TurnTable

Take It To The Bridge…

He'd just like to say on his behalf that Rachel Berry was one psychotic ass chick, one that deserved to be put in a loony bin somewhere and given Grammy shaped chocolates to be kept happy.

Or at least, not to be held responsible with a child. Not that he could say much of anything since he went along with her crazy ass plan, but she provoked him to the point of no return. Still, wasn't an excuse. If ol' Papa Puckerman saw; no, not that jackass of a father, but if his grandfather had known, he would've been in the same place he was.

Six feet deep.

It all started that next day at school, except something just didn't feel right. He looked to his right. Was Kurt still as gay as a rainbow parade? Check. He looked to his left. Was Quinn still Head Cheerio and now Glee's top babe? Check. Everything was, you know. Everything. Except for the missing icy cold feeling of a Big Quench early in the morning. He clenched his hand; as if one would suddenly materialize and he found himself missing those days. Driving to the 7-11, chewing some dip, slush flooding down Berry's face to the valley of her breasts…

Hey, hey. Cut that shit out.

Okay, let's get one thing straight. Just because he didn't like Berry and Berry didn't like him, didn't mean he didn't have the right to think about her occasionally in a non I-just-want-to-make-you-cry way. The chick ended up haunting in his sleep way more after that one time his mom guilt-tripped him. Since then, his perception of her was slightly skewed. She went from being some holier-than-thou ethereal figure to a hot and sexy seductress who came apart at his touch.

And yes, in all of those times, Berry didn't talk because that was the only place where he was safe from hearing her voice. His dreams.

Anyways, if she didn't drive him up the wall, if she didn't make if feel like the ever-loving crap of the world, and if she didn't flinch every time she saw him or talk to him like he was about to go off on her at any moment, he might've treated her like a real person.

Might.

Like that time at Mike's party, when his parents weren't home and the gleeks and jocks actually hung out somewhere outside school, like normal teenagers. Yeah, right. Normal. And they say miracles don't happen. Except for a few things though, like Kurt dancing to some Beyoncé song and Artie poppin' wheelies in the living room, everyone pretty much blended in. Even Berry, which was just scary.

As Hell.

Actually, she looked pretty good.

Damn good.

Would he tell her that?

Hell no. Lord knows that girl didn't need an ego boost.

Anyways, this really started with Psychology class last Tuesday. Yeah, he barely went, but when he did the teacher would always be talking about sex. A subject he absolutely excelled in. So of course, he gave the teacher an ounce more of attention than usually, when he started talking about the Id.

The Id, which was a theory made by some batshit crazy perv who touched up little girls and was hyped up on cocaine, was a section of your brain that controlled primal urges. Or some shit like that. The teacher had to condense it and say 'This is the area that tells you to jump on that hot girl that just passed you to class'. Surprisingly, he caught onto the concept very well. Hot chick. I want hot chick. Grab hot chick and take her somewhere to do hot people things.

That's where the booze came in because whatever the Hell his Id was thinking, it circulated all the way to the head of his dick, and basically, this had made most of his decisions the rest of that night. Berry was hot, which, by the way, he was thankful for. He may've agreed to take her, but it didn't mean he wanted Betty –freaking- Crocker on his arm all night. He got drunk, she took a couple of hits and she was gone. He should've given her Malibu, but…oh well. Live and learn.

Then she talked. Way. Too. Fucking. Much. Like word vomit on crack. Except, it was pretty damn funny for a bit, and mostly sad when she starting talking about her day, as if he cared. Not that he listened. Nah, that was just something he heard.

Then he drove her back home with a buzz, rep still intact. And then she just…stopped talking. Which was nice, but some heightened part of his mind was freaked the fuck out because this shit wasn't a dream, was it? And then when she started talking again, he kept thinking about how he just jinxed himself and she was getting too intimate with her words, so he shut her up with his mouth. And opened her up with his hands.

He stayed over, something she told him to do, and when he woke up, she wasn't there. Not that he's a fucking pussy or anything, like he would get pissed that she wasn't there. He was a stud though. It was his job to not be there the morning after! When he went downstairs, she was already dressed, donning two large yellow rubber gloves, scrubbing furiously at the kitchen floor.

What.

The.

Fuck.

"Berry, seriously? It's too early to be doing that."

She looked up quickly, brushing her hair out of her face. "Oh. Hello, Noah."

And there goes that awkward silence. You know, the one where he raises his eyebrow, wondering if he just banged a clinically insane chick, and she just smiles nervously and brushes off invisible dust from her shirt.

Yeah. That awkward silence.

He scratchs his shaved scalp and asks one solitary question. "Where's the cereal?"

Why, she asks.

"I'm freaking hungry, that's why," Puck mumbles as he enters the kitchen, ignoring her protests about stepping on the floor when she was cleaning it. Her fault for cleaning it so early anyways. Oh, by the way. He didn't feel like putting on his underwear after last night. Sue him. So maybe that's why Berry freaked out when the cold of the fridge made his lower areas more aware than usual. "Chill out, Berry. It's not like you didn't get a good view last night."

