AN: Thanks for all the reviews guys. You all are awesome.
Also, get prepared for badass!Rachel
Finn thought he was prepared for the scene he was going to find in Los Angeles when he arrived and Puck and Rachel's house. He wasn't.
Puck's mother, who had always been one of those crazy Jewish moms, was standing in the kitchen barking orders into a phone. She was speaking so fast that he couldn't even get the gist of what the conversation was about. Rachel's one father who Finn recognized from the time he dated Rachel was sitting at the table, apparently talking to himself about something. And Amy was sitting off to the side, her head in her hands.
It was the scene of a family broken by a horrible tragedy.
Finn limped into the room. He still hadn't adjusted to walking with his prosthetic leg, though it was getting easier every day. He was alone, having left Kelly with his mother back in Lima. He figured a trip like this wasn't the right place for his daughter. Besides, she'd been ecstatic to spend the time with her grandmother who she loved so much.
Finn set his bag on the ground, making a small thud. Everyone turned to look at him. Finn could see the stress and desperation in their eyes. He was already regretting not calling and offering his help as soon as he heard about the crash. He'd considered calling Mrs. Puckerman on more than one occasion, but she'd always kind of scared him.
"Finn!" Amy cried, leaping to her feet and running over to him. She launched herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Thank god you're here," she breathed, her face buried in his chest. "You don't know what it's been like being trapped here with them," she whispered.
Finn let out a small laugh, setting Amy back on the ground. The girl may have been in her twenties now, but she'd still be the brat who accidentally broke his arm when he was twelve. "Good to see you too, Ames." He reached a hand up, ruffling her hair affectionately.
Amy had focused her eyes on his leg. Finn had decided to wear shorts—California was too hot for pants currently. However, that also meant his metal prosthetic was clearly visible. He hated when people stared. He understood it was natural to be curious, but sometimes people were much too obvious about it.
"Ma told me," she said, looking away from his leg and back up to his face. "I should have come home and visited. I'm sorry."
Finn waved it off. "Hey, no need to apologize. You were busy learning to save lives across the country. I wouldn't expect you to fly back to Lima to see your brother's high school best friend." The thing was, that was exactly what someone like Amy would do. She had the kindest heart of anyone Finn had ever known. Her junior year of high school, she'd organized a surprise banquet for her favorite teacher when he retired. She'd also turned down every single guy who asked her to prom and asked a shy boy in her year who didn't have many friends to go with her instead. That was the type of person Amy Puckerman was.
"I also heard about Quinn. I don't even know what to say about that."
Finn held a hand up, stopping her. "Hey, not your fault. Besides, that's all in the past. Plus, your life seems to be a lot worse right now than mine has been. Not many people I know have lost their brother twice from two different plane crashes."
Amy shrugged her shoulders. "I'm dealing."
Finn arched an eyebrow, seeing the dark circles under her eyes as well as the way her clothes hung loosely on her small frame. "Are you? You're looking thin, Ames."
"Not my fault," she protested. "I spent the past few weeks throwing up from being trapped on a rickety old boat. Of course I'd lose weight from not being able to keep any food down."
Finn rolled his eyes at her. "Alright, alright. Quit jumping down my throat. I'm just doing my job. I made a promise to your brother when we were nine that I'd take care of you if something ever happened to him."
"So that's why you're helping us? Because of some promise you made when you were a kid?" Amy asked, letting out a scoff.
"No," he said defensively. "I'm helping because Puck's been my friend for as long as I can remember, and if there's a chance he's still alive I'll do whatever I can to find him. I may have been a bad friend these past years, but I'm going to make up for it now." He looked down at Amy. "Well, are you going to show me to my room or am I expected to crash on the couch for god knows how long?"
xxxxx
As soon as Rachel got Puck back to camp, she led him into the small hut, lying him down on the mat. She headed back out to the beach, getting some more water and a little bit of food for him. When she walked into the hut, he'd passed out—most likely from the pain.
