They have a picnic in Battery Park on Sunday afternoon. They stop at two different delis on their way, one Jewish and another place that has vegan stuff that she can actually eat. Puck's starting to realize how little traditional Jewish food is vegan - not that most of the food that normal people eat is - and he wonders if there's anything that she misses. Like, she hasn't been vegan forever, and he knows that her Daddy ate meat, so he's pretty sure that she's had matzo ball soup and brisket and noodle kugel and everything else.
She takes a sip of her pink lemonade and considers it when he asks. "Challah. My nana makes amazing challah that I used to love," she tells him. "When I was little, Daddy would freeze extra loaves, then make French toast with it."
It sounds fucking delicious. (He's suggesting it to his mom next time he's home.) "Don't you ever just want to eat a cheeseburger or like, a milkshake?" He's listened to her talk about this shit enough that he understands her reasoning or whatever, but really, doesn't everyone have cravings?
In her mind's eye, cheeseburgers are always bloody slabs of meat with congealed, oily cheese on top, and if she thinks about them too seriously, they morph into the poor, sad cow that was killed to make it. "Not at all," she answers honestly.
It's actually kind of nice, just being with her like this. He leans back against the trunk of the oak tree Rachel chose to spread their blanket out under, and she's lying with her head on his thighs reading some book with birds on the cover. There's a group of little kids running around with water guns out in the middle of the open space he and Rachel are next to, and he's watching them play when Rachel closes her book and looks up at him seriously.
"I don't think we should make any promises to each other."
"What?"
She takes a deep breath, because this is the part where things could fall apart. It's all based on the assumption that Noah would want to be in a relationship with her if they were in the same city, if she was in Columbus or he was staying in New York, and there's always the chance that she's wrong. Still, she just has to say it and hope that she's right.
"I don't think that I'm a long-distance relationship kind of girl," she tells him. "And I don't want either of us to make any promises that we can't keep."
Puck sets his hand on her stomach over her shirt and rubs a circle with his thumb. "Okay."
"Okay?"
Her eyes are wide, and she looks so nervous that he kind of just wants to kiss her and make her stop. "I'm not really a long-distance relationship guy either, Rach," he points out. "But like...we're more than just friends, Rachel."
She sits up then, folding her legs to the side and turning to face him. "I know," she whispers just before she leans in to kiss him. It's chaste, and he knows it's because they're in a public place with little kids. That's okay though; she's far from chaste behind closed doors.
Nothing changes after that afternoon, which, really, is exactly what she was going for.
She counts it as a success.
He doesn't sleep on the sofabed at all the last week that he's in New York. He sleeps on the right side of Rachel's bed - and somehow, over the years and in the handful of times they've shared beds before, they have sides - sometimes with her curled up against him.
Every time they go somewhere or do something, he thinks about how it could be the last, and he's a little surprised that Rachel hasn't brought it up. She did that in high school, talked about how everything was the last time:
'It's your last high school football game. Noah, it's your last football game ever!' (She baked cookies for that. Awesome.)
'It's our last boys versus girls competition, and I for one want an actual winner this year.' (Schue still didn't choose a winner, though Puck can admit that the girls kicked their asses with their mash-up of "All You Need Is Love" and "Don't Let Me Down" for the Beatles-themed assignment.)
'It's the last time we'll ever perform in this gym as a group!' (Sure. It was also the last time that an assembly they performed at turned into chaos, this time because the hockey team started heckling and Rachel lost her shit while she had an open mic in her hand and told them all what she thought. He's still not sure most of those guys knew half the words she used, but that didn't stop them from going fucking nuts.)
So he doesn't get why she's not saying anything, why she's just letting all of this stuff happen without mentioning it. When they go to eat at that Italian place she took him to however long ago, he knows it could be the last time they ever eat here together (he's realistic), and he finally asks her why she isn't making a big deal out of it.
