A/N: I don't know if I need to apologize for it or not, but this part ended up being WAY longer than the others I've written so far—like I think almost double. I hope that's a good thing. This part kind of answers a lot of questions I got and it directly follows the chapter titled "Get It Back" from a bit ago, so you may want to re-read and refresh. All other relevant information will be at the end of the update so I don't ruin anything. Ha!

This is getting back toward the reason this story was rated M in the first place, so if you are sensitive to language or smuttiness, please just click that arrow pointing to the left, deal?

Last but not least, thanks for all the reviews, follows, alerts, etc. This story has by far surpassed my expectations with all of that and I love knowing that others love what I'm writing as well. It seems each part gives me ideas for at least two more, so there is really no end in sight here. Also, I can't remember if it was this part or the last one, but I forgot to thank Paceismyhero for unknowingly letting me borrow one of her Puckisms. She makes me a better Puck-writer and I totally owe her!

Get It Figured Out

One of the really good things about Winter Break from school was that it was long and you only had to deal with people if you chose to; all the loose ends – the glee club performances for holidays, the class projects, everything like that – had been tied up before school recessed. This year happened be one of the years that because of the calendar and the way dates fell they were out of school for what seemed like eternity.

Rachel was taking full advantage of it after the mess of her birthday party. Her dads had been out of town, leaving only the day before the party and then staying gone for almost two full weeks. She'd feigned illness to avoid joining them once school was out, and she had largely managed to avoid everyone. Now her dads were home, but they had stayed blissfully and suspiciously silent on the subject of Puck's absence and her lack of sociality.

Everyone always said she was a drama queen and she thrived off their attention. She knew she should probably get used to people prying into her personal life at some point if she really was going to seek celebrity status, but this time she just didn't feel like it. Puck had pulled the door open while they were yelling and it had been enough for everyone that was listening to catch the gist of their issues. It wasn't necessary, because it had all played out during the game anyway, right in front of them. At that point, the words were just semantics.

No, for all the things she had allowed to play out about her publicly, she was totally content to sit on this for another week until school started again, and maintain radio silence. The battery on her cell phone had eventually died, and while she had put it on the charger, she hadn't ever actually removed it. Technically she wanted to leave the phone at least turned on in case her dads needed something, but she had ignored everyone else. Finn had sent no less than five or six text messages per day, on top of repeated phone calls. Kurt had been clocking in just behind him, leaving hourly voicemails until sometime that first day when her mailbox was full and she hadn't bothered to empty it. Mercedes had texted but hadn't called. Sam had texted. Tina had called a few times and texted a few, but less than the others. Even Mike had sent her a message this morning.

She was pretty sure Blaine had gotten in a few texts and messages somewhere in there, too, but whenever it was, she had stopped paying attention before that point.

Rachel stopped paying attention because Puck was nowhere on the list of those who had contacted her. She wasn't sure how she felt about that—if she even wanted him to—but no matter how she felt, it hadn't happened anyway. And she sure as hell wasn't going to contact him first. Maybe he was out trying to find a rebound skank anyway. Who cared?

Somewhere deep down, she knew she cared. That was the whole problem. She had turned down Finn and his offer of a relationship (or his declaration of love) nearly two years ago now, and why had she done it? She had done it because she could feel herself, those strong and steely parts that her whole personality was built on, falling away. She could feel herself going soft when she was with him and lost in those big, innocent, brown puppy-dog eyes, and she hated that feeling of slipping into totally vulnerability. She had never really felt like she was losing herself to Noah, exactly. He did the same basic things that Finn did even still—he encouraged her, supported her for the most part, told her when she was being insane or an idiot. But the way he did it made her feel steelier, stronger, and maybe even a little sharper. She didn't feel herself getting soft. It was like the constant opposition actually made her tougher, and she was grateful for that. It was a subtle difference, but it was something she felt would make a huge variance in her future success.

The thing was, though, that the hard shell of an exterior—the tougher skin, if you will—that she had been building up had an offset. It had a soft spot. She still had weaknesses, like everyone else, and the problem was that he knew what they were and then he used them against her.

It didn't seem like that should be allowed or easily forgiven.

The real question was just how much he had used them, and if it was intentional. It was entirely possible he had just blurted out the implications of infidelity in the heat of an argument. She had told him once that he was proprietary, that she expected and trusted him to take care of her and to defend her. Well, those concepts didn't exclude the possibility of jealousy and regardless of the innocence of playing a game, she had kissed another boy right in front of him. She had enjoyed kissing another boy, and honestly it wasn't the first time during their relationship that it had happened. To her, it was almost like a stage kiss. He had never flared quite so red or so angry with any of those. So what was the difference this time?

