"I suppose what I don't yet fully comprehend," she finally told him. "Was how you managed to direct those women to the men of your choosing. How did you convince Quinn she loved Finn? How were you going to convince me I loved-" her nose wrinkled in disgust "-Jacob? While your sexual prowess is…intoxicating, Noah, I don't understand how you could lead them so astray in regards to their true feelings."

She watched him steadily, his face cringing from a yet-unspoken guilt. His hand slowly drifted to his back pocket and produced what she could only identify as a white triangular packet with what looked like a small blade on one edge.

"It's called Cupid's Arrow," he explained softly. "My good-for-nothing deadbeat dad gave it to me before he left; told me I could use it to hold on to any girl I wanted; could pawn her off onto any other guy when I was done with her." He watched her eyes process the information, then quickly continued, "I took it, used it for friends like Finn; and sometimes for big money like Quinn. I was supposed to use it on you, but that night—I accidentally..."

The brunette watched him trail off, her eyes going wide with hurt as she processed what he was telling her.

"So you didn't really—" she tried to ask, her voice trembling slightly. "I mean, you only…because of that?" She pushed herself away from him, her face turning bright red as she even said it. Her feelings had been real, and now he was telling her that his were induced. She felt beyond humiliated, and all she wanted to do was get out of sight (possibly out of the country).

But Noah was faster, reaching out and grabbing her arm as he shook his head hard. "No," he told her, running his free hand against his face as his it scrunched up in thought. "I mean, well, I thought so at first. That I could only think about you, give a fuck what you thought because I was high. Hell, I even tried hooking up with anybody just to flush you out of my system." He cut himself off, possibly seeing in her expression the hole he was digging for himself. "I mean, I thought that, especially when you- i mean it- i mean when this whole goddamn mess wouldn't go away…" he backtracked quickly. "But then…God, I feel like such a pussy…"

She watched him with curiosity, completely at a loss for even how to begin to feel as he tried to sort out his thoughts. She knew she should run: he was a sociopath with an illegal substance that he'd tried to use on her, to take advantage of her—it all sounded like the equivalent of date rape. But she knew herself, and how she'd felt that night- he hadn't pushed her into anything she didn't want; and so now she simply felt overwhelmed in her desire to understand him. "But then?" she couldn't help but prod.

Noah shook his head, releasing her arms (to which she could feel her entire body protest) and turning his back on her. "Things started changing, you know? I mean, girls started dating other guys, and some stayed together, and I realized that I didn't know jack shit about this stuff. I couldn't stand feeling—you know— about you the way I did without knowing how long it was going to last, or whether it was all smoke and mirrors, you know? So I drove down to OSU and talked to this guy I knew in the Chem Department—"

"You drove to Ohio State University?" Rachel interjected incredulously.

"Yeah," he replied distractedly, looking out the window. "And so I paid him to get me into the lab. And from there, we just used the GS-MS to break it all down and figure out the key players..."

"You used a gas chromatographer-mass spectrometer machine?" the tiny brunette asked, now even more surprised. "You know what one is?"

He finally turned back to face her, so intent on finishing his confession that she was fairly certain he hadn't even heard her. He moved to close the space between them and looked back into her (admittedly) wondering eyes as he spoke sincerely. "And what it all came down to is this: the shit's temporary. It's a mix of THC and Ecstasy to create an intense post-orgasmic awesomeness, a kind of surreal pleasure zone, so you're mind is open to interpretation. But the key Rache," he sat back on the chest, pulling her eye level to him. "The key is called Phenethlyamine—it's a chemical your body produces when it's really happy, like it's in love or some shit. And for a couple weeks, whoever I convinced them they were happy with, they thought they were." He shook his head in amazement. "But the crazy thing is, after awhile, the feeling fades, and everyone's left with how they really feel. So Quinn? She really fucking loves Finn. And me?" he met her gaze with complete honesty and openness that caused her heart to jump wildly in her chest. "God Rache; I love you so much it fucking hurts." He let his eyes drift off as he said it, mumbling, "As much as it sounds like bullshit or like I'm fucking pussy-whipped, I do."