"It's hard enough to know that you're leaving without acknowledging it every five minutes, Noah," she says quietly. Of course she's aware, but she's trying not to dwell.
Or maybe she's in denial. Either way.
They don't sleep at all on Puck's last night in the city.
They get pizza from the same place that they ordered from on his first night there and eat it while they watch some movie with that guy from The Notebook. When it's over, Rachel just stands up and turns off the lamp on the table next to her, holding out her hand in the way Puck knows means that she wants him to go to bed with her even though it's not even ten yet. She laughs quietly when he glances pointedly at the paper plates and napkins that are still on the coffee table. "Don't worry about it."
He isn't worried about it. He just knows that normally, she would be.
A little after two, Noah's lying on his stomach and she's beside him, letting her fingertips trace the lines of his back, up and down his spine, over his shoulder blades, the spot at the base of his spine that he insists isn't ticklish even though it is. "I'm going to miss you," she whispers, and she thinks she's said these exact words to him before. It's starting to really sink in, the fact that she spent the majority of her summer with only him, and she's really, sincerely going to miss that when he's gone. Sure, she'll have school, but that isn't the same, and most of those people aren't actually her friends. (They're her competition.)
Puck opens his eyes to look at her. "Yeah?" She isn't quite meeting his eyes. "Rachel."
"It's silly," she whispers around the lump in her throat."You're right here, and I already miss you a little."
"Baby." He puts his hand on her shoulder and pushes her onto her back, shifting to lay half on top of her. "Don't get all sappy on me now." She scowls even when he kisses her, sliding his hand across her stomach. "I'm right here," he reminds her, his lips skimming across her cheek to her ear.
She doesn't say anything, just shifts so he's between her thighs, his half-hard length pressing against her. "Okay," she murmurs, closing her eyes and pushing her hand into the back of his hair when he drops his head to suck her nipple past his lips. She doesn't know she means, exactly.
They're both fucking exhausted when they get to the airport. Puck thinks it's worth it though. That eight hours that he spent with Rachel, talking with her and touching her and behind inside her, is better than any sleep he could have gotten, and he can always sleep on the plane.
He knows Rachel thinks she looks like shit (she told him, though she didn't use that word), but she's wrong. She looks tired and sad, but she's still fucking beautiful, and even though she scoffed when he told her that, he knows that she liked hearing it.
"Call me when you get home," she says when they're standing at his gate. She's looking down at their joined hands instead of up at his face because she'll cry if she looks at him right this second, and she doesn't want him to see it. "So I know you made it."
"'Kay." She swallows hard and looks up at him when his free hand comes up to cup her cheek, tipping her head back. "I'm gonna miss you, too," he admits just before he kisses her, and she squeezes his hand so hard that she makes her own little opal ring dig into her finger until it hurts.
He pulls away from her and is gone before she can say anything else, and she's actually grateful. The longer he stays, and the more she says, the harder this is going to be.
Puck falls asleep just about as soon as the plane takes off, but it isn't like it's restful sleep. He's having this weird ass dream where Rachel is jumping from building to building in the city, gliding between them like a flying squirrel or something. (She's even got her hair up in a ponytail that curls upwards at the end like a squirrel's tail.) But then the dude sitting in the seat next to Puck's shifts and elbows him hard in the bicep, which wakes him up and pisses him off since he isn't even trying to use the armrest between their seats, and he can't get back to sleep before they're landing in Ohio.
Rachel tries to have a normal afternoon when she gets back into Manhattan from the airport. She goes to the laundromat and reads through an issue of Vanity Fair with Gerard Butler on the cover while her clothes go through the spin cycle. (Reading this magazine always makes her feel older and somehow more wordly, even if she does flip past all of the financial articles in favor of the more entertainment-minded bits.) She puts everything away when she gets home and makes up the bed with clean, fresh sheets. She cleans the kitchen also, going through the fridge to get rid of any takeout that's past its prime, not to mention the last of a quart of milk and a dozen eggs. (Instead of throwing those away, she takes them to her neighbor across the hall with a quick explanation. Wasting food - even food she won't eat - is simply wrong.)
