Kurt's father's shop was not what Puck had expected. Kurt came out of the tire store wearing dirty coveralls. They weren't even pink. "Dude," said Puck, setting down his picnic basket. "I was guessing your dad was a florist or a hairdresser. This place… well, it's kind of…"

"Kind of what?" Kurt said, raising an eyebrow and wiping his greasy hands with a moist towlette.

"Not much like you," Puck admitted.

Kurt shrugged, sitting on the edge of the desk by the cash register and crossing his legs. "Everybody says I'm more like my mom."

"What does she do?"

"She's dead," said Kurt, rubbing hand lotion into his cuticles.

"Oh," said Puck. He was silent for a minute. "My dad took off when I was nine," he said.

"What was he like?" Kurt asked.

"You don't want to know."

Kurt nodded and pressed his lips together. "I'll admit it's a little strange to be having a conversation with you, Noah. You and I don't have the best track record."

"I know. Rachel said I'm a jerk. I think I'm used to being a jerk."

Kurt inclined his head. "I didn't think you'd actually come today."

"Yeah, I wasn't sure I would either. But here I am. I even brought lunch." Puck opened the picnic basket and he smiled at the expression on Kurt's face.

"Did you… make this?" Puck nodded, and Kurt furrowed his brow. "What is it with football players bringing me food?" he murmured absently. Then he bent down and smelled the aroma drifting from the basket, and the expression on his face turned to pure enjoyment. Puck thought it looked good on him.

"Oh my god." He gasped, unwrapping a pastry stuffed with fish, spinach and hollandaise. "Salmon en croute? I saw Jean-Christophe Novelli make these on Bravo. He is a genius." He looked at Puck incredulously. "Who the hell are you, and what did you do with Noah Puckerman?"

"I'm guessing there's a lot you don't know about me," Puck grinned, opening a container of brie and a box of crackers. "Dig in. There's strawberries and cream for dessert."

Kurt stopped to take off his coveralls as Puck set up the picnic lunch on the table, then he joined Puck at the table. Kurt took a bite of the salmon en croute and moaned his approval. "So do you… do this often?" He gazed at Puck curiously.

"What, have lunch with strange guys?"

Kurt choked on his salmon. "No! I mean cook."

Puck nodded. "Yeah. Pretty much all the time, now. My mom, she's a nurse, and she's worked nights since I was a little kid. My brother didn't want to cook for us, and my sister's five years younger than me. So it was pretty much up to me."

"You were on your own?"

"Not exactly." Puck swallowed. "Not at first. My dad was home with us starting when I was six. He… wasn't around much. My brother was there until a few years ago. He's four years older than me. But he took off when I was twelve."

Puck watched Kurt's hands as he neatly spread six crackers with brie and arranged them on his plate before investigating the strawberries. He opened the jar of double Devon cream and took a moderate spoonful. "So you taught yourself how to cook?"

"And bake, and whatever. I like to eat," Puck said simply. "And luckily my friends like to eat too." He gestured at Kurt's plate. "You like it."

"Yeah," Kurt said emphatically, through a mouthful of strawberries and cream. "I do. Who wouldn't?"

"You'd be surprised. Lots of girls don't like to eat." Puck snorted. "They're too worried about being fat."

"Ah." Kurt's brows raised. "Girls. No, I've never really understood them myself."

"I say, food is awesome. Why deny yourself?" He took a huge bite of salmon. "I'm good at three things. Food and music are two of them."

"What's the th—?" Kurt cut himself off, turning red at Puck's smirk. "Oh. Touché."

"Yeah." Then Puck grimaced. "But the honesty? Not so good at that." He sighed. "So I'm here. What's next, Dr. Hummel? You got a psychiatrist couch in the back somewhere?"

Kurt opened his hands and looked around at the squalid office. "This is it. Sorry."

"Whatever. Just tell me what to do."

Kurt looked at him, evaluating. "Tell me about what happened with Quinn."

Puck sighed. "It was totally a mistake. We were both really drunk. I don't know what I was thinking." He shrugged. "It just happened. I don't even like her very much. I mean, she's hot… but she's kind of cold, too."

"Hmm. And you don't plan to tell Finn."

"No." Puck squirmed. "I… I don't like lying to him, but I don't see how I can do it. It's kind of too late, isn't it?"

"You lie about a lot of things, don't you, Noah?"

"I don't…" He shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh, come on." Kurt numbered his fingers. "You put pot in the cupcakes. Then you tried to steal the money to give to Quinn for her baby. What else are you lying about?"

