flips off the light next to his bed, and the room is filled with darkness.

An hour later, Puck sits up and shoves the sleeping figure on the bed above him. "Hey, Finn?"

"Mmph?"

"I'm good enough for her, right? You think I'm good enough for Berry?"

"Uh…yeah, sure," he mumbles.

"Her dads think I'll keep her from reaching her full potential, or some bullshit like that."

Finn mutters something in his half-asleep daze about that being a mean thing to say, and Puck suddenly feels really stupid for bringing it up. "Go back to sleep," he says. "You sound retarded."

"Mmmkay," Finn replies, already mid-snore.

Puck lies back down and closes his eyes, but sleep is nowhere to be found. His brain is in overdrive, full of thoughts about his mom (and how she'll probably never speak to him again) and Pete Berry (and how he's probably busy ordering a hit on his life) and Rachel (and how she coordinates the scent of her shampoo with the flavor of her lip gloss and how those ridiculous skirts fall at a perfect place on her legs and how she does that thing with her tongue that is probably illegal in twelve states. And also how hard this situation must be on her. He's a sensitive guy).

He manages to find his cell phone in the darkness and dials her number without really thinking. It rings forever, which doesn't surprise him because Rachel is usually out by ten and sleeps like the dead. He's about to hang up when her voice, heavy with sleep, comes on the line.

"Noah? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. What are you doing?"

He can almost hear her glaring at him through the phone.

"Do you know what sleep deprivation can do to a singer's voice? Are you trying to ruin my career? Go to sleep, Puck," she huffs.

"I can't."

"Why?"

Puck is silent for a moment, trying to craft his answer. He doesn't want to admit that he's really worried about fixing things with his mom, and he really doesn't want to tell her that her dad scared the shit out of him, and under no circumstances does she need to know that he thinks about her at night, so he goes with a vague "I don't know, I just can't. Do you want to do something?"

She doesn't respond at first. "My dads will say no," she finally offers.

"Don't ask them."

"We have school in the morning."

"We won't be out that late."

"It's already that late."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

"I'll see you at school."

"Wear something warm. Bring blankets."

"I'm going back to sleep now."

"Wait by the window."

"Goodnight, Noah."

The line goes dead. Puck pulls a t-shirt over his head and exits Finn's room quietly.

He's not the boss of her, not even slightly, and she's not going to just blindly agree to everything he says. It's late and she's tired, dead tired, and her dads will be so mad, and that's the last thing she needs right now. She told him no and she meant it. Period. End of discussion. She had even hung up on him to prove her point. She's in charge here, and the decision has been made.

So why she's in her heaviest winter coat and juggling a stack of folded blankets, pacing by her bedroom window at 1:17 in the morning, she'll never know.

Rachel sees his truck coming around the corner and rolls her eyes when he turns off the lights and cuts the engine, coasting to a stop in front of her house. Where does he learn these things?

She stealthily pads down the hall, taking extra caution as she passes her parents' closed bedroom door. She takes the stairs carefully, avoiding the squeaky planks. She works the front locks slowly and pulls the door open, and it's heavier than normal and louder than normal, and she freezes for a moment, convinced she's just heard footsteps upstairs. However, seconds pass without another sound, so she takes a deep breath and crosses the threshold. She pulls the door shut, then practically flies down the porch steps and across the front yard. The passenger door is already open for her by the time she reaches Puck's truck.

"You had me worried there for a second. I thought you'd actually stuck to your guns," he says.

"Would that come as such a surprise?" She gingerly pulls the door shut and winces at the slight thud that follows. "And it's not like I'm particularly thrilled to be sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, but I couldn't just let you drive around alone, could I? Someone has to keep you out of trouble."

"Keep telling yourself that, Berry."

"It's freezing out here," she whines, allowing her teeth to chatter for good measure. "I think this is more of a summer activity, Noah."

"Keep this up and I'll throw you in," he snaps, gesturing toward the large body of water in front of them. "Shut your mouth, if you can manage it, and try to enjoy the view."

