So I've been suffering from a case of writer's block for months now, and this is my attempt at getting over it. This is the scene that I wanted to see in the 'Blame it on the Alcohol' episode in season two, so yes, there's spoilers. I hope you guys like it! And hopefully now that I've forced myself to write this little scene, I can work on one of the six billion ideas I have in my head for oneshots and multi-chapters. Anyway, all mistakes are mine, and I apologize in advance for any you guys might find.
Rachel Berry wakes up to the sound of someone pounding at her front door, and each knock makes her feel like someone is attacking her head with a baseball bat.
Rachel, through lack of sleep and a major hangover, is momentarily confused as to what the sound is, and for a moment, she can only lie in bed with her eyes tightly closed, wondering what's going on. When she realizes that she has a visitor, she lets out a loud groan and sits up weakly, her thoughts slow and unfocused. She opens her eyes then, letting out a pathetic-sounding whimper at the brightness of her bedroom. It's genuinely painful to look at.
Sighing, she swings her legs out of bed, reluctantly getting up to stumble out of her bedroom.
She's never felt like such a mess before, so tired and dizzy, and just plain awful. Bleary-eyed, the girl focuses on her surroundings, and she's absolutely horrified as she takes in the sight of her once-immaculate house. Red plastic cups are strewn everywhere, there's bits of food stuck to the carpet, there's a pair of red lacy panties on the floor that she does not want to touch, and oh my goodness, is that vomit? Her stomach turns over, and she covers her mouth with her hand, taking deep breaths to gain some composure. Why on earth did she think having an unsupervised house party? Why did she believe that letting Noah Puckerman into her dad's liquor cabinet was a good idea?
Rachel swallows thickly, wincing at the taste of her own mouth. It's disgusting, and she genuinely wants to cry at how terrible she feels right now. There's another knock, and she mumbles something unintelligently, tripping over her own feet on her way to the door. She opens it slowly, takes one look at her visitor, and quickly pulling him inside before slamming the door closed behind her to block out the sunlight. She shields her eyes with a quiet moan of pain.
She absolutely hates how amused he looks right now.
"What do you want, Noah?" She tries to say, but the words come out unclear and whispery. Her breath catches in her throat, and she closes her eyes, ignoring the boy's smirk and raised eyebrows.
She hears the tinkling sound of glass bottles hitting together and to her, the sound is like someone hitting a gong inside of her head.
"I'm replacing your dads liquor cabinet. Like I said," His voice is casual, easy, and it annoys her that he doesn't seem to be feeling the effects of the alcohol like she is. "Hey, you okay?"
"Do I look okay?" She breathes out, and oh, she thinks she's about to throw up.
"Actually, you look like total shit – holy fuck, are you gonna-"
She interrupts him by pushing past him, racing for the downstairs bathroom as quickly as her tired legs can carry her. She makes it to the toilet just in time, falling on her knees as her stomach decides to empty itself of the large amounts of alcohol she consumed last night.
It's disgusting. She can barely catch her breath, she's having trouble holding her hair out of her face, and there are tears streaming down her cheeks from self-pity, exhaustion, and the raw, burning pain of her throat. The worst part, however, is that she definitely won't be able to sing this weekend. She's done so much damage to her vocal chords that she hates herself, a little.
Suddenly, there's an awkward hand on her back, and she feels absolutely humiliated that Noah Puckerman is seeing her in this state. She's grateful though, when he strokes his hand awkwardly through her hair, holding it back so that she doesn't have to. She sees his reflection in the mirror through the corner of her eye, and he looks mildly disgusted, but he's holding a glass of water for her. She appreciates it.
When she's finished, she stands up shakily, quickly wiping her mouth as she steps over to the sink. Saying nothing, she grabs the glass of water from Puck's outstretched hand and rinses her mouth, her face still wet with tears.
"Your first hangover is a bitch," Puck says matter-of-factly from the bathroom door, his eyes on hers through the mirror. He says nothing else, no words of sympathy, and Rachel glares at him as she grabs the mouthwash and takes a large gulp, cleaning her mouth before spitting it back into the sink. She splashes some cold water on her sweaty face, and it makes her feel a little better.
She leans against the back of the sink with heavy-lidded eyes, drained of all energy.
"I'm never drinking again," She says in a hoarse whisper, and it makes her wince notably when he barks out a laugh that sounds much too loud. He shrugs apologetically.
"Shit, sorry," He grins, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "S'just that everyone says that shit, but it's total bull. You're a wild one, Berry. I was here last night, remember? I saw."
She feels the blush creep into her face and she opens her mouth to reply indignantly, but the sudden smell of the fresh mint mouthwash makes her stomach churn. Instead, she shakes her head weakly and pushes past Puck to leave the bathroom, sitting down heavily on the staircase in the hallway. He follows her, obviously amused at how out of character she's acting right now.