"How did you –"

Kurt put up a hand. "Just stop me if I get anything wrong, okay? You don't care about lying to other people. It doesn't bother you. You know it should, but it doesn't. You do it to get what you want, or when the rules don't seem fair, or when you want to help someone you love. But you don't want to lie to Finn." He cocked an eyebrow. "How am I doing so far?"

Puck had gone pale. He tried to speak, but then changed his mind and just nodded.

"Something about lying to Finn makes you uncomfortable… makes you feel bad. It might be the first time you've ever felt like that."

Puck was horrified to feel his eyes filling up, but he couldn't look away from Kurt. He nodded again, blinking.

"But you said, the other day – you do things to him. That you're a jerk, to him." Puck nodded a third time, feeling helpless. "What? What else did you do?"

Puck cleared his throat. "I… made out with Rachel. I knew it would bother him, but I did it anyway."

"Yeah? Did it bother him?"

"Well, he said it didn't, but I could tell—"

"What else?"

"Other girls. Lots of them. The girls Finn likes – I take them away from him."

"Hmm. He doesn't seem too worried by it, does he?" Kurt looked almost amused. "What else?"

"Quinn. I gave her money – for the baby. Finn couldn't get a job. I wanted – I wanted to help."

"You wanted to help? But you just said you were being a jerk."

"I was, okay?" Puck shouted, slapping the table suddenly. "He wasn't paying attention, and I knew this would piss him off." He sat back, slowly. "That's why I did it."

"Wasn't paying attention?" Kurt stopped eating. "To what?"

Puck closed his eyes. He breathed in, out. "To me," he whispered. "He wasn't paying attention… to me."

"That's why you keep trying to piss him off. To get him to notice you."

There was a terrifying sensation in Puck's chest. He felt naked, exposed. "Yes."

"And it doesn't work. So you have to keep pushing him, doing things to get him to notice."

Kurt's voice was hypnotic. Puck's head dropped, and he breathed more deeply. "Yes."

"Is that why you hit him? Did you want to hurt him?"

"No!" His head snapped up. "I don't. That's what I don't get. I don't want to hurt him." He looked around, wildly. "He's my best friend."

"You just want him to do something."

"Yeah!"

Kurt leaned in. "What do you want him to do?" he said, intensely.

Puck looked at Kurt, opened his mouth, and didn't say anything.

"Okay." Kurt backed off. "It's okay. You don't have to answer that." He crossed his arms across his chest. "So now, you're feeling stuck. Because you lied, and this" – he shook his hand vaguely – "happened, and you can't tell the truth without hurting him, really hurting him."

"No," he whispered, brokenly. "Fuck. I just… need someone to tell me what to do."

"Yeah?" Kurt ate the last bite of brie. "Okay. I'll tell you what you need to do."

Puck leaned forward, hungrily. "What?"

"First, you need to tell Finn what you told me on Thursday in the restroom. That you're sorry for being a jerk, and that you want to try to do better. Do you think you can do that?"

Puck nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I can do that."

"But you don't think you can tell him about Quinn?"

"No." He looked pleadingly at Kurt. "Don't you ever think that telling a lie is better than the truth, sometimes?"

Kurt was silent for a moment. "Sometimes." He sighed. "You know, I blew that note at the diva-off on purpose."

"What?"

"High F is definitely in my wheelhouse. I can sing Defying Gravity in my sleep." He laughed. "Sometimes I do."

"So… you threw the competition? Why?"

"It was because of my dad. I might be ready to deal with the consequences of singing a girl's song in public, but he isn't. I don't like hiding who I am, but sometimes it's not just about me." He brushed his hair back. "I told him I love him more than I love being a star."

"That's –" Puck nodded approvingly. "That's pretty awesome. You've got guts, Kurt."

"So do you, Noah." He smiled at Puck. "You can do this. It'll help. I'm not sure it's enough to make you feel completely better, though. Lying like this – it takes a toll on a person."

He stretched and cracked his back. "God, tell me about it."

"Yes – tell him about it. Tell him as much as you can."

"Then what, doc?"

Kurt smiled. "Go do this, then come back and tell me all about how it went. Then I'll... write you a new prescription."

"Thanks, Kurt. You're fucking good at this. And… I trust you. You won't tell anybody?" Kurt shook his head, and Puck touched Kurt on the arm, gently, then gathered the empty dishes back into the picnic basket. "But what are you getting out of it? What can…" He suddenly blinked, and coughed, embarrassed. "What can I do for you?"

Kurt's eyes gleamed. "Cook for me again, and we'll call it even."