This time, he'd come out fighting with every sharp tool he could find. It felt like he had stabbed his words right into that soft underbelly that barely housed all of her insecurity and self-doubt—and it was right after he had kissed Quinn and left Rachel feeling so exposed. Quinn was a big part of all Rachel's insecurities in a way, because Rachel knew she'd never be a girl like Quinn (even if Rachel was loathe to give the Cheerio that much power). It wasn't physically possible—never mind emotionally possible. She would never be blonde or tall(er) and thin. She would never be poised, confident, cool, or proper. She wouldn't ever be popular and she had given up trying or caring what others thought. She couldn't control the fact that she lashed out, that she was sometimes bigger than life, and there was no way in hell she could ever be underhanded. No, Rachel had long ago come to accept the fact that she was obvious, loud, brash, and often condescending. It was nothing compared to the cold composure of Quinn Fabray. Truth be told, she didn't want to be that way anyhow. She just wanted to be herself and be accepted and loved for that girl.

And he had thrown every single bit of that desire right back in her face. He had implied she wasn't enough for him and that he'd been sneaking around. The other half of the problem was she couldn't be entirely sure what was true. Had he been faithful to her? She hadn't heard rumors the contrary, and there was never anything particularly secret about his prior conquests, so she had no reason to expect the entire student body of McKinley High to keep it from her now. But at the same time, he could be an unusually good liar even if he was usually so bold he was brutally honest and totally tactless. Still, she knew the ability to lie was there.

She just couldn't figure out what would've been in it for him to cheat. She'd had opportunity to cheat herself and she could never figure out an actual benefit and had turned down the opportunities immediately. And she had actually told him about those, too. Well, one time he had been there. And of course he always knew what happened between her and Finn, even if they were just friends. That seemed to be his real sore spot, the potential relationship with Finn that she had shelved, and even at this late date in the game Noah wasn't relaxing about it at all.

Rachel had been reading – a rare book that wasn't related to the theater in any way that she knew of, or for school—and had totally lost herself in her thoughts. Even as she was thinking, though, she was still reclined on her bed with the book open on her chest. Her dads had invited her to eat popcorn and watch a movie with them (and she pretended to miss their sympathetic 'but-it's-not-a-school-night-and-you're-in-pajamas-at-five glances), but she had declined with an excuse that her book was addicting.

Of course, once you'd read one Jodi Piccoult book, you'd read them all, so that wasn't necessarily true.

Her dad's soft knock on the door, followed by the rich baritone of his voice pulled her gently from her mind-wandering.

"Hi, sweetie."

"Hi, dad," she said giving him a small smile. He came into the room and stopped a little short, looking around confusedly.

"Oh, you really can't hear it," he said simply. He knew they had soundproofed her room about three years ago when her constant practicing resulted in a peace disturbance call placed by a neighbor to the local police department, but he hadn't realized until just this moment how well they did. Or the fact that, as much as it kept her noise in, it kept all the other noises out. It worked both ways.

She tilted her head and folded the book closed. "Hear what, exactly?"

"Well, your boyfriend seems rather intent on serenading you. And apparently he didn't mention it first."

She smiled and shook her head. "What?"

"Noah has been playing in the driveway for about twenty minutes." He lowered his voice and looked at her, the glance bordering between amused and confused. "The lyrics are saying something about his stupid mouth?"

"Oh, honestly," she gasped and rolled her eyes as she shook his head. "There's no way he can think that's going to work."

Leroy Berry smiled at his daughter. He was inordinately proud she didn't back down for anyone who could carry a tune in a bucket. "Well maybe it should. What exactly did he do?"

She had scooted off the bed and moved over to her closed curtains. The large window in her room looked down onto the driveway below and she was trying to peek through the heavy purple fabric without Noah catching her eye.

Once she was standing this close to the window, though, she could actually kind of hear him singing and strumming in time with his guitar. She took comfort in the fact they'd predicted even colder-than-average temperatures for the icy evening. The weather report had actually induced the Lima Arts and Media Executives to cancel the annual First Night celebration because it was supposed to be such bad weather no one was planning on attending anyway. Although New Year's Eve was still two nights away, the cold weather had moved in early. She was torn between hoping he'd at least put on those disgusting gloves without fingertips and hoping he got frostbite.

"That sounds dangerously close to prying, dad," she murmured. What was he singing? It was a guitar interlude at the moment and she wasn't entirely certain of the song yet although it sounded vaguely familiar.

"Not prying," he protested with a bit of a chuckle. "Just…asking."

She sighed and retracted her hand from the curtains. "We got into a fight and he said something that implied he had been unfaithful."

Leroy raised his eyebrows in surprise. Noah had been, to the best of his knowledge, nothing less than committed and respectful to their daughter since they started dating. The implication that it wasn't that way made him strongly consider breaking his ribs—but only in his head because Hiram was enough of a pacifist he would have Leroy sleeping on the couch if the words were spoken. "And was he?"

She swallowed and turned to face him directly, even if the window was perpendicular to the door. "I have no reason to think so, but I guess there's no way of really knowing, is there?"

He crossed the room to kiss her forehead and put a hand on her shoulder. "I've heard a woman always knows."

She smiled even as he kissed her, but her smile faded when she caught his words.

One more thing, why is it my fault? So maybe I try to hard but it's just because of this desire…

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Hang on, dad." She pulled her head away and turned toward the window, standing between the curtains and the cold windowpane as she slid the panel open.