"How on Earth could you wear jeans without undergarments?" She asks childishly and the horrified look on her face almost makes him spew laughter.

"You see, they made these things called jeans and you put one foot in each hole." He replies, pulling the milk out of their anally arranged fridge, which is just about bare because Berry was right, they are addicted to takeout. Containers of Chinese, Mexican, and Thai had to be shuffled through before actually finding real foodstuff. The milk was set to expire that day, so he counted himself pretty lucky. Then, he opens the cabinets in search of cereal, "It's called going commando, Berry. You should try it sometime."

Her face scrunches up in disapproval and a self-satisfied smirk works it's way to Puck's face, until he opens the cabinet the cereal's kept in. "This is what you got?" He pulls out the box and shakes it unabashed, "Raisin Bran?"

Then she talks more. Great. Something about how it's Daddy's because it's health conscience or some gay shit like that. And no, he doesn't feel bad when he says gay because he is gay. "Dad" and "Daddy", or whoever. He wouldn't be getting that title for a long ass time, maybe not ever.

Cereal was nixed because Raisin Bran was NOT the breakfast of badasses. So, looking into his finances -digging into his pocket after buying brass knuckles last week- he decided to screw the kitchen and go out for breakfast. Berry just happened to follow him, was all. And he didn't lock the doors fast enough and threatening to call the cops wouldn't do it because he did screw her when she was drunk off her ass that night and didn't want to risk sexual harassment charges. Knowing her, she'd say he took advantage, which he did, but bullshit. She wanted it just as bad.

After that, things went pretty much back to normal, almost. Berry was still the resident crazy and he still tolerated it without too much resistance. Slushy attacks went down significantly and he ignored those entire we-know-what's-up-and-we-want-details looks from all of the gleeks, including Finn.

"So, ah, why'd u stop slushing?" The taller boy asked, reaching into his locker in the locker room, "Not that I mind, or anything."

Yeah, Puck was just that much of a dumbass. As long as they were on the subject and they weren't being subtle with each other, he said, "Dunno. Why'd you quit the male lead crap?"

Finn sighed and ran his hand through his hair, a frown tugging at his lips, "Quinn's been giving me a lot of crap about singing so much with Rachel, you know?"

No. Puck didn't know. Puck didn't care. Puck still managed to have a pair of balls in his pants. But he wasn't so much of an ass to say that to his best friend's face, so he just gave a non-committal huff and he guessed Finn took that as sympathy. "So, instead of your ass singing to Berry, you passed the buck onto me? Way to have my back."

Yeah, the guilt card. That shit worked better than two condoms on.

Finn was gracious enough to look apologetic and Puck just wanted this verbalized, so as long as Finn didn't mention the Berry incident and Puck didn't make any whipped like a African slave comments, it was pretty much over at that point and that was that.

Which brings us to today. Because obviously, some shit was up and Puck what to know who, what, where, when, and how the fuck to get in on it. Except, apparently, he was already a part of it, and he wanted to know how the Hell he could be at two places at once. And this is where the shit hit the floor.

A tape recorder was pushed under his nose and he swore to God if that freckled face freaked of nature got any closer, he'd shove his ass so far down the garbage shoot, his balls would be served with a side of Cheerios.

That's as close as he would get to banging a cheerleader.

"So Puck, self proclaimed stud of William McKinley, there have been rumors circulating that a certain someone in the Glee club is involved in a scandal. Your thoughts?" Jacob pushed his glasses back to the crook of his nose and wheezed. Puck twitched.

Then his lips followed the same action. "Does it rhyme with Daechel Kerry?"

Israel looked up at him in a self-assuming awe: "You've been reading my blog."

"How about 'Hell no,'" Puck retorted dryly, not even bothering to cushion the blow. "I have a life. You don't. If I wanted to, I could screw Berry any day of the week. You couldn't even get a glimpse of her underwear. Get. A. Life." He shoved the tape recorder so hard out of his grasp that it fell onto the marble tile. Then he took a deliberate step forward, crushing the hard plastic underneath his boot. Jacob jumped back, but then lowered himself to the ground slowly, bated breath and eyes widened in horror under those Urkle shades.

"I had-" A panicked wheeze escaped. "Six hours of commentary!"

"And while you're at it," Puck gritted out underneath a glare. "Stay out of Berry's. It's my job to make her life a living Hell, not yours." He bucked to instill the right amount of fear and Jacob crawled backward on the floor before scurrying down the crowding hallway. There, that was better. Everything was back to order, and in celebration, he began to head over to the second floor bathroom.

He could use some dip right about now.

First and foremost, Rachel Berry was not a nymphomaniac, contrary to the opinion of many.

She just believed that girls and guys had the right to express themselves in any juncture as long as they were protected. Except she could barely remember how she expressed herself and unfortunately, contraceptives were the last things on her mind the one time she expressed herself in that particular way.