Her apartment feels bigger without Noah in it. She isn't sure that that's necessarily a good thing.
Puck agrees to go back to Lima for a couple of weeks before school starts when his mom guilts him about spending the entire summer in New York and 'not calling me nearly enough, Noah.' And sure, he could be in Columbus hanging out with Finn and Santana (which is actually kind of a can of worms that he's not sure he wants to open) and doing fuck all, but he can do fuck all in Lima and have his mom cooking for him.
He spends his first day home sleeping till noon just because he's been way too fucking productive and responsible and shit this summer, and he only has so much time left in his life to be a lazy bastard. A guy's gotta take advantage of that shit. Abby is sitting at the kitchen table when he gets up, her laptop open and her feet propped up on one of the chairs in exactly the way their mom hates.
"Why's there no coffee?" he mumbles, glaring at her.
She rolls her eyes. "Because it's after noon," she answers, looking at him like he's the dumbest fucker on the planet. "Mom's been gone for hours, and I don't drink coffee."
Jesus, she sounds so much like Quinn that just stares at her for a minute before turning and walking out of the kitchen and straight out the front door, grabbing his keys as he goes. He's totally fucking spoiled after living with Rachel, and he really doesn't want to make his own coffee.
Starbucks it is.
The Cheerios are having an exhibition before they go to their Regional competition, and Puck's mom insists that he goes with her. He's known that Abby's been a Cheerio since tryouts in April, and he knows that she's been up and at school at six for practice every morning that he's been home, but it doesn't really click that she's a Cheerio until she walks into the kitchen all dressed and ready for this exhibition thing. The uniform is the same, and apparently Crazy Sue Sylvester is still a fucking freak about curly ponytails, because her hair is pulled away from her face so tightly that he's pretty sure it's tugging her eyes up a bit.
"Nice skirt, Cherri-ho," he says before he can stop himself, though he regrets it the second it's out of his mouth. Not because his mom reaches out and smacks the back of his head (which she does), but because he starts thinking about the way he always looked at the cheerleaders in high school, not to mention how many of them he fucked.
And, you know, Quinn.
The idea that guys are going to be looking at his baby sister like that makes him see red, and he can be objective enough to realize that Abby's kind of gorgeous and is definitely going to get stared at and propositioned and whatever else. Fuck.
Abby just glares at him over her shoulder - and seriously, Sylvester must teach them that expression, because it's like a fucking flashback and a half; even Brittany could pull that look out when she wanted to - and goes back to retying her shoe.
Being back in the gym at McKinley isn't weird or anything, not like he figured it would be. It's just a gym at the school that he went to, no more, no less. What is funny is the fact that he remembers the glee club performances in here more than he remembers basketball games, even after four years of playing. Nope, he's thinking about that Britney Spears bullshit that he kind of hated until they started running choreography and Quinn was straddling him on stage. And sure, she was glaring at him when they rehearsed, but who the fuck cares? The part where Brittany and Rachel like, writhed up against each other was the best; a guy doesn't just forget that shit.
The Cheerios have always been impressive athletes (he can admit it now), and it isn't a surprise that that's still the case. He isn't surprised to see how good his sister is either, which he tells her in the car on the way home. She doesn't say anything, and when he glances at her in the back seat, she's texting.
She leans against his door frame later, dressed in a pair of gray plaid pajama pants and a tee shirt with a little cartoon cheerleader on the front, and with her hair down and everything, she looks like his little sister again. "Thank you," she says quietly, and it takes him a second to realize what she's talking about.
He pauses the game of Bejeweled he was playing online (shut up) and looks up at her. "Look, just don't let any smart ass little punks talk you out of that skirt, okay?"
"Guys like you?" she quips with a smirk that's all Puckerman.