She couldn't help it: her hand, aching to reach out since he arrived, now slid up to his face, gently holding his jaw. That little bit of contact apparently was more than either of them could take, however, and they both collapsed into each other's arms, holding on as if they hadn't seen each other in years (which, considering they were teenagers, it might as well have been).

Puck didn't know how long this would last, and for the moment he didn't care. He didn't care that a couple tears slid down his face as he buried himself into her dark hair; that he'd basically just signed his balls away to a girl that he wasn't sure would ever take him back; that by saying "I love you" twice to a chick that hadn't even said it in return once, that holding her now with pretty much no thought about trying to get that satin nightie off probably would cause him to lose all of his badass credibility. He didn't fucking care about any of that, choosing to just grip her tighter and feel that if the world ended right now by aliens or a nuclear bomb or whatever that he'd be okay as long as the last thing he felt was this.

And yeah, he knew the moment had to end. He felt everything in him protest as she pulled away from him, and his heart broke as he saw the tears brimming in her eyes and watched her sit herself back on the trunk.

"Noah," she said slowly, and he sat next to her as she took one of his hands in both of hers. "I want you to know that I appreciate you being honest with me. Despite the despicable actions that you've seemed to partaken in over the years, you appear to be sincere in your regret and making the mature decision in accepting full responsibility for your actions. I'm even more impressed with the level of dedication you put in identifying your illicit substance to make amends for the difficulties you may have caused others."

She squeezed his hand, and he tensed for the "but" he could feel coming.

"I want to tell you I love you Noah," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "I care about you so much, and I feel like we're just so right for each other. Like no matter where I am or what I'm doing, I'll remember you for the rest of my life." She took a steadying breath and met his hopeful eyes. "But I don't feel like I can trust you Noah. What happened between us was a lie from the beginning; and now I don't know what part of us is real and which is part of a fantasy we seemed to have concocted in the dark. "

He watched her as she let go of his hands and walked to the door, opening it to excuse him. "And if I can't trust you, I can't I love you—I just don't think I can be."

He let his eyes hit the ground so she wouldn't see how hard her words had hit him. He'd known it was a long shot, but the minute he'd found himself back in her room, with all of its familiarity seemingly rooting for him—and her in the perfect reuniting outfit (shut up—it would've been perfect to slip off of her, okay?)—he'd really thought he'd had a chance.

As he walked past her, defeated, he let his fingers graze her arm gently, whispering, "You know that you're just as in love with me as I am with you."

Rachel was trying to stand strong—she was tense and trying to hold back tears. He didn't want to make her cry, didn't want her to break. He just wanted her to realize that they were meant for each other. That he could be that guy for her.

Which he knew was true when she inadvertently replied, "I'll get over it."

He knew she was just trying to get rid of him; that she wasn't thinking about what she was saying when she tried to be hurtful so she could be alone with her pain. But that line—those four words that his Broadway diva had to have known—stopped him in his tracks.

He whirled to look at her, and she stared up at him, puzzled at his change in demeanor.

"Why would anyone want to get over the one thing you hope for from the minute you're born and remember until the day you die?" he asked her, quoting verbatim the line to his own Sarah Brown.

Her eyes went wide in recognition, and he didn't give her an opportunity to think otherwise. He closed the space between them and ran his hands through her hair, pulling her lips to his own.

She must've been rubbing off on him, because in that moment he could've sworn he heard the musical crescendo signaling reconciliation and a hopeful future. And as he looked into her eyes, shining back at him for the first time in so long, he knew that he wouldn't let her down again.

Things weren't completely right—but give him time. They would be.

It's my time

And you're the only doll I've ever wanted to share it with me.

A/N: Yea me! Almost done! Seriously, you didn't think I could just end it without some exposition? So one more chapter!

Extra A/N: In case you missed it, the quotes, the ending lines- all from Guys and Dolls, which I found quite appropriate for this piece.