Notes: Just call me the queen of all procrastinators. This chapter contains copious amounts of Puck's mom (because I love her, even though I made her up), a little bit of Rachel's dads and developing sexual tension.

vi. it's not a matter of you versus me

Puck had slept in until noon, than spent most of Sunday afternoon in his room doing homework and messing around with his and Rachel's duet song on his guitar.

When he came downstairs at about 5:30 his mom looked up from the vegetables she was chopping and smiled. "Good! I was just about to get you. Could you set the table, please, honey?

There was something in her inflection that he did not like. He eyed her. She seemed… peppy. And was that a new shirt?

But he shrugged it off and went to the cupboard. He pulled down two plates.

"Five."

"Five what?"

"Five plates."

"Five plates?"

Shit. Was he secretly psychic? He somehow knew what was coming. This was exactly like something out of one of his nightmares. "Why would two people need to eat dinner off of five plates? That's just a wasteful amount of plates."

"Noah," she might have only said his name but it was clearly a warning, "quit saying plates."

"Mom. Please tell me you did not invite who I think you invited."

"You want me to lie to you?"

"Mom!"

"Cause if you really want me to lie to you I'll do it. I'll feel terrible about it, because you're my only child, but I'll do it because I love you."

He pointed at her, "I know what you're doing, Mom. I'm immune to it."

"And did I mention that when you were born you were turned around the wrong way, so I was in labor for thirty one hours?"

"Yeah. You've mentioned that."

"They'll be here in about ten minutes. Deal with it."

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

"Because you would have finagled yourself a dinner invitation from Finn, or one of your other football friends, and been unbearably rude in the process?"

Damn it. She knew him way too well. "Rachel Berry and her two gay dads are coming to dinner," he said, just to make sure he understood the situation.

"That's right. And I don't know that I like that phrasing, Noah. I didn't raise you to be a bigot."

Oh shit. He was going to need to bribe Kurt Hummel. With something other than sexual favors. "Why, exactly, did you do this to me?"

"You're being dramatic. Am I not allowed to make new friends?"

"Why do your new friends have to be related to Rachel Berry?"

"To torture you, of course."

"Hilarious, mother. You should go on tour."

The door bell rang. Huh. He'd been kind of hoping that this had all been a joke. Or that he would wake up.

"Noah, seriously. In a few years you'll live somewhere else and won't need me so much anymore. I'll need more friends my own age. The Berry's are interesting, intelligent people and you will treat them as you would any other guest in our home, understood?"

Ugh. That was possibly the most effective guilt trip he'd ever been subjected to. "Fine. I still see through your tactics."

"Noted. Now would you like to get that?" Puck's only reply was a stony glare. "No? I guess I will." She hip checked him gently as she walked past, "Relax. And smile. How bad could it be?"

Relax. And smile? Doubtful. He took a deep breath. Well, at least he his Sunday evening wouldn't be boring. Awkward, sure. But not boring.

Puck grabbed glasses out of another cupboard. Being psychic was such a crap power. If he could really have a super power he'd totally want to be able to freeze time. Like that dude on Heroes. Teleporting would also be cool.

He looked up and there was Rachel Berry. In his kitchen. Wearing a soft looking green sweater.

"Hello, Puck."

"Hi." This was so uncomfortable. He couldn't say any of the usual things to her. Not with his mom and her dad's about to walk into the room. Puck opened the cutlery drawer and concentrated on counting forks.

"How..." Rachel cleared her throat, "how was your weekend?"

Good. He wouldn't be the only one suffering. "The usual. Football game, after party, Call of Duty."

The adults entered the room, saving Puck from having to ask Rachel how her weekend had been. The usual for Rachel was probably something like: color blocked my cardigans, brushed my hair one hundred times, sang every song from every movie musical released in 1954.

"Hi Mr. Berry. And Mr. Berry?" Puck greeted them politely. He hadn't meant for it to be a question but halfway through had realized he had no idea what the correct title to use was.

"It's fine. We got married in Canada a couple years ago, so we both use Mr. Berry for the purposes of Rachel's school and activities, though our marriage is not recognized here. You can call us Aaron and Richard, if you'd like."

"Okay."

Puck's mom broke in, "Canada? Did you like it?"