"I blame you for this," She mutters weakly, not glancing up as he hovers over her.
"No way. I didn't force you to start mixing shit. S'pretty awesome that you did though."
"How can you not be hungover right now?"
"Mine only lasts a few hours. And, y'know, I'm not a lightweight."
She moans softly in reply and he chuckles, taking a hold of her wrists and pulling her gently to her feet. She doesn't protest, simply because she doesn't have the energy to fight him. He places his large hands over her shoulders.
"'Kay, so here's the plan," He says, forcing her to look at him. "You're gonna go shower, because fuck, no offense, you smell kinda bad right now, and you really gotta get out of that stupid dress. And while you do that, I'mma go get you some hangover stuff, 'kay?"
She nods weakly, slightly offended but also grateful that he's looking after her, in his own weird, insulting way. He spins her slowly around and pushes her gently up a step, and she follows his instructions, slowly heading for her private bathroom. He closes the front door behind him much too loudly, probably to make up for acting somewhat nice to her.
-/-
The shower provides her with a small amount of relief, and the warm water against her skin seems to wake her up a little more. The sound of the running water makes her headache stronger, she tries to ignore it as she scrubs insistently at her body with some fruity soap, desperate to wash the feeling of last night off her skin.
She doesn't bother to dress up for Puck coming back. He saw her last night and witnessed her throwing up earlier, so she figures that he's already seen her at her worst. Instead of freaking out over her appearance like she usually would, she simply ties her hair back in a ponytail and throws on some pink sweatpants and a white tank top, before adding a pair of dark sunglasses, as the bright light simply feels unbearable to look at.
She's lying on top of her bed when he comes back, and the rattling, familiar sound of his truck's engine makes her want to cry in frustration. It's just so loud. She places a pillow over her head to muffle the sound of his entrance, including his heavy footsteps as he climbs up the stairs to her bedroom. She feels him sit down on the edge of her bed, and she moves the pillow to glare at him, before remembering that he can't see through the sunglasses.
"You're trying to kill me," She accuses hoarsely, propping herself up a little. "You're so noisy!"
"Hey!" He looks offended. "M'helping you, Berry. I brought you some shit to make you feel better."
Rachel's lips curve upwards in a small smile. "Like what?"
"Like, six bottles of Mountain Dew, 'cuz it's the best hangover cure ever. Painkillers for the headache, and Tums for the heartburn and shit."
He hands her a couple of boxes of pills, and she wastes no time in tearing them open, using the Mountain Dew to help her swallow a few down. She chooses to ignore the fact that she's usually against drinks that are high in sugar, as well as pills that haven't been reccomended to her by a doctor. She just doesn't have the energy to care.
"Now you gotta eat something," He instructs, taking the boxes off her bed and sitting them on her nightstand, and she pales a little at the thought of food.
"No," She protests, with a shake of her head. "I can't… Can I just go for a nap?"
He shrugs and kicks his sneakers off, before moving to lie beside her, and she watches him confusedly. "What are you doing?"
"M'napping too. Problem?"
She breathes out a quiet laugh and shakes her head a little, lying back onto the pillows next to him. "No touching me."
"Got something against spooning?"
"Noah… Your proximity in my bed makes me a little uncomfortable."
He rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Berry, I'm not gonna put the moves on you when you feel like shit. M'tired too, is all."
"Oh." She moves over to give him a little more room, and tries not to be too surprised when he wraps his arms around her from behind. "So the Pucksaurus likes to cuddle, huh?"
She's smiling, a little bit.
"Shut up." He's grinning too, she fan feel his smile against her exposed shoulder. "God, you're fucking tiny."
"I'm petite!" Her voice cracks, and it ruins the defensive effect of her statement.
"You're a midget. Go to sleep."
-/-
She wakes up to a rustling noise, and her sleepy eyes widen in surprise as she watches Noah throw empty cups from her nightstand into a trash bag.
"You're cleaning," She accuses tiredly, and he turns to look at her, shrugging sheepishly.
"Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."
She lets out a breathy, tired sigh and sits up. The pills and the sleep have worked a little. "Why are you cleaning?"
"'Cuz your place has been trashed. Why were Santana's panties in the hall?"
She tries not to look too disgusted. "I'd rather not think about that. What did you do with them?"
"Trash."
"Oh. Good."
She swings her legs out of bed and takes off the sunglasses, rubbing at her eyes. It's getting dark outside, and she tries not to be too mad at herself for sleeping the day away. She passes him an empty chip packet and a few empty wine cooler bottles. She thinks that they were hers, and she has a sudden, unflattering flashback of making out with Santana on her bed, through a dare from Artie.
