Chapter Three: How to Cope with Times Square
A.N.: Sorry for the delay in posting this, trying to work on two fics simultaneously and failing. LOL.
To those of you who actually took the time to review -- THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! You make me want to keep writing. :)
Disclaimer: I still don't owe Glee. Those darn DVDs need to come out sooner!
"Thanks again, Noah," Rachel said softly as he pulled up to her house. "And I meant what I said, you know. I think your unrealized potential is exponentially greater than you credit yourself. If you wish to improve your intellectual achievement, I am an extremely competent tutor, and likely slightly ahead of you academically." Rachel! That is not leaving him alone! "And if you wish to extend your vocal range, I would be pleased to assist in that endeavor as well." Her heart overruled her head as she smiled at him.
Noah looked at her, hopeful and waiting. "Shouldn't you be making that offer to your lover boy?" he mocked. Damn it, Puckerman! Why do you have to be an ass all the time?
Rachel's eyes dimmed. See? This is what happens when you try to be nice to Noah Puckerman. "Never mind, then," she said quietly, looking away. "Thanks for the ride." She threw open the door, and practically tossed her backpack and her guitar onto her front lawn before jumping out and slamming it behind her. Idiot. You know better than that, Rachel. She hoisted the guitar on her back and angrily grabbed for the handle of her backpack, dropping it repeatedly in her haste. Come on!
"Lemme get that," his voice came from behind her.
She dropped the handle again, startled. When did he get out of the truck? "Damn it!" she berated herself.
He smirked and picked up the bag. "Berry, a curse? I didn't think those were part of your vocabulary."
"I can curse you out in four languages," she muttered darkly as she tried to wrest her bag from his grip. Just let go and go away! When he refused to relinquish the bag, she turned her back to him. "Maybe I should," she continued to herself, and stalked to the door.
Yeah, okay. I deserve that. He brought her backpack up with him, dropping it unceremoniously on the porch. "Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I just...I'm all screwed up in the head right now, and you're an easy target."
"Gee, thanks," Rachel sarcastically replied as she unlocked the door. Should've listened to the sign...She grabbed the backpack and stepped inside. "Is there anything else, Noah?" I will not ask him what's wrong. I will not. He can share or-
"I, um...Berry, I'm..." Damn it, Puckerman, spit it out or just leave! "What do you do when you have to clear your head? Like, I know it's got to be, you know, Times Square up in your head. How do you make it all just...shut up?" The words came out in a rush, and Noah took a deep breath when he finished.
And again, unexpected. Rachel sighed. "I will choose to ignore the disparaging tone in which you stated I might be able to assist you, based on my highly developed thought processes and the resulting profundity of cognitive activity occurring simultaneously-"
And this is why you don't ask Rachel Berry anything. Noah rolled his eyes. "Never mind, Berry, just forget I-"
"I sing. A lyrically relevant piece, of course."
Of course she does. "Yeah, I don't-"
"You don't have to sing, necessarily. I choose to perform because it's..." She sighed, looked off to some spot over Noah's shoulder as her eyes went dreamy. "It's the only time where I'm guaranteed to feel worthy, and special." And not like the school freak. "I never...I never doubt myself when I sing," she finished quietly. Unlike every other minute of the day. "And then I choose a song that says the things that I can't." She cleared her throat, refocusing on him. "But, as I said, not necessarily the same activity. So, I guess try something you know you're good at," she offered.
Noah smirked and started to respond when she held up a hand.
Oh, good job, Rachel, what do you think he's going to say he's good at?! "Please, Noah, spare me whatever it is you are about to tell me, as I am nearly certain it is vulgar or crude." I don't need to hear you talking about your conquests.
He smiled widely. "Hey, maybe you do know me after all." He turned and started down the walk. "Thanks, Berry," he tossed over his shoulder.
She stood in the doorway, waiting until his truck was out of sight before closing the door.
***
Something I'm good at, huh? He took his cell phone out of his pocket, and sent a text to Santana. "Nice boobs. Wanna screw? My place, 20 minutes."
***
Rachel sighed heavily as she hauled her guitar and backpack up the stairs. Okay, there was definitely a reason I stopped playing guitar at school! She placed both items in their designated areas, and dropped herself on the bed. "That was an exceedingly atypical day," she said to no one. What on earth could have him so preoccupied? And why was he so shocked to hear I believe he has potential? Does he not realize I wouldn't have deigned to date him, albeit briefly, had I no faith that he is capable of transcending our humble beginnings? With a sigh, she moved to her closet to change. Pay attention to the sign, Rachel. Do your homework, and get him out of your head!