"Fuckin' right, Abby." Honestly, he was a dick when he was fifteen. "And like, Sylvester's fucking nuts, so don't let her get under your skin-"
"I know," she interrupts, shifting her weight. "Brittany told me, and I have a mind of my own."
"Brittany?"
"Kayla and I got ready for tryouts together," she explains, and Puck realizes that she's talking about Brittany's little sister. She and Abby have been friends for years; Puck used to 'help' Brittany babysit. (Or, you know, make out with her while the girls did whatever the hell.) "She was home, so she helped us, and I know all about Sue Sylvester."
Puck nods, and he thinks Abby will probably be okay. She's smarter than he ever was, for sure, and less worried about her reputation than Quinn was, and less bitchy (a little) than Santana was, so she can probably handle Sylvester better than he thinks. "Seriously though, I'll fuck a dude up," he tells her, getting back to where he started.
She just rolls her eyes and pushes off the doorway, calling, "Good night," over her shoulder.
Rachel throws herself into her new semester, and even though she's technically taking fewer course hours (having managed to mostly catch up to where she should have been in the last year), she's busier than ever thanks to the supporting role she got in the autumn musical. They're doing Kiss Me, Kate, and Maggie is playing the lead, which she's incredibly smug about, but Rachel is happy to let her have it. The girl doesn't know it, but Rachel deliberately didn't audition for the lead, explaining to the director (who happens to be her private voice teacher, Dr. Weaver) that she felt a stronger connection to the so-called lesser role of Lois than that of Lilli. It's a gamble, yes, but she wants to show the faculty - and whoever they may be speaking with - that she's more interested in having the right roles and performing them perfectly than she is in being a star.
The truth is, she wants both. She nearly always believes that the right role for her in any show is the lead, but this is about proving a point and making a statement. And yes, for this particular show, one could argue that Maggie's California-blonde good looks are better suited for the lead, though Rachel thinks her own voice is better for the part, versatile as she is.
And nothing is going to stop her from taking the lead in the spring musical, the last official show before the senior showcase in May. It's the one that, for all intents and purposes, really matters, the one that agents and casting directors and producers will remember when they're looking for fresh faces.
(She's heard rumors that they're considering doing West Side Story, and while there are always endless rumors about these things, Rachel hopes that it's true. She's always believed that she was made to be Maria, and she's certainly better suited to the role than Maggie is, who is the only person who could possibly challenge her here. Few shows could be more perfect for her, and she's failing more than a little at not getting her hopes up too high.)
She's taking a tap class as part of her requirements, and even though she took tap as a little girl and her body seems to remember the movements, it isn't exactly thrilled with being expected to do them. Between her morning yoga class, her afternoon tap class, and a rehearsal that takes her entire evening, she's sore and just plain exhausted, and while she could give up the yoga, she's a girl who needs the forced relaxation it provides. She doesn't need the exercise, but she does need the atmosphere, and she isn't willing to give it up.
She has a message on her phone from Christina when she gets out of rehearsal, something about it being Friday night and not becoming a theater nerd and, 'a bunch of us are going to this dive in Queens, so you should come.' Honestly, even if she did want to go all the way to Queens - which she definitely doesn't - she'd be asleep on her feet before midnight. She texts her regrets to Christina and promises that she'll make time to go out soon, which may or may not be a lie. School is more important than her social life, but if she can go out without negatively effecting classes or the musical, she certainly will.
She runs a bath when she gets home, adding a generous amount of vanilla-lavender-scented bubble bath. She opens a bottle of red wine and takes her glass into the bathroom, and she lights a few candles before flicking off the switch just to complete the atmosphere.
As long as she doesn't fall asleep in the tub and drown, it'll be perfect.
She lasts ten minutes and half of her glass of wine before she's calling Noah, and she's honestly surprised that she doesn't hear a bunch of noise in the background when he answers. She'd assumed that she would get his voice mail, given that it's a Friday night and he normally spends those in bars or at parties. "What are you doing?" she asks quietly.