She sighed, looking him over. The fabric she'd used to bind his mound seemed to be working for now, but it was only temporary. He needed real treatment from a real doctor. Rachel had never even played a doctor in a movie.
He needed a doctor who could clean his wound and make sure it didn't get infected. Nothing here was clean—Rachel was terrified to even touch him for fear she'd give him something that would kill him.
Rachel saw a few logs on the beach in a pile. She figured Noah had been planning on making the fire before he was distracted by her. This was all her fault—if she hadn't screamed when she jumped into the water, he wouldn't have felt the need to run into the jungle, and he wouldn't have been there when the boar charged him.
Rachel bent down, arranging the few logs into a small pile. She knew everything was up to her now. Noah was incapacitated at the moment, so that meant everything he'd normally Rachel had to do on her own. Rachel grabbed a few smaller sticks and some dried grass from the jungle, making a small pile out of them. Rachel started rubbing the twigs together forcefully, keeping an eye on it for some smoke.
Rachel hardly knew how to make a fire. All the other times, Puck had made it for them. He did the hunting, the fire building—virtually everything. Rachel was so used to letting him do everything for her, she wasn't sure she could keep them alive without Puck helping her.
"Son of a bitch!" she shouted, throwing the sticks off to the side. "This is never going to work." She sunk into the sand, her legs crossed and her arms folded over her chest. She expected to hear Puck yelling at her to suck it up, but he stayed silent.
Rachel got up and poked her head into the hut, seeing Noah still on the ground, not moving a muscle. She glanced at his chest and saw it rise and fall. At least he wasn't dead.
Rachel stepped inside, kneeling in the sand beside him. She placed a hand on his forehead and the other on his chest, feeling it rising and falling. Rachel leaned over, pressing her lips to his forehead before rising to her feet once more and heading out of the hut, leaving Noah there, still unconscious.
Rachel walked over to the suitcase, pulling out another shirt. She stripped off the bloody tank top, tossing it in the sand while she pulled on the pink tee shirt she'd grabbed. Rachel adjusted her sneakers, tying them tight.
She bent down, picking the small sticks back up. She started rubbing them together forcefully once more, bending her face down and blowing on them gently to try and promote the formation of fire. "Come on, come on," she whispered, placing a little bit of the grass close to it as a small bit of smoke started to rise. "Ha!" she laughed, blowing a little more. She saw a small flame and let out a shriek of happiness. "I did it!" she squealed, picking up the flaming stick. She placed it on top of one of the logs, adding more of the grass to it. She watched the flames jump higher and higher as they logs caught fire.
Ten minutes later, the fire was roaring and Noah was still passed out. Rachel searched around the beach, finding one of the spears Noah had made. She snatched it before tucking the small knife Noah had made her into her belt once again.
She headed back into the jungle, walking slowly. She ducked into the trees, doing her best to walk quietly. They were running low on food and, without Noah doing the hunting, that meant Rachel was the one who had to acquire food for the two of them.
All she heard was silence in the jungle. The wind blew through the trees and through her hair, but that was all she heard. There were no other sounds. It was just her alone in the jungle.
Rachel walked deeper into the jungle, clutching the spear close to her body. She'd already killed one boar today—what was to say she couldn't kill another. She was tough—well, tough enough. She could kill a boar if she needed to.
xxxxx
Puck woke up alone in his and Rachel's hut, sore from head to toe. He didn't remember how he'd gotten here or much of what had happened. He could feel part of his side shooting with pain, but he couldn't really remember where the pain came from.
"Rachel?" he croaked out, leaning his head up. "Rach? Where are you?"
A moment later, Rachel was there. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail with pieces of it falling into her face. The scent of burning wood clung to her skin, and there were specks of blood on her shirt, as well as her hands.
"Rachel, what happened?" he asked, putting his hands behind him. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his side was too much, so he fell back into the sand.
Rachel fell to his side, pushing him down onto the mat. "Hush. You need to relax. You're hurt, and a bit disoriented too, it seems. You were attacked by a boar this morning and he impaled you in your side. You passed out as soon as we made it back here and you've been passed out ever since."