"Puckerman!" She yelled. The playing stopped.

"Yeah, babe?"

"Knock it off," she said firmly.

"What?" He asked. Even Leroy could hear the surprise in the younger man's voice.

"This isn't going to work," she said firmly.

"But this is sorta my thing," Puck said. A slow smile slid across his face. "It's sort of our thing, right? I say something stupid, you ignore more, then I sing you a sweet song by a Jew and make it all right."

She shook her head. "Not this time. The thing you said was not just a little stupid, it was totally asinine. I'm ignoring you because I'm still angry and John Mayer is not exactly Jewish. Moreover, that song is completely inappropriate for the situation and not even a little apologetic. You're just going to have to try harder. Now get out of my driveway before you freeze to death. Good night."

With that, Rachel snapped the window closed and then stepped back around the curtain, turning to face her dad again. He was trying really hard to repress his laugh and was failing miserably.

"Well, I suppose that took care of it then." He wrapped her up into a hug and wished her good night before he went to bed, finally able to fall asleep now that the troubadour outside the house had quieted down—for now.

She woke up and did what had become her normal morning routine in the last couple of weeks – elliptical workout followed by shower, ignoring cell phone, going downstairs for breakfast and house cleaning once her dad's had left for work. Today, though, they would leave work early and head to Columbus for some New Year's Eve celebration one of Daddy's clients had gotten them tickets to attend. They had a hotel room all lined up, and while they invited her to join them, she had declined. Her dads had spent years shuttling her back and forth, arranging airfare and boarding during play performances and to summer camps all over the place—the least she could do is bow out and give them a nice date night every now and then, right? And she wasn't wallowing or still angry. No, not even a little.

All right, truthfully she couldn't even bring herself to put on a show face. She didn't have to for six more days, so she wasn't going to waste the energy on it now for some lame, freezing party in a city two hours away. And she ignored Leroy's rich voice telling Hiram that they didn't need to worry it was a ploy to sneak her boyfriend into the house for the long weekend because she and said boyfriend were on the outs. Maybe she should try to sneak someone else in, just out of spite for all three of them.

Finn was the first person that came to mind, although she was almost sure he would have plans for the holiday anyway. Plus, that was a dangerous game to play and she owed it to both the boys to at least be fair. She had strung Finn along for long enough before she finally turned him down. She wasn't stringing Puck along and she knew the Finn button was the far wrong one to press. She also knew that, because she didn't have many friends, those were really her only options for company tonight. So…alone it was.

As she bustled around the kitchen, clearing the dishwasher following last night's dinner. Her ears automatically picked something up. She stood up straight and listened a little more closely.

It had been two days since Puck's first attempt at an apology. Was he trying again? At ten o'clock in the morning? She wasn't sure his retinas had actually seen this early of an hour since school had let out.

She walked to the front door and looked out the window just beside it. Sure enough, there he was in the driveway and strumming his guitar. She couldn't make out the words he was singing unless she opened the door. She looked down at herself. She'd been padding around the house in her green 'Defy Gravity' t-shirt from Wicked (one she didn't often wear because the neck was so low and the words were printed right over her breasts, so she knew right where eyes would land if anyone saw her) and a pair of black dance shorts that were called 'booty shorts' for a reason. She frowned. It was totally laundry day and she looked super slutty.

It was one of the benefits of planning to be home alone all day. She had a date with the iHome in her dads' room later and she was going to belt some Broadway and dance around the house like that. So what?

She sucked in a deep breath, knowing it would be necessary for warmth because her outfit certainly wasn't going to do it. She pulled the door open and stepped out in bare feet and slutty, home-casual outfit onto the porch.

His eyebrows jumped up as he took her in, her arms folded across her chest.

I am sorry for the things I've done; don't try to let you down.In my dreams at night I hear your voice, and I'm shaken by the sound.Now I'm stranded in Los Angeles and you're all I think about.So if you love me, won't you please forgive me now?

She kept her arms folded tightly against her, drawing warmth from the closed posture even as goosebumps formed on her legs. It was still so cold outside that she wished it would just snow already because it always warmed up a little bit when it snowed. This bitter cold was almost unbearable.

Well, at least this song had an apology in it. But she was pretty sure the first thing she'd heard was something about drinking whiskey, and as the song progressed it was still sad but somehow less apologetic. She frowned and shook her head as he started into the last verse.

You are somewhere far away from me; I'm here all by myself.Through the space between the two of us, wish I had something else.'Cause I'd surrender up most anything if I thought it'd help somehow.So if you love me, won't you please forgive me now?If you love me, won't you please forgive me now?

He let the note fade out after he'd finished singing and he started toward her. She held out a hand—palm toward him to halt his forward motion—when he was on the bottom porch step.

"No," she added flatly.

He frowned. "This one actually said I'm sorry."

She tried not to smile, but it was actually easy to repress. "…and that right there tells me you still don't get it."