"Nothing," Puck answers honestly, unless watching a basketball game on ESPN Classic and eating Doritos counts as doing something. Sometimes a guy just wants to be lazy, okay? "How was your rehearsal?"
"Long, and I know that everyone thought I was a diva in high school - even though Kurt and Mercedes both put me to shame, thank you very much - but Maggie is ridiculous," she tells him. "She nitpicks everyone else, but her own performance is far from flawless. It's infuriating."
"Tell me how you feel, baby."
"She's a bitch," Rachel adds flatly, making Puck snort out a laugh. "Honestly."
"What are you doing now?" he asks. He assumes she's at home, but her voice sounds sort of weird, like it's echoing.
"Taking a bubble bath and drinking wine," she answers easily. She knows exactly what she's doing, and she likes the way that Noah groans.
They aren't in a relationship, and they haven't talked about being exclusive, but Rachel isn't interested in pursuing anyone else, and she's fairly certain that Noah isn't either. They talk on the phone a couple of times a week, and they text one another multiple times a day, just silly, inconsequential things.
The idea of phone sex has been a bit of a point of contention between them. It just makes her feel...uncomfortable, the idea of Noah listening to her when she touches herself even though, as he's pointed out, he's heard it all before. He's practically begged her to let him 'talk her through it,' and it's absurd that she keeps saying no, especially since she quite likes doing the same for him. It's empowering, knowing that she can help him come with her words alone, by saying the right things to put the right images in his head. And yes, she's relieved some of her own...tension, so to speak, but it certainly isn't as good to do it yourself when you know how much better it is with someone else.
Right now, she's sore and tense and just a little bit loose thanks to the glass of wine she's nearly finished, and she thinks that maybe it's time to see if having his voice helps.
Her cheeks are burning before she even says anything, even though she's all alone in her apartment. "I miss you," she murmurs quietly, not really sure how to even broach the subject.
The second she said 'bubble bath,' Puck pushed his hand into the front of his sweats and palmed his cock, 'cause that visual...fuck. "Yeah?" She hums a little. "You been thinkin' about me?"
"Yes." She swallows the last of her glass of wine and licks her lips, taking a deep breath. "Noah, could you-" She cuts herself off. "I want..."
"What do you want, baby?" he asks, his voice low and knowing and so sexy that it makes her feel more bold than she actually is.
"Could you talk me through it?" she practically whispers, borrowing his words.
"Fuck, Rachel," he breathes out, tightening his fist around his cock. "Yeah, I can."
She practically falls into bed after she hangs up the phone and manages to get herself out of the tub, and she sleeps more deeply than she has in weeks.
She doesn't even mind admitting to Noah that he was right all along when they talk on Saturday afternoon.
Puck's supposed to be working on a proposal for one of his classes, but school is wearing him the fuck out and he was sort of dozing before his phone rang with Rachel's name on the display.
"I'm not coming home for Thanksgiving," she announces when he answers, and even half-asleep, he can hear the tears in her voice.
"What? Why?"
She sniffles even though she thinks it's disgusting and curls further into the corner of her couch. "My dad is dating someone," she says quietly. "He called to tell me that he invited James to Thanksgiving dinner. So I won't be there."
"Rachel."
"Daddy hasn't even been gone three years, Noah." Her voice isn't strong enough to do much more than whisper, which she hates. "I don't understand."
Jesus. It seems like this girl is always throwing shit at him that he just doesn't know how to deal with. He really doesn't know what to say to any of this. The only thing he's really sure of is that it sucks that now he doesn't have any idea when he'll see her next, because he knows that he isn't going to be able to change her mind about this if she's already made it up.
"He's probably lonely," he finally says. "You can't really be mad at him for not wanting to be all alone, Rach."
"But Thanksgiving?" She can understand him finding someone else, she really, really can. It hurts, and she hates it, but she understands. But inviting that man to be part of their most important family holiday? That isn't okay, and Noah must understand that, because he doesn't say anything, just sighs into the phone quietly. "I've never even heard him talk about the guy."
