Notes: This chapter is brought to you be the Swine Flu which my lab instructor apparently has (though not a really serious case, she says). My lab was cancelled and I had a whole three hours to kill, and I only had my zoology books with me, the one class I don't have a midterm for. Convenient, no?

vii. the kind of girl that you would never leave

Puck had put his package of little blue pills way in the back of his desk drawer after he and the guys had performed. He enjoyed pilfered beers and the odd joint as much as the next guy. A racing heart, sweaty palms and being not a bit tired after doing sixty push ups and a few hundred crunches? Not so much. He'd ended up crashed out on the floor in front of his closet, using a baseball mitt for a pillow that night.

Also, Kurt had slapped his ass during their post performance celebrations. And Puck hadn't really cared. Talk about a wake up call.

Rachel Berry always talked too much and too fast. Even so, Puck had been taken aback by her impression of a cracked out hummingbird when she'd introduced the girls' mash-up.

Angels? Really?

The song was kind of infectious though and he caught himself chair dancing a little like a total dork. The other guys were doing it too, so he didn't feel too mortified. At the end of the performance, where Rachel had managed to hit a note and produce a sound that he hadn't even been aware a human being was physically capable of, he'd clapped along with the other guys.

The girls rushed out, giggling and talking. Rachel practically tackle-hugged Mr. Schuester. Something was off. Puck trailed the other guys out of the room and it dawned on him: the girls' must have made a trip to the nurse.

He was pissed. Quinn was pregnant! The pills had given him the shakes, so he couldn't imagine what they'd do to a baby.

He picked up his pace and hurried to the dance studio that he knew they sometimes used as a dressing room.

Mercedes and Tina exited, dancing, and paid him no mind. Brittney and Santana came out next, back in their uniforms. Santana gave him a snotty look, conveniently forgetting that she'd been the one to dump him. Brittney totally ignored him and did three cartwheels.

Quinn emerged next, alone, thankfully. "Hey After School Special, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Quinn smacked him in the chest with her Bio book. "Keep your voice down," she glanced around the hallway, which was empty, "Coach Sylvester has been watching me like a hawk lately."

"Good luck with that. Check your bedroom for hidden cameras. You want to explain to me what you're doing? Our baby's going to have gills or some shit."

She hit him again, hard. "Get it through your head, Puck! There is no 'our' baby."

"Gills, Quinn, gills!"

Quinn shoved him backwards, "Do you think I'm really that stupid? Don't answer that, I did have sex with you, of all people, after all."

"That wasn't stupid, that was good taste and judgment."

Quinn shoved him again. "I said shut up! For your information I didn't take any of the stupid pills. My baby will be perfectly fine."

"Oh. Okay then," Puck relaxed.

"Do you have any food on you?"

Okay. That was random. But then pregnant chicks always had weird cravings in the movies. "No. Sorry. I could get you something?"

Quinn gave him a small smile, the first genuine one he thought he'd seen since before they'd hooked up. "Thank you, but it's not for me. Rachel's kind of tweaking out. I thought maybe if she ate something..."

"Yeah, I'd noticed. How many did she take?"

"Mrs. Schuester gave the girls two each. Did you know that those pills have some of the same ingredients as crystal meth?"

"Two?" Puck found he was pissed all over again, "Jesus, I took two, and I felt like a junkie on a four day bender. She should have taken the midget dose, like a half. One, max. You know, I feel like maybe Mrs. Schuester isn't all that great of a nurse."

"Yeah. I'm worried. There's no point in taking her to back to the nurse's office, obviously, but I don't want to take her home like this and get her into trouble.

Puck looked at Quinn. "Holy pregnancy hormones, Batman."

"What are you talking about?"

"You just said that you were worried about Rachel Berry. And didn't bitch at me for using Jesus as a curse."

"Puck, Jesus and I have bigger issues than that right now."

Yeah, that was probably true.

"As for Rachel, I don't know. I kind of owe her one. Or I will owe her one. Or several. In the future."

"You're aware that makes no sense, right?"

"I know," Quinn shook her head, exasperated. "It's just something she said to me yesterday. Have you noticed that these Glee kids are really nice? Like, freakishly so. Like they were raised by Care Bears or something. Besides, if Rachel got in trouble, then everyone else probably would too. Anyway, I don't know what to do, and I was supposed to meet Finn like five minutes ago."

Puck sighed. He really was going to regret this. "Go. Meet Finn."

"What? But Rachel..."

"I'll figure something out. We'll drive around or something. My mom won't be home until nine tonight so I could take her to my house if I have to."

Quinn hesitated, "I don't know, Puck. You and Rachel... It just doesn't seem like a good idea."

Maybe he shouldn't have taken such great pains to still be such an ass to Rachel in public. Privately they'd begun to get along. Occasionally. When they had to. This could be an excellent opportunity to show Quinn that he could be a decent, responsible guy. Dad material. If only he could convince her to leave.