"Get what, babe? That I'm an idiot and I said something really, really bad when I was drunk? Oh, I got it. I'm trying to make up for it."

"Why?" She folded her arms back together across her chest.

They almost never actually said the words she was looking for. They relied on everything else to say it for them. There was always a song or an action for it, but they rarely had to talk things out. He wasn't entirely prepared to do that just yet.

"Rach…"

She shook her head and dropped her eyes away from his face. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "It hurts. You can't just…you can't just make that go away. It's going to take more than this."

He dropped back down a step and just watched her go back inside.

It was certainly not the first time he'd acted like a total asshole and he knew it. But it was the first time he thought she might break up with him for it. He had actually been kind of worried when Finn had called him; he and Finn were barely friends these days, mostly only linked by the demanding, yakky brunette, and Finn had called to call him a douchebag and ask what he'd said. When Finn had called him two days ago, he reported that he hadn't been able to get a hold of Rachel and neither had anyone else—for like two and a half weeks. It wasn't a huge surprise that she wouldn't talk to the rest of them, but the fact that she had pulled away from Finn, too, meant she was more than mad. It meant she was hurting and she was like his sister's stupid cat—retreating to lick her wounds. It was such a weird response for her, pulling away instead of giving the world those fuck-you eyes she was so good at, that it made him more than worried.

He had stayed away at first because he was mad, too. Just where in the hell did she get off kissing another guy like that, right in front of him? She hadn't denied it when he accused her of wanting to date Blaine, either. He'd always been buttsore about her close friendship with Finn—especially knowing the fucker was totally ass-backwards in love with her to this day—but it seemed different somehow. There wasn't a girl in history who had chosen him, first of all; even the ones that had been with him for any length of time (which until Rachel was about a week total) certainly didn't give him a second glance when they had more than one other option.

He had just wanted her to be different. He barely admitted it to himself, let alone admitting it to her, but she was his favorite part of the day—of life, really. She irritated him, challenged him, and loved him better than anyone. She gave him everything he needed, and even though his stupid fucking mouth had run away with him—again—there wasn't anyone else he even wanted to be with. Yeah, it had surprised him too. But apparently he had to find some other way to tell her that, and he had a feeling he'd better do it pretty soon.

Rachel's phone had been ringing for the last thirty minutes straight—literally. She had a mental image of Finn with two cell phones in his hand at all times: his and Kurt's. She could imagine him cycling through them in an alternating manner, calling first from his and then using Kurt's to dial as the ringing switched to the notification of her full voicemail. He would then press Kurt's phone to his ear and let it make the connection and ring through while he one-handed his phone to dial again. Lather, rinse, and repeat. At least, that was the only reason she could come up with why her ringtone was alternating in perfect intervals between 'Defying Gravity' and 'Don't Stop Believin'".

She had just finished making another cup of tea and was getting ready to settle in on the couch downstairs with a blanket, a big bowl of caramel popcorn, and Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve. She was so going to that in person next year. One day she hoped she'd be a performer at it. But for now, she was content to nurse her aching heart and alternate between that and the Rent DVD in the comfort of her own home.

She decided to take pity on Finn once her phone started in on its seventh alternating chorus of Don't Stop.

"Hello?" She finally said, balancing the phone awkwardly between her ear and shoulder as she walked down the stairs with the oversized mug of tea in one hand and the popcorn bowl balanced on her hip.

"He-hello?" He stammered in surprise. "Seriously, Rachel?"

"It's me," she said simply. She was downstairs and bent to put the bowl on the small end table next to the couch. "You called thousands of times?"

"Yeah!" He said. "Are you—what are you doing? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said simply.

"You're not talking enough for me to believe that." She heard a muffled sound and then him saying 'here' to someone. She assumed he was tossing Kurt's cell phone back to him.

"I'm really fine," she said simply. "I just don't have anything to talk about."

"Well, talk to me about your plans for tonight. You should be coming out with your friends."

She raised her eyebrows and dipped back onto the couch before she reached for the chenille throw blanket to pull it over her bare lap. She hadn't bothered changing her clothes after her Broadway sing-along and she was starting to regret it. It was quite cool in the basement, even if outside had warmed up slightly when it started snowing around dinner time. "I'm playing games with my dads," she lied easily.

And he knew her too well for that. "Your dads who stopped by Burt's for a tune-up today before their 'long drive to Columbus'?"

She sighed. Was it really asking too much that they drive up to Van Wert for auto service so she could maintain a shred of dignity? At least the guy there who did that stuff was Jewish.

"Yeah," she said lamely.

"C'mon…" he said, trying to make his voice persuasive. "Please? We're going to a party. Dalton kids, Blaine's friends… different people than normal. It'll be fun."

"No, thank you." She said simply. "I appreciate the invitation."

"Rach…"

"Finn…" she echoed in protest.

"You know, even if you guys broke up, you still have friends. There are still people who care about you and you're kind of pissing us off when you don't answer your phone."

She sighed. "I don't want to talk about this."

"What happened?" He asked. He dropped his voice but she could still hear the interest. "Did you break up?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, then I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"No," she said simply. "Just…what…what has he been doing during the break?"