Puck mentally thanked her. His mom was an excellent conversation smoother.

"We love Canada!" Rachel all but squealed.

Aaron, Rachel's black dad, the dermatologist, put his arm around Rachel, "When Rach here was ten, all she wanted for her birthday was a Mountie hat."

"Daddy!"

"She wore it to bed for weeks," Richard, the dad who owned the restaurant, added (and Puck was quite impressed with his ability to recall personal details).

"Oh no. You two promised!" Rachel exclaimed.

Puck knew what was coming and would have done just about anything to stop it, "Oh that's so funny! When Noah was six, he wore his Spiderman Halloween costume to bed for a whole year. He cried whenever I insisted on washing it."

Oh God. "So Mom, when's dinner?" Why must she do this to him?

"It'll be ready in about forty minutes."

"Rachel and I are going to go up to my room and work on our duet. Okay? Good." He grabbed Rachel's arm and pulled her out of the room.

"Door open, Noah!" The parents laughed like that had been the funniest joke ever.

"This is so my nightmare," Puck muttered. He kept a hold of Rachel's arm all the way up the stairs and then he turned to her, backed her into the wall and said, "Look, Berry, there's only one way this is going to work. We're going to get through dinner and then we're going to forget it ever happened and never, ever, speak about it to each other or anyone else. What happens at Puck's house stays at Puck's house, deal?

"Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head, boxing her in. "Do we or do we not have a deal?"

"We have a deal, Puck."

"Okay," he looked down at her. They were standing, really, really close and he could feel her body lightly pressing into his at several points. Also, despite all the jokes he and the Cheerios had made, he was noticing that Rachel was definitely soft and definitely girl shaped. And her hair smelled good.

He pushed himself off the wall and walked away, "My room is this way."

It took her a few moments to follow, and he had seated himself on his desk chair and picked up his guitar.

When she walked in she looked around but didn't say anything. "What's your problem, Berry, never been in a boy's room before?"

He hadn't really meant to sound so harsh but he couldn't help it. He'd seen the house that she lived in. And yeah, at the time, he'd been busy throwing eggs, but he wasn't blind or stupid. Rachel's parents obviously did well for themselves. She lived in a much bigger, newer house than he did.

"Actually this is a first for me. Your room is cleaner than I would have expected." She sat on his bed gingerly and tucked her legs underneath her. The skirt she was wearing rode up on her thighs.

Puck didn't want to look but come on! Asking him not to look would've been like taking a bath in meat juice, jumping into the ocean and asking a shark not to eat you. Unnatural.

He was going to revisit her legs at a later date, preferably when he was alone, and could think about them wrapped around his hips.

He tried not to be obvious about the fact that he was checking her out. "So just how much time have you spent thinking about my bedroom?"

She reddened and began to splutter, "I didn't mean your room specifically! I meant it generally. Your bedroom is cleaner than I would have anticipated it being given the average American teenage boy's ambivalence to cleanliness and questionable personal hygiene."

Damn, but this was kind of fun. He found her highly entertaining, all blushing and flustered. "My hygiene isn't questionable, Berry. I shower every morning, and again after football.

"No! I didn't mean it that way. I know you do. Not that I think about you in the shower. I mean showering. I don't think about you when I shower either, obviously. You always smell fine."

Puck wheeled his chair over a bit and looked her in the eye, "You can feel free, you know."

"I can feel free to what?"

"To think about me while you shower." She buried her face in her hands and made a strangled noise. Puck realized that he was totally flirting with Rachel Berry.

He did not know how he felt about that.

She hopped up off of the bed so fast that Puck started a little. "Bathroom?"

He pointed, "End of the hall."

Rachel fled.

Why the hell had he been flirting with Rachel Berry?

She stayed in the bathroom for quite awhile and when she returned her face was once again its regular color.

Rachel started to say something but was interrupted when his mom yelled up the stairs, "Noah? Rachel? Dinner!"

"We'd better get down there, Puck."

"After you," he gestured for the door but she didn't make a move toward it.

"Puck, I..."

"Noah! Put down that guitar this instant and come eat."

"We're coming," he called back, then turned back to Rachel. "Well?"

"I... I am really hungry." Rachel hurried downstairs. Puck followed.

He'd been correct earlier. He wasn't bored. Not bored at all.