She stands up, looking at him with wide eyes. "Did I make out with Santana?"
He laughs loudly, and she doesn't even yell at him for it. "Sure did. Shit Berry, you made out with pretty much everyone."
"Finn?" She asks timidly, because she honestly cannot handle anymore drama with the taller boy.
"Not Finn," He confirms, and he looks a little too pleased about that.
"You?"
"Yup. But shit, Berry. When do we not make out?"
She groans and shoves at him a little, though it doesn't have much of an effect. "That's true. We should stop doing that."
"Fuck no."
Rachel lets out a quiet, croaky laugh and shakes her head amusedly, bending down to retrieve some paper plates from her carpeted floor.
-/-
"No Noah, the whiskey went behind the rum."
"Rachel, no way. I'm telling you, it was next to the goddamn vodka."
"Stop being so infuriating, Puckerman! It's my house, I know how my dads arrange the alcohol."
"Except you've never touched a drop in your life before last night, and I'm the one who busted into the liquor cabinet in the first place. Sorry Rach, but you don't know shit about this."
"You're making my headache worse."
"You're being annoying."
She huffs, offended, and she tries to stop herself from stamping her foot, because she knows how much he'd tease her for that. Giving up with a sigh of frustration, she spins around, though she stumbles at the sudden dizziness she feels. His calloused hands are immediately on her arms, steadying her.
"You okay?"
"'I'm fine!"
"Stop being so goddamn pissy!"
She looks at him angrily, as he stands in front of the liquor cabinet, bags of alcohol at his feet. Rachel is about to lecture him on his word choice, but softens suddenly at the irritated expression on his face, realizing that she should be more grateful to him for helping her today.
"I'm sorry," She apologizes, her hoarse voice still very much present. She's thrown up a number of times throughout the day, and her throat is raw and painful.
He shrugs with a smirk, picking up the bottle of whiskey he bought and sitting it next to the vodka. "S'okay."
She hands him another bottle, before moving to rearrange the candles on the shelf beside the cabinet. "Do you realize you've stayed here all day?"
"Yup," He pops his 'p'.
"Why?"
"You were sleeping through most of it. Y'know that people choke on their own vomit and die in their sleep, right?"
Her eyes widen, scared. "And Kurt and Mercedes left me alone last night! I'm going to- Wait, are you saying that you don't want me to die?"
He pulls a bored face. "I dunno. Kinda."
"'Kinda?'" She imitates him quietly, trying not to smile. "D'aww, you like me."
"No duh, Sherlock." He rolls his eyes as he continues adding the bottles to the cabinet. "Besides, I owed you one anyway. For the whole zombie-football thing."
She brightens at the memory. "That was fun. Except for the part that I thought I was going to be violently killed."
He chuckles at that, but doesn't reply. They work in comfortable silence for a while, and Rachel finds it soothing, the way he hums to himself as he organizes the bottles.
"Noah? You said that you wanted to get drunk and have sex." She hates how hesitant she sounds.
"Yeah, so?"
"Did… I mean, did you…"
"Hook up? Nah. I broke up with Lauren last night. If that's what you can call it."
"Oh," She's not sure how she feels about this piece of information. "Why?"
"Sick of giving and not getting anything back. And, you know, not just sexually and shit. She told me I sucked at kissing. S'total bullshit."
"Yes," Rachel agrees with him before she realizes that she's speaking, and immediately blushes when she feels his eyes on her. She just knows that he's wearing that arrogant smirk of his. "I mean, you're fairly adequate…"
"I'm fuck awesome."
She giggles and nods, rubbing her temple slightly as she gestures to the alcohol. "Are you finished?"
Puck ignores the question."Y'know that if there wasn't a risk of you throwing up in my mouth then I would've started making out with you hours ago, right?"
She only nods slowly. He's not lying, she knows.
Surprisingly, she regrets drinking anything last night. She really wants to take him up on that offer.
Once again, she starts speaking before she realizes.
"My dads won't be home for another three days…"
His eyes widen and her face feels unbearably warm. She turns away, but he's suddenly tugging at her, forcing her to look at him. "That's an invitation."
"Yes," She confirms in a whisper, biting her lip. Puck grins hugely, one of his hands resting on her hip and rubbing slow circles with his thumb across the small patch of exposed skin.
"I really wish you didn't feel like shit right now."
She's smiling through her blush. "You're not the only one."
Despite her hangover, she's actually rather pleased that the day worked out as it has. She thinks it means something that he gave up his Saturday to take care of her, and she really wants to thank him for that in a way that he'll understand.
She can't wait until tomorrow.