She could almost hear the shrug. "Dunno. I guess the same as you? No one's really talked to him either. I finally called him a couple days ago because we were wondering if you two had finally killed each other."

"Who's 'we'?" She asked. Not all that long ago, it had come to light that way back when she was dating Jesse, as much as she had lied when she said she and Jesse had sex, he had also lied when he said he and Santana hadn't. And although she hadn't seen much proof of a flirtation or anything else between them, she wondered. And it had caused her to wonder what that would've been like if she'd actually started dating Finn after his love-based declaration.

No, all things considered, even with the fight they were currently having and all of her doubts, she was pretty glad she'd chosen Noah. In the end, it seemed like it had been the best thing for her.

Either way, she wasn't surprised when Finn uttered Santana's name.

"So, she didn't even wait for the body to get cold, huh?"

"Rach, I hate to break it to you, but if he hasn't slept with her or Brittany, he hasn't been sleeping with anyone else, either."

"Why would you think I was worried about that?" She asked in a low voice. She hadn't told anyone about his words or her doubts…not even him.

"I was already coming up the stairs," he said simply. "I heard what he said. I didn't hear the entire fight, but I heard that part and then there was no more talking."

She sighed. "I still don't want to talk about this. And I don't want to go out tonight. But thank you for the invitation."

"Okay, well…can we hang out sometime this weekend? Your dad mentioned to Burt they would be gone until Saturday."

"Let's wait until school starts," she said quietly. "I'll talk to you on Monday."

He was quiet for a long time, but the disappointment in his voice was unmistakable. "Okay, Monday it is then. Bye."

"Bye," she echoed. This time she just turned her phone all the way off. She knew her dads wouldn't be calling tonight and she didn't care if anyone else did.

She lasted through about ten minutes of the Dick Clark special before she was utterly bored and flipped the television over to her movie before she settled with her head on the arm of the couch, deeply wrapped up in two heavy blankets.

It happened to be a quiet part of the movie and she was pretty sure she could hear a guitar from the front of the house…again. She rolled her eyes, reaching up through blankets with the remote to pause the movie before she stood immediately. Her movement up the stairs drowned out his words, so the sound was intermittent, but it was immediately clear this was way different than the other times. First off all, she knew it was snowing so he was probably immediately soaking wet and frozen.

It's so hard to say that I'm sorry
I'll make everything alright, all these things that I've done
Now what have I becomeand where'd I go wrong?

I don't mean to hurt just to put you first
I won't tell you lies
I will stand accused with my hand on my heart
I'm just trying to say..

She hit the tiled foyer before she realized he was right on the front porch this time instead of in the driveway. And his voice was different, thicker somehow like he was crying. She could see him through the beveled glass on the front door, the porch light and him mixing to make dancing shadows on the tan tile in the entry way. He choked out the next two words and she was certain this was different than the other times. She was certain because the raw emotion in his voice and the fury of his pounding on the strings, like somehow that motion was the only thing holding him together, brought tears to her eyes.

I'm sorry

It's all that I can say
You mean so much and I'd fix all that I've done
If I could start againI'd throw it all away
To the shadows of regretsand you would have the best of me

There was a little guitar part and even through the closed door, she could pick up the nuanced volume increase. She saw him drop his head down to look at his hand as he took a step back while he played. She walked quickly while he was looking away and she pulled the door open a crack. He saw her and dropped his volume a little bit, but if possible his intensity increased. She inhaled sharply and watched him.

I know that I can't take back all of the mistakes but I will try
Although it's not easy, I know you believe me'cause I would not lie
Don't believe their lies, told through jealous eyes
They don't understand
I won't break your heart
I won't bring you down
But I will have to say

I'm sorry

His head came up on the critical words and she couldn't think of anything she'd ever seen that was so overwhelming. His entire focus on was on her and there was a note of begging mixed in with everything else. He sounded almost desperate, everything just increasing even more as he repeated the last part again and again.

There was no way her eyes could leave his face. His cheeks were pink and his head was covered almost completely with a layer of fluffy snow that was in various degrees of melted.

"You look like a snowman," she commented as she blinked and her tears spilled over. He reached out, close enough to touch her, and used his thumb to wipe the salty track off her face.

"You look like an angel."

She had repressed her gasp. "Your hands are freezing, Noah."

"So is the rest of me," he said simply.

She swallowed hard and stepped, opening the door the rest of the way as she did. He came inside and set his guitar against the wall before he started peeling off his coat and wet shoes. She closed the door and then stepped into the kitchen to get a soft towel she could use to wipe the melted snowflakes from his guitar. She bent to start doing that without a word as he stooped down to unlace his boots before he toed them off his feet.

He had been well-trained by her and her dads, and if there was anyone more anal about housekeeping procedure than the Berry family, it was his mother. He placed his boots right next to the heating vent in the entryway and hung his coat from the high row of hooks. She finished wiping down the guitar and then draped the towel over his boots before she turned to take his hand in hers. Her other hand gripped the blanket wrapped around her closely as she led him down to the den. He sat down right against the arm of the couch in what had been designated over time as 'his' spot and she sat down next to him, facing him with the blankets still wrapped around her and a foot dangling over the side.