"I bet my mom knows something about it, if you want to call her," Puck offers, and he's actually sort of surprised that his mom hasn't mentioned the guy David's dating.
"No." She sighs. "I need to get into rehearsal."
"All right. Hey, call me later?"
"Sure."
It's weird for her to hang up without saying goodbye, and if Puck hadn't already been able to tell that this thing with her dad was messing with her, that would've been a dead giveaway. It's probably going to get him into shit with someone - he doesn't know who, but someone - but he calls his mom to see if she's heard anything about David dating some guy named James.
"James who?" Marlene asks, sounding a little too interested for Puck's liking.
"I don't know, and don't say anything," he says firmly. "I'm serious, Mom. If you don't know, it's because David doesn't want anyone to know, and he deserves that."
"Noah, I do have some concern for others' privacy," she insists, which makes Puck roll his eyes, because she really, really doesn't. He thinks she'll actually manage to keep this to herself though, because she loves Rachel and she knows how hard the last couple of years were on the girl.
Puck's quiet for a moment, then he sighs. "How pissed are you gonna be if I'm not home for Thanksgiving?"
When he steps off the airplane in New York this time, she's waiting for him in jeans and brown knee-high boots with a cream-colored sweater that looks so soft he seriously wants to touch it. He drops his duffel bag on the ground when he gets to her so he can pull her into a hug, running his hands over her back. (The sweater is soft, but then his fingers tangle in her hair, and that's even softer.)
Rachel just lets herself melt into his chest and the way that his arms are wrapped around her. Other than cursory conversations in which she reassures him that she's alive and well, she hasn't talked to her dad in weeks. Mike is back in the city, but they're both so busy that they aren't able to spend time together like they used to. She always thought that the fact that you could never be alone in New York City meant that you could never be lonely, but she's learning just how wrong she is. She's been incredibly lonely, and having Noah here is like having a weight lifted off of her chest.
She finally pulls away to look up at him. "I'm so glad you're here," she says, her hands clutching at the sides of his coat.
He leans down to kiss her, but he just brushes his lips against hers. (If he kisses her like he wants to, he's going to want to have her naked, and he knows how long it takes to get to her apartment.) "Me too."
She laces their fingers together once he's shouldered his bag and starts leading him back to the exit. "How was your flight?"
Puck scoffs. "Do you know what fucking bullshit it is to fly during Thanksgiving?"
She laughs not only because he's right, but because it's just so normal, and she's missed him so much.
She's ordered most of the meal from a local restaurant, not because she isn't capable of cooking it, but because she has no desire to roast a turkey or prepare dressing. Of course, when Noah told her that he was coming (that he'd already gotten a non-refundable ticket, so he was coming whether she liked it or not), she called Marlene, first to apologize, then to find out if there was anything in particular that the Puckermans ate on Thanksgiving.
That's how she spent all of Wednesday morning making something called pumpkin doughnut muffins, which are really just pumpkin muffins dipped in melted butter and rolled in cinnamon-sugar.
"It smells like Thanksgiving in here," Noah says when they walk into her apartment, turning to face her with wide eyes while he shrugs off his coat.
Rachel's smiling when she finishes locking the door and turns to face him. "I got a recipe from your mom," she admits, unbuttoning her red coat and laying it over the back of an armchair.
He stares at her for a moment. "You made those muffins," he says when it all comes together in his head. She just keeps smiling, which is a yes, and he knows that with the way Rachel bakes, they'll be just as good as his mom's. He drops his bag and reaches for her, setting one hand on the small of her back to pull her close and sinking the other into her hair, tilting her head so he can kiss her the way he wants to this time. He sips at her lips, deepening the kiss slowly, bit by bit, until his tongue is sliding against hers and she's whimpering into his mouth.