Rachel fixes her face in a glare and draws her arms around her body for heat. She had pitched quite a fit when he parked in this clearing at the lake's edge and then demanded that they leave behind the softness and warmth of the truck's cab for the hard, frigid ground, but she'll conceded that it's a beautiful sight. The lake is smooth as glass and is acting as a mirror for the clear, star filled sky.

It's still an ungodly twenty-five degrees, though, and blankets can only do so much. She thinks she might have already procured a case of frostbite, because her hands are alternating between numbness and intense burning.

"I'm sorry," she says, noticing the way he's staring at her with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "but death by stargazing in sub-Arctic temperatures is not how I plan to go."

Rolling his eyes, Puck puts an arm around her waist and pulls her against him.

"What are you doing?!" she shrieks, pushing away instinctually.

"Body heat," he says, rather indifferently.

"Oh." Her face takes on a pink tint. Body heat. It makes sense, so she allows herself to relax in his arms. It also makes sense for him to kiss her, because they're practically courting, and they're looking at stars together and really, does it get anymore romantic than that? So when he doesn't do it, she takes that one upon herself. He's a little taken aback, probably because she's never really initiated any sort of physical contact, but he quickly reciprocates.

It also makes sense for them to end up in a horizontal position, fiercely peppering each other's bodies with kisses. Yes, Rachel thinks that this definitely makes sense.

Soon his hands are traveling up her shirt, and she feels him stop when he reaches the slight rise of her stomach. It's not noticeable to the naked eye, but there's certainly no missing it in a situation like this.

"Is it safe?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the kid, I mean?"

"It's fine," she answers, her voice low and throaty.

With this affirmation, Puck continues upwards, making light work of her bra. She notices the look in his eyes, like he can't possibly believe that she's not stopping him. Frankly, she can't quite believe it either. She's not sure what she's thinking right now, except that it's hard to unbutton his jeans with numb fingers.

He's tugging at the waist of her pajama pants now and she can't stop herself from helping things along, lifting her lower half off the ground and pushing the soft fabric toward her knees. He's doing that thing again, that thing where he says her name and it sounds like music, and Rachel can hardly stand it. She pushes herself against him, and then it happens. She knows what to expect, but she can't stop herself from gasping. He slows, asking if she's okay, and a quick nod is all she can manage – words escape her. It hurts a little, at first, and she's not completely sure what to do with herself, but then instinct takes over and things start making sense, and she's struck by how perfectly they work together. The first time was clumsy and painful and entirely unforgettable, but something is different now. She's not sure what, exactly, but maybe she'll try and figure it out when the circuits in her brain stop misfiring. There's a tightness building in her body, growing with every passing second, and it's like nothing she's ever felt before.

Her name escapes his lips again, and the world comes undone. The growing tension explodes, sending waves of warmth throughout her body. The lake is gone, the sky is gone, the hard, uncomfortable ground is gone, the cold is gone. It's just her and him and she wants to scream but she can't even breathe, and she's pretty sure she'll draw blood if she doesn't stop digging her fingers into his shoulders, but she can't stop – her body is on auto-pilot.

She is eventually able to draw a few ragged breaths as the scenery begins to reappear. She lets herself relax into the blanket on the ground, and suddenly she's spent. It's cold again, but she honestly can't imagine moving. He collapses next to her, seemingly unfazed by the impact of his body hitting the hard earth. They gravitate toward each other and soon she's in his arms, and they remain in this position for a great deal of time.

She's pretty sure that this is going to change everything, and not necessarily for the better, and she's also pretty sure that she'll be pulling twigs and leaves out of her hair for weeks. And somehow, she can't even bring herself to care.

She blames the hormones.

A/N: Okay, I'll be completely honest. I didn't plan on that happening. At all. Those randy teenagers forced it out of me, I swear. Also, I made the mistake of having As Long As You're Mine from Wicked on repeat while writing, and that song…unf. It gets me going.

SO ANYWAY. From here, things are going to start picking up a bit, timeline wise. I'm trying not to rush it too much, but classes start in two weeks, and I did hope to have this story nearly finished by then. So either you'll start seeing chapters closer together or maybe chapters will cover a larger chunk of time. I realized the other day that all of the chapters so far have covered, like, three weeks. If I keep going at that rate, this thing will be a freaking novel by the time it's over.