"So you're sorry," she prompted after a stare-off.

"Rach…" his eyes slipped closed on the plea in his voice.

"Are you drunk?"

"M'be a little," he mumbled.

"And explain to me how that's more productive than the last time I saw you," she demanded before she pulled the blankets around her a little tighter. "Don't we do things we regret when we're drunk?"

He let out a long sigh. "But it's easier for me to get these kinds of words out."

"You can't apologize unless you're drunk?" She asked doubtfully.

"Not those words. Those suck, but this is harder for me to get out," he started. "I love you so much. I…I was waiting for you to call because I knew you were mad and you always call me when you're ready to talk. But you never did and I was afraid I lost you."

His eyes fell closed and his voice broke.

"I mean, I know I'm a fuck-up, but somehow you fix it. I feel like I can do something, like I can be something with you. And without you…well, without you let's face it: I just drink a lot and fuck random women and that's not a life."

"And how much of that have you done since we got together?" She asked, her voice small. "I'm sure you've had offers, I just…" she shrugged as she trailed off.

He let out a breath and looked at her, straight up. "Well, it depends on when you think of us getting together."

She arched an eyebrow. "For argument's sake, let's say the first time we did it."

He nodded and looked down at his lap. "Well, there were a couple of times after that Santana stuck her tongue down my throat. She tried it again after she blew the lid off the fact she fucked Finn."

That had only been a few months ago. She felt tears in her eyes. "Oh," she said sadly. Her hand came up to cover her mouth.

"I didn't kiss her back that much. Just for a second before my head caught up," he said in a low voice. "At least, that last time. There were a couple of times we made out a little bit before that party when you found the texts from her, but it was never more than making out."

"I think for Santana that making out and blow jobs are about the same thing, so…did you do that, too?"

"No," he said honestly, looking over at her with wide eyes. "But after that time at the park when we were playing basketball?" She nodded to indicate she knew when he was talking about. "Well, I guess I technically cheated on you because I knew how I felt and…well… for a couple weeks after that there were a lot of women."

She swallowed hard. She had felt whatever she felt the first time then, too. Saying it freaked her out had been an understatement. "That time at the park was a little overwhelming."

"I know," he agreed. "It scared the shit out of me. I think I tried to fuck you out of my system and well…when that didn't work, I tried fucking you to get you out of my system but by then I was already so far gone that it didn't really work the way I thought it was going to."

She didn't look at him at first. He wasn't sure how she would react to that particular bit of truth.

Instead, she seemed to understand this was the most honest conversation she was probably going to get. She could get him, in this moment, to admit things he didn't usually have the balls to say and things she usually didn't have the directness to ask.

"So how did it work?"

He sighed and looked over at her, unable to maintain eye contact while he said the words. Before he spoke, he looked straight forward again. "Instead of getting it out of my system, it's like I can't get enough of you. It's still that way. There isn't enough being with you for me, but being with you is enough for me. Does that make any sense?"

She just nodded, feeling those tears in her eyes all over again.

"I'm probably not enough for you," he said simply. "Hell, I know I'm not good enough for you. You're gonna…you have a life already even without me in it. But you're the only thing I've ever loved that really loved me back and…I just…" he struggled. He finally turned to look at her and let out a deep breath.

She moved over into his lap, reaching her arms around him and circling him in blankets. "I think we're beyond 'enough' at this point though, aren't we? You're the one I want. The only one I want. Kissing Blaine was no different than kissing some guy in a play."

"Yeah, well, for the record I still want to rip their faces off," he said easily. His voice was a little more familiar now, too. "And that guy from Barefoot in the Park?"

She smiled, knowing exactly who he was talking about. "The guy who was a little hands-y?"

He nodded. "Yeah, he just about got four fucking flat tires and his windshield almost got introduced to a crowbar."

She pulled back enough to laugh. "Do I even want to know why he didn't?"

Noah shrugged. "Well, I don't know for sure that he didn't. You'd have to ask Finn. Finn hated that guy, too. I was too busy trying to get you the hell away from him at that after-party."

Her laugh erupted and as she tipped her head back, he slid his cool hands over her bare legs and around her hips to brush against the low-rise waistband of her shorts.

"You said it was the dress," she protested lightly. The costuming for the play had put her in a vintage, 1960s mini dress that hung about three inches above her knees, and had an empire waist under her breasts that, he said made them 'stand out'. Plus, he argued the pale yellow lace was layered for movement but he claimed it kept him staring and hoping for a peek of a sliver of skin. By the time he was done with her, she'd felt absolutely beautiful in the dress and had begged her dads to buy it from the costume designer; they had and it was now sitting upstairs in her closet, just waiting for the spring formal. (But he didn't know that yet.)

He growled and nipped at her neck. "That dress was fucking awesome," he admitted. "Getting you away from the douchebag with no boundaries was even better."