And so she did. With typical Rachel Berry determination, she conquered her homework.
Also typical, across town, Noah Puckerman conquered Santana Lopez.
***
That kind of...sucked. He looked down at Santana, lying sweaty and spent on his left arm. I just want her to go away. He scratched his head with his free hand. My brain still hurts, this didn't do any good. He looked down at her boobs and smirked. Well, okay. Maybe a little.
"Get out," he barked.
"Not a moment too soon," she replied with equal hostility. She got dressed and left without another word.
Noah heard the door slam and got up to watch Santana peel out of his driveway. Now what? He threw himself back on the bed. So Aretha was right. I have to quit trying so hard. Rachel's voice came back to him -- "You want it too much." But I'm not a deadbeat, I deserve to be a part of this! He punched his mattress in frustration. Damn it. Rachel's voice teased at his memory again. "And then I choose a song that says the things that I can't," she'd said.
Maybe I can try that. Damn it. I'm gonna have to wake up stupid early to beat Berry to the auditorium. He thumped his head against the mattress before heading to the shower.
***
Early the next morning, Noah flipped on the stage lights and dragged the stool out to center stage. This is so lameass. That's the one good thing about having to beat Berry here, no one else would be here. I'll go back and take a nap in the truck. It'll be perfect. He took his guitar out of its case lovingly and tuned it quickly. If this doesn't work, I'm gonna be so pissed. He closed his eyes and started to play.
***
Rachel closed her locker and headed to the auditorium. Ugh! What disquieting dreams. I couldn't even leave him alone in my sleep! She sighed. Fortuitous, then, that I have the perfect song. She opened the door and stopped dead. I must be hallucinating due to lack of REM sleep. Noah Puckerman is not on my stage. He is not singing. He is not. She closed the door quietly and slipped into a seat, once again.
***
Noah poured himself into the song, eyes clenched tightly shut. All the things I can't say, right?
"On my deathbed, I will pray
to the gods and the angels.
Like a pagan, to anyone
who will take me to heaven...
To a place I recall,
I was there so long ago...
The sky was bruised,
The wine was bled,
And there you led me on..."
Rachel sat, still as a statue, listening. Oh, Noah...What happened between you two? She gazed at the slump of his shoulders. Was babysitting more than babysitting? Was that why Quinn needed Finn to be distracted?
Noah shook his head and stilled his fingers on the strings, opening his eyes with a curse. Isn't that what I wanted to say? That's what I want, right? To be with Quinn. He strummed idly. Right? "Damn it," he muttered. "This was supposed to clear my head, not make me more confused!" He looked out towards the bleachers. I thought that's what I wanted...He frowned. But she's such a bitch! To me, anyway. And to Berry. And Finn. And pretty much everyone else if she's in a bad mood. Do I really want that all the time? He sighed as Mercedes' question and his answer played through his head. This is about my daughter, he realized. Not Quinn and me. That's what I want to say. That's what I need to clear my head about. But how? He picked out a melody on the guitar. Damn it. It doesn't sound right. He looked over at the piano. No. I told myself I wouldn't. Not when it reminds me of when he left. He put the guitar down and walked over to the piano, trailing his fingers lightly over the keys.
What is he doing? Rachel wondered. The piano?
He sat on the bench and let out a breath. There's no one here. If we're talking about what I can't say, it's that song. And unlike my deadbeat sperm donor, I mean what I'm singing. He touched the keys gingerly, trying to find the right pressure, and started to play.
Rachel watched, entranced, as Noah caressed the keys, and beautiful chords filled the auditorium. I stand corrected. Why on earth has he never played before? The rich tones he coaxed from the piano swept Rachel along with them. She closed her eyes with a dreamy sigh as he began to sing.
This is for you. Even if I never know you, even if she never lets me near you... Even though I never meant for this to happen...I...I lo- He shook his head and instead sang softly from memory.
"Goodnight, my angel
Time to close your eyes,
And save these questions for another day...
I think I know what you've been asking me...
I think you know what I've been trying to say...
I promised I would never leave you,
And you should always know --
Wherever you may go,
No matter where you are,
I never will be far away..."
Rachel covered her mouth with her hand. Oh no. No. It can't – he couldn't – she wouldn't. But...but he's singing a lullaby. Billy Joel's lullaby. To his daughter.
His daughter.
Oh Noah...
Musical note: The first song Noah attempts is "Like a Stone" by Audioslave. The second is "Lullabye (Good Night My Angel)" by Billy Joel, written for his daughter.
A.N.: Review please????