"God, Noah," she breathes, pulling away and blinking up at him. "I missed you."
He doesn't say anything, just nips at her lips and starts walking backwards, pulling her with him to her bedroom until he can push her down onto the bed. "I like these boots," he tells her when he kneels in front of her to unzip them, tugging them off her feet one by one. He smirks up at her when he sees her pink argyle socks. "Of course."
"Don't make fun of me," she giggles, pushing at his chest with one foot while he pulls the sock off the other. The laugh dies in her throat when he sets his hand on her shoulder and pushes her onto her back, his fingers going to work on the button of her jeans immediately. "Noah."
"I like this sweater, too," Puck says, doing his best to appreciate and ignore the look on her face. It's fucking hot, because he can tell he's driving her crazy, but if he really thinks about it, he's going to lose his shit and this little thing he's got going is all going to be for nothing. Instead, he slides his hands down over her arms, then pushes them up her sweater slowly, her skin hot under his palms. "It's soft."
"It's cashmere," she manages after he's pulled it over her head, and she can tell that he really likes it when he makes the effort to toss it over the chair in the corner instead of just dropping it to the floor like her jeans. She watches him when he pulls his shirt over his head, swallowing hard at the sight of his bare chest. "Noah, please."
He really wants to take his time here, but she's looking at him all desperately, and she's wearing this little satin tank top thing that's almost the same color as her skin, and he hasn't been with her - or anyone else - since the last time he was here.
Fuck it.
He unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans fall to the floor before moving to lay on top of her, pushing her tank top up over her head, leaving her in just her panties. "So pretty, baby," he murmurs, running the palm of his hand between her breasts.
He's barely touching her, and it's making her crazy. She really isn't sure how he's holding it together, but his self-control is starting to frustrate her. She presses her hips up against his, groaning along with him when she feels how hard he is between her legs. "Please don't tease." She's practically whining, but if ever a situation called for whining, this is it. "I need you."
"Tell me what you want, Rachel," he murmurs, his lips skimming up her jaw until he's nipping at the hinge of it with his teeth.
"Noah."
"Tell me," he repeats, tracing the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue. He wants to hear her say the words.
"You're mean," she murmurs, making him laugh. "Fuck me," she begs, putting her hand on his cheek and making him look at her. Her eyes are wide and dark, her lips parted as she breathes hard. "Please, Noah."
He doesn't make her ask again.
He eats three of those muffins in about thirty seconds standing there in her kitchen. He's just wearing his boxers and she's in his long-sleeved tee shirt, sitting on the counter and watching him eat while she sips from a glass of water.
"Is there anything in particular you want to do in the city while you're here?" she asks, handing him the glass of water once it looks like he's done eating like a heathen.
"You," he answers before he can stop himself. Thankfully, she just shakes her head and laughs. "This semester's been so fucking busy, we could spend the weekend hanging out and that'd be the shit." He means it, and he knows that her semester has been even more insane than his, especially since her musical opens in two weeks.
She hooks her feet behind his thighs and pulls him closer, draping her arms over his shoulders when he's right in front of her. "I like that idea," she says just before she kisses him.
Thanksgiving day with Rachel is kind of hilarious, because even though she ordered a ton of food (that she's up really fucking early to go get, though she brings Starbucks when she comes back, so he forgives her for the alarm), she's still in the kitchen all morning, clattering around and doing whatever while Puck sits on her couch and watches football like she told him to. She insists that they sit at the table, which she's set with cream-colored plates and dark red cloth napkins, and it's actually really nice.
Noah insists that he needs a nap after dinner, so she lies down beside him with the novel that she's reading, though she doesn't even make it through an entire chapter before she's having a hard time keeping her eyes open. She gives up, setting the book on her bedside table and lifting Noah's arm so she can curl into his side, ignoring the little smirk she sees on his lips.
It's dark when Puck wakes up. Rachel's beside him, the light from her phone practically blinding him as she plays with it. "Have you called him?"