She ticked her fingers along the back of his neck and as she shifted to straddle his lap, he dropped his head to the bottom of the v-neck in her t-shirt.

"That dress had nothing on this shit here," he said simply. His tongue darted out of his mouth and he licked at the crease in her cleavage.

She sighed and leaned forward, rubbing against him as she felt his erection come to life. She dropped her butt a little bit to grind against him and he rolled his hips up against her core, the thin satin-like material of the shorts no match for the warmth of her pressing against him. And it didn't really give her a barrier, either. She rocked back and forth eagerly, the pent-up missing of two weeks without him finally slamming into her in the instant he tangled his fingers into her hair.

"Fuck, I've missed you," he breathed, his warm breath dancing over her skin. "Please tell me your dads have some wicked fucking plans that mean they're on the other side of the world." He kissed up her bare neck as she dropped down against him, leading each kiss with his tongue before he soothed the spot with his lips and kept moving up. His hands rubbed along the smooth material of her shorts as she continued to absolutely grind against him and her hands rubbed at his neck muscles in some sort of erotic massage.

"If Columbus is the other side of the world, then yes. They're gone 'til Saturday."

"Praise Jesus," he said simply.

Her stomach rumbled with laughter. "Don't tell me—Finn converted you."

"No, I think you're the only one who's made me see God," he said, the words leaving his mouth as his tongue landed on her earlobe and she shuddered against him.

"The only one?"

His eyes came open and he sat back to look at her. He didn't know she was still so insecure; it had been a long time since she asked for that kind of reassurance. He felt like even more of a dick for his words.

"The only one," he confirmed, his eyes searching hers for the realization that he was only speaking the truth now. "Baby, you are the best I've ever had and if you…if you don't believe that, then I'm just going to have to prove it," he said simply, punctuating it with a shrug to make it seem like casual fact. He swallowed hard. "Good thing I have all night, because there's something I owe you."

"You owe me?" She asked in surprise.

"Well… I'm not sure I can totally pay you back. I had all kinds of plans for your birthday that got screwed up by my stupid mouth. But they were the kind of plans that expire."

Her hands were on his face as she looked at him. "I'm sorry."

"You bet your sweet ass you are," he said. He gave her a kiss that refused to die, and as she slipped her tongue into his mouth, his breathing increased and his arms wrapped around her to pull her closer. She was surprised when he turned and, the length of his body still tight against her, laid her down on the couch.

Once she was laid back and the blankets had fallen away from her, he smoothed his hands over the length of her body and fuck if her legs didn't last forever. How did she do that? She was so tiny but her legs seemed like they went all the way up to her chin. Especially in those fucking shorts.

He took his time, his hands working on her feet in a massage (he had learned the hard way—like maybe by being kicked in mouth on accident—that she didn't like her feet being kissed). Once his hands hit the sculpted muscle of her calves, he dropped his mouth to first one shin, placing sloppy kisses all the way up her leg. He took extra care with his tongue, tracing intricate patterns on her inner thigh right at the high hemline of her shorts. Her head had dropped back and she was breathing only in open mouthed pants as he kissed over her shorts, already feeling how wet the material was, and then he continued in an arch back down all the way to the other foot, pulling back before he lifted her leg to press it gently against his chest as he rubbed her right foot. Her eyes came open to watch him. He placed his flat palms at her knees and dragged them all the way up with a slow, insistent touch to hook his fingers in the waist band of her shorts at her hips. She lifted her ass up off the couch to help him remove them and shit—she wasn't wearing underwear under those teeny-tiny shorts. It was the same outfit she'd been wearing all day (he knew that from having been here earlier) and so that meant she'd been going commando all day.

He was an idiot. She'd been home alone, not wearing underwear, in the t-shirt that made her breasts look like fucking dessert and he had waited until it was arctic white-out conditions before he apologized.

Well, this was his chance to make it up to her—and himself—and he wasn't going to blow it. Well…wait, was it the same nickname when it was a girl?

After he had casually tossed her shorts away (glad again they were home alone so they didn't have to leave their clothes in an 'easy access' sort of spot), he hooked his finger into the collar of his shirt and pulled it away from his head. He wanted to feel her bare skin against his shoulders, wanted her calves massaging his back as his tongue tasted her for the first time in weeks.

He repeated his previous, slow path that meandered up her legs. By the time he licked the crease of her thigh and she let out that high-pitched moan, he was afraid he wasn't going to last long if he made her come too fast. The noises she made and the way her thighs grasped him when she came at the mercy of his tongue…well, it usually took every ounce of his concentration to last through that under the best of circumstances. Not having done anything physical with her for two weeks, with guilt and heartbreak his totally unsexy jacking-off companions, was not the best of circumstances. He was going to be lucky to last thirty seconds as it was.

But judging by heat coming off her, she wasn't going to last much longer than that.