"Not to me. To you. The blood," he said, raising a shaky hand.
"Oh," Rachel laughed. "I killed a rabbit. Impressed?" she teased.
"Maybe a little," he said weakly, closing his eyes. "I'm in pain, Rachel."
"I know," she said, placing half a coconut shell beside him. "I found some flowers and took their seeds. They're poppies. I ground them up," she said, holding it out to him. "I added that to some water. It should help with the pain," she said kindly, scooting over a little. She placed his head in her lap, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Drink," she encouraged.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Rachel nodded her head. "Yes, I am. I know enough about medicine to know opioids come from poppies."
"You're speaking Greek to me," he said, his breathing picking up a bit as he started feeling the pain more.
"Heroin. Morphine. They both come from poppy plants. I think this will help you with the pain, and help you sleep better as well," she added.
"No," he said, trying to sit up again. He let out a yell of pain as his head fell back into her lap. "I have to help you," he gasped, cradling the small cup in his hands. "How're we going to survive without food and fire?"
"You underestimate me," she laughed. "The fire's roaring outside out hut and I killed dinner for us as well. You need to drink this so you're not in pain. And I need to clean out your side as best I can so you don't get an infection and die," she said, running a hand over his head. "You're a bit warm, Noah. Please, drink."
He sighed, giving her a look. "You know, this wasn't my plan for wooing you. I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you, not the other way around."
"You're always taking care of me. It's time you got a break," she laughed, kissing his forehead once more. He drained the liquid from the cup, leaning back in her lap once he was done.
Rachel placed a hand on his chest, rubbing it slightly to try and calm him a little. She wanted him to relax—she knew he was in a lot of pain and just wished there was something more she could do for him.
Rachel's eyes fell to his side, where her shirt used to cover his wound had turned bright red. Rachel knew this was bad. She couldn't stitch him up until the bleeding was under control, and it didn't appear to be that way yet.
She put on a brave face, smiling down at him. "Okay, I need you to lie still so I can clean out your wound as best I can," she said, getting up. She gently set Noah's head on the mat, picking up the tank top she'd brought with her on his chest.
Using the alcohol wipes, she cleaned her hands the best she could. Carefully, Rachel pulled the bloody tank top away from his body, gazing into the cut. There was still blood oozing from it, but not as badly as she thought it would be.
"I'm going to stitch you up," she said, producing the mini sewing kit she kept in her makeup bag. "This is going to hurt," she warned, giving him a sad smile.
"Do what you need to," he sighed, looking up at the ceiling of their hut.
"Do you have a preference for thread color?" she joked, pulling the black thread out, placing it through the eye of the needle. She cleaned off the tip of it before gently sticking it through the serrated edge of his wound.
Puck let out a pained gasp, but other than that stayed quiet. He refused to look at Rachel as she sewed him up. Rachel worked as quickly as she could, sewing the open edges of his skin together. She finished, knotting the thread before using the mini scissors to cut the extra thread away from the now closed wound.
She folded the tank top, placing it over the stitches, tying it in place with his cut up shirt. "There. All done," she said, leaning down and kissing his cheek.
Noah smiled a little. "Thanks, nurse Rachel," he teased, reaching up to take her hand.
Rachel allowed him to take her hand, squeezing it tightly. "It was no problem. I just want you to get better," she whispered. "I can't do this without you Noah." She bit her lip before leaning down again, kissing him on the lips this time.
Noah smiled against her lips, reaching a hand up and placing it behind her neck, pulling her close. Rachel kept the kiss simple, closing her eyes as her lips moved with his. After a few moments, she pulled away, licking her bottom lip quickly.
"I…I should get dinner ready," she mumbled, standing up as her cheeks turned pink. She looked back at him once before disappearing from the hut.
Puck leaned back, placing a hand behind his head. He wasn't sure if it was the kiss or the fact that whatever she'd given him for the pain was starting to work, but he was pretty sure Rachel was falling back in love with him.