"No," she answers quietly. "I talked to him yesterday though."
"Rach."
"I don't want my family to change again," she whispers. That's what this is about as much as anything. They worked together, the three of them, and she hates that that changed. She hates it. The idea of someone new coming in, bringing his expectations and his opinions and his good intentions...
She just doesn't think she can handle it.
"What would you do if your mom started dating someone?"
Puck shrugs his shoulders. "Now, probably nothing as long as he wasn't a jackass and Abby didn't hate him."
"Now?" she repeats.
"She's dated a couple of guys over the years," he answers with a smirk. "I scared most of 'em off." She raises her eyebrows. "The last time my mom was dating some guy, I stole an ATM with her car."
Rachel feels her eyes go wide. She'd always assumed that that entire incident was some latent anger over Quinn and their baby, though the details had never quite added up. For example, why would he have used his mother's car to commit a crime like that when he had a truck of his own? She'd ask for more details, but she doesn't think that she wants them; sometimes, it's just easier to be ignorant. It's enough for her to know that his juvenile record was expunged.
"Give it time," Noah offers. "You're here, and he's there alone, and...fuck, baby, just give him a chance."
"My dad or James?" she asks, her mouth twisting a little when she says the name.
"Your dad. Who gives a fuck about James?"
She laughs a little in spite of herself, dropping her phone and curling into his side again, pressing a kiss to his chest through his tee shirt. "Thank you," she whispers, closing her eyes when she feels his lips on top of her head.
Puck wakes up alone in Rachel's bed on Friday morning, which sucks. He woke up with filthy ideas, and it's hard to follow through on that when Rachel isn't even in the room.
But then he hears her voice floating down the little hallway, and he catches what's obviously the end of a conversation, based on the 'I will. I love you, too. Bye, Dad.' that he hears.
He feigns sleep when she comes back into the room, slipping into bed beside him and rubbing her feet together the way he knows she does when they're cold. He mumbles her name when she presses herself against him. Her hand is cold when she slides it across his stomach, but it kind of feels good, so he doesn't say anything.
"Good morning," she whispers, pressing her lips against the underside of his jaw. She woke up early and wasn't able to go back to sleep, so she decided to take his advice and call her father. Now, she feels better, lighter than she has since she deciding that she wasn't going back to Lima for the holiday. Since Noah's at least partially responsible, she thinks he deserves a reward.
He groans when she pushes her hand past the waistband of his boxers and wraps her hand around him, her teeth teasing at his earlobe when she breathes out his name. "Fuck, baby."
Apparently Rachel has dirty ideas of her own, and he's totally down for letting her do whatever she wants, especially when she pushes her panties down off her hips, waiting for him to follow suit with his boxers before she straddles his hips and tugs her nightgown over her head.
"Thank you," Rachel says quietly when they're waiting for his flight to board Sunday afternoon. "For coming."
They're standing outside, because even though it's fucking cold, it's way too loud in that place, and her crazy ass insisted that they leave for the airport way earlier than they really needed to. Her hands are tucked into the pockets of his coat, and he's got his arms wrapped around her, trying to keep her from freezing.
"I didn't want you to spend Thanksgiving alone," he tells her honestly. "And it was an excuse to come see you."
She stands on her toes to press her lips to his again, her fingers grasping at the inside of his pockets. She wants to tell him that she loves him, but she thinks that he'll take it the wrong way, that he'll think she means that she's in love with him, and she isn't sure that she is. It's just that he's her best friend, and no one has ever been as good to her as he is, and she does love him. She settles for pushing herself closer to him and kissing him again.
He insists that they go inside when he notices that her nose is all red, and he buys her an herbal tea at Starbucks before his flight is called and he has to say goodbye.
"Call me-"
"When I get back," he interrupts, winking at her when she pouts. "I will, baby."
He's gone before she can say anything else, but she doesn't really hate that he knew what she was going to say. She likes that he knows her.