He wanted to keep her talking; when she was so turned on (she was starting to shake a little underneath him), her voice was so low and sexy it made him rock hard. Plus, he liked it when she could be involved verbally. There was something about it—something so hot in dirty talk with her. It was like her confidence multiplied and she did stuff she probably hadn't ever even though of before—and she always thanked him later.

"What do you want me to do?" He grumbled, letting his lips wander over her sex, his breath dancing through the folds (she claimed she kept herself groomed because of dance uniforms) as he let his lips brush against her but kept his tongue away.

She was breathing so hard she squeaked with every breath she let out. He didn't sit up at all; her legs were hooked over his shoulders already and her calves were pressing into his back. But his eyes wandered and she was looking down at him with a hot, half-lidded stare. She licked her lips before she spoke and his hips rolled forward, the friction against his dick making his abdominal muscles contract.

They had played this game a hundred times before. She knew to ask for exactly what she wanted because he would do what she said.

"I want your tongue everywhere," she said. Her eyes closed as he reached his fingers up to part her folds a lit bit and then he blew cool air over the hot, wet flesh. Her head rolled to the side. "Make me come with your tongue. Put your fingers inside me so I can come against something hard."

As soon as she was done, he leaned his head forward to press his tongue right to her clit like she had told him. It was the one time in his life he actually wanted to follow directions. He lapped at the spot, his motions too short to give her what she was looking for and he felt her thighs tighten against him. His fingers had been holding her open for easier access and he lifted one hand to hold that spot so he could drop the other down and press one finger into her. He drifted his tongue over her, barely touching her skin and hardly tasting her before he eased a second finger in. He curled his fingers just a little bit, settling on the pulsing, spongy spot he found there, rubbing circles even as he dropped his tongue down to make matching circles against her clit.

She tried to move against him, her heels digging into his back and her thighs grasping at him tightly, but his expert touch was practiced enough that he heard her suck in one breath and hold it. Her muscles contracted against his fingers once, then twice, and then as they let go with no rhyme or reason, she started swearing and panting his name in one long, incoherent sentence that was probably the hottest fucking thing he'd ever heard.

She was no more than barely through the orgasm, her breathing still totally not under control, when she reached down to grab his hand and pulled him up to her. She knew him well enough at this point to know he would be right on the edge after he went down on her, and it was that knowledge that guided her as she tugged insistently at his hand and he moved. With one deft roll of her hips, he was inside her.

"Rachel," he gasped out in surprise. Even though they had done this for a long, long time, they had always approached birth control with the attitude that more was best. She was on the pill and they used condoms fairly religiously. It was the first time he'd ever gone bareback, the first time in a really, really long time he'd done that with anyone else, and she was just too warm and wet for him to even attempt holding back.

With the aftershocks of her orgasm still trailing through her and gripping at him in all that tight perfection, he came and it slammed into him almost violently as he wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, the tingling of her fingertips dragging along his spine just adding even more to the whole thing.

They laid there, him still partially hard and inside her, for a very long time. They heard some of the neighborhood kids with pots and pans and whatever else and Rachel started to laugh a little bit.

He looked down at her amusedly, the expression on his face demanding explanation.

"I'm kind of wishing I could think of a reason to pick another fight," she said simply. "But fighting at midnight on New Year's just seems like a really bad idea."

"Please at least let me get laid a couple more times," he begged (not entirely teasing, either) before she started wiggling underneath him. And fuck if it wasn't enough to make him get hard all over again.

"Well, you know, they say that whatever you're doing at midnight is what you'll spend most of the next year doing. Who am I to argue?"

He snorted as his hips started moving in time with hers. "Who are you to argue? Did I hear you right?"

"Maybe I should sing it for you. Y'know, since that's our thing," she teased lightly.

He suddenly grew serious and gave her a soft kiss. "Fuck yeah, it's our thing."

"I guess you did get it after all," she said, her voice so soft he barely heard her over the middle school rejects outside.

"Hey, I catch on eventually," he agreed. He kissed her again and had to admit, it felt good to be back on the inside. And he didn't even necessarily mean that in a dirty way for once.

Songs used (in order of appearance): My Stupid Mouth by John Mayer, Stranded in Los Angeles by Ron Pope, and Best of Me by Sum41. Also, I totally stole the "only thing I've ever loved that really loved me back" line that Puck speaks from the song Give You Up by Ron Pope. In case you can't tell, I'm on a Ron Pope kick lately. YouTube him and/or The District if you aren't familiar because they are awesome.

John Mayer is Jewish on his dad's side. The quote from him says something about him identifying with the Jewish faith, but it's not confirmed anywhere that he either does or does not practice it. Ron Pope and Sum41 are not Jewish, so I've totally broken Puck's Jewish artist streak. I'm not that apologetic about it, actually. I'm pretty sure Queen isn't Jewish, either, so I maintain Ryan Murphy did it first.

Oh! And sorry for the snide remark about Jodi Piccoult books if you are someone who likes them. My current opinion was formed after I read my third or fourth of hers and absolutely hated it. It's like Nicholas Sparks: they have a tried-and-true formula to their stories, and if you happen to like their formula, more power to you and I'm not trying to be insulting.