And then spend time with Rachel Berry without either strangling her or acting on the unexpected lust that had sprung up between them after they'd hung out in his room.

He had spent a lot of time thinking about her legs and how they were really long for such a short girl. And how she was probably real flexible because of all that dance training she was always going on about. Ahem.

"Quinn, Rachel and I have actually spent a bit of time together and I can honestly say that I now only find her about half as annoying as I used to."

"Right."

"I'm totally serious. I haven't had the urge to throw a slushie in her face or fill her locker with Rice Krispies for at least two weeks."

Quinn studied him. He put on his most sincere face and she relented. "Fine. But if she doesn't show up to school tomorrow I'm coming after you."

Puck saluted. "Aye, aye, Mama Bear."

Quinn left. But not before she stomped on his foot.

Puck pushed open the door to the dance studio. Rachel was standing, still in her yellow dress, with her leg propped up on the pole thing in the middle of the room and both arms curved above her head.

He resisted the urge to turn around and walk out.

He was pretty sure that yellow dress wasn't meant for such a purpose. And then he reminded himself that he was supposed to be demonstrating responsibility. That meant he was not to try to get a better look at the pale blue lace he could see under her skirt, in the mirror, from where he was standing.

She looked up and saw him in the, "Puck! Hi! What are you doing here? Where did Quinn go?"

Wow. He was going to have such a huge headache later. Her voice was louder, and even higher pitched than usual.

"Quinn wanted to get a snack. I told her I didn't want anything but she said I should eat. I don't want to eat though. Quinn should eat though if she's hungry. She's eating for two and everything."

She was practically vibrating.

"Quinn had to go meet Finn. I'm going to take you... somewhere."

"Why? I drove here today. In my car. I'm perfectly capable of driving home. I'm an excellent driver. I got my license on my first try." Rachel continued to... stretch. Or whatever it was she was doing.

Besides trying to make his brain explode.

"You can't drive in your condition, Berry. You'd probably get arrested."

"What condition! I feel fantastic. I just want to dance! Oh, and by the way, our mash-up was totally superior to yours. You boys did better than I had anticipated, though, so don't feel so bad. I've finally understand the appeal of a leather jacket, which before yesterday I thought was a trite cliché."

"Um. Thanks? Try and take a breath between sentences, okay?"

"You're welcome. You have very nice shoulders. And you move surprisingly smoothly for a football player with no training whatsoever. You know, I once read that dancing and sex were directly related. Or maybe that was an episode of Friends. I don't know. I am a really good dancer and so probably really good at sex. Are you a good dancer because you've had a lot of sex, or is the reverse true. It's kind of fascinating, don't you think?"

Her brain to mouth filter, unreliable at the best of times, was completely broken.

Responsible, Puck reminded himself. You're being responsible. You are not thinking about all of the things that Rachel Berry may be good at. "Do you need to go to your locker?" he asked.

"Nope!"

"Then why don't you put your leg down, and we'll go?"

"Go where?"

"My house, I guess." He was so not going to survive for very long with her in his truck, "My mom has an evening shift tonight. You can get back to normal, or well at least normal for you, and I'll drive you back here for your car later."

"Okay!" she ran over to the side of the room, grabbed two bags, and the dress he recognized as the one that Tina had been wearing. He took one of the bags from her. Only because she looked like she was going to tip over. And if that happened, with his luck, Rachel would get a black eye or something and than not only would Quinn think he wasn't responsible, but she might beat him up, because her crazy pregnant brain had allied itself with Rachel. "Thanks Puck!"

"Don't mention it. Seriously. Do Not."

"Why do people call you Puck? Other than because it's the first syllable in your last name? You play football, not the other game. The one on ice. Hockey! I knew that I knew that. Noah is a perfectly nice name. It's Hebrew in origin. Rachel is too, did you know that? Can I call you Noah? I totally don't mind if you call me Rachel, even if you hardly ever do."

Puck had managed to steer her out of the building and towards his truck, "I'll tell you what, if you can be quiet for two minutes, you can call me anything your little heart desires."

She was silent for approximately forty-three seconds.

Puck was willing to take what he could get. He helped her into the cab of the truck, still talking, and took his sweet time stowing her stuff in the bed and walking around to the driver's side. He took the opportunity to fish out her cell phone and send a text to her dad's.

Rachel used more words in the next few hours than Puck had in the last few years. The girl had very detailed opinions on basically everything that had ever existed. Puck finally understood what a migraine felt like.

Eventually, she fell asleep on the couch. He hated to wake her up (when he could finally actually hear himself think, no less) but there was no way he was explaining Rachel Berry asleep on his couch to his mother. She'd get ideas. Bad ideas.

Puck poked Rachel a few times in the shoulder. She swatted his hand away. Fine. If she wanted to be difficult. He went and put a Led Zeppelin disc in the C.D. player. And he turned it on. Loud.

Rachel woke up. And promptly fell off of the couch.