So when she received that mock-up of a future blog issue by Jacob yesterday afternoon, she promptly closed the window, assumed the fetal position, and screamed into her pillow. Repeatedly. Then, after another episode in the school bathroom guest starring Ms. Pillsbury, which constituted Rachel to walk out of her office with a bulimia pamphlet and a care basket of Purell, the girl was, quite literally, looking forward to her appointment this weekend. Just one more day, and she would be back to her world of categorized sheet solos and the spotlight.

Then the locker in front of her slammed and she shirked back from the shock. Quinn Fabray stood imposingly with Santana and Brittany at her heels with all of her pomp and circumstance. Rachel released a shuddered breath. "Hello, Qui-"

"Cut the crap, Man Hands. I'm on to you."

With that solitary statement, Rachel felt her skin ice over. She tugged on the hem of her cardigan over her slacks, opened her locker with a blatant slowness, and turned in the other direction so that her hair curtained her face, "Is that so? Please, do tell."

Quinn stepped past personal boundaries with a narrowed gaze, intently observing the girl before answering. "You bowed out of the female lead because Finn bowed out first, so now, Schue's going to use me and I have to duet with Lima Loser!"

Prior to that decision, Rachel hadn't even considered that fact that she would be closer to Finn, but she did realize that she would be away from Puck. Also, thoughts of a developing fetus and the fact that it could leave her birth canal with a fauxhawk kept her up at night and circles had been developing under her eyes. No amount of concealer could distinguish her sleeplessness, as well as the fact that she preferred a fresh complexion versus one covered in foundation. Besides, Glee club deserved better and at this moment better meant the non-pregnant and fresh-faced Quinn Fabray.

"I am terribly sorry that you received the female lead," Rachel said dryly with an ounce of annoyance. Swallowing her pride, she continued, "Maybe I should've recommended Tina, but what's done is done and unfortunately you will have to sing with Puck, who is actually a talented performer based on his Acafellas review. As I've stated before, I happen to be a very classy young woman despite your derogatory comments and I promise to keep my distance." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away before she could break down.

Not that she ever would've, not in front of her and not if there was not a motive accompanying it. Although, she did have to admit, something I her had had broken after that night. When she woke up that morning after, she cried. She went downstairs, sat listlessly on the couch, and cried. Then she showered, brushed her teeth, put on her outfit prepicked for the day, and began to clean the kitchen floor since she neglected doing so in order to go to the party. And then, launching herself into work suddenly made things better. Whenever she would hit the required note, she would stop and ask for a re-do, just so that she could do it better. Her high grades were maintained, Glee Club became better with every meeting as the new recruits melded seamlessly with the original members.

And then she missed her monthly.

This wasn't an uncommon thing, it's happened before. She merely ignored this and continued on. School became better and slushy attacks were less frequent and she and Puck maintained a healthy relationship that consisted of swift glances and barely there touches during rehearsals. If she said something directed at him, she wouldn't really look him in the eyes and he would reply with a sarcastic chuckle and everything was balancing out well.

And then she missed her monthly, again.

And suddenly the walls seemed to be closing in, as this was not common and she found herself wondering when she last had her period. Now knowing what she knows now, she could've consulted with Jacob. But she didn't have to. She began getting sick and due to her raw throat her pitch was becoming sharp and continuing on as the female lead would've alerted everyone that much faster. She couldn't do it. She cannot do it.

And she also couldn't have her reputation ruined either. Not like this.

Which is why she stopped Jacob, who was running down the hallway in terror. She would have to make sure to give the person a care basket for putting that look on his face.

"You…cannot run that article, Jacob." Rachel began, begrudgingly touching his shoulder. His hyperventilation comforted her because it was indication that he might reconsider. His glasses fogged and she tentatively removed her hand. "There are certain ways for things to be done, and that article is far too vague and sensational. Why post that when you can have an exclusive?"

"Exclusive?" Jacob's eyes grew wide, and his eyes ran down her petite figure, making her cringe. "You mean, exclusive footage?"

She didn't miss the fact that his eyes landed on her breasts. "As in an interview. With me. And the father."

Jacob scrutinized her closely for a moment, trying to figure out if she was lying or not. Acting classes since the age of four remedied that. "I accept…on the condition that I get a pair of your underwear. Your real underwear." He leered and she stepped back, maintaining a safe distance. His waggling eyebrow wasn't going to make this easier.

She sighed, stifling a shiver, "I accept."

Part One of the third chapter. It's my birthday today…Wish me well wishes? Por favor?

Another thing...didn't mean to, erm, frighten people, last chapter. I know holiday time is coming, so I'll keep it PG-13 for the most part (due to language). This just won't be a "fluffy" piece, right now at least. I just...don't see them being fluffy after questionable relations. And after they do their "evil deeds" they'll be redeemed. Completely. :)

DAC