Notes: Part 11! I can't believe I've written 20 000+ words of Glee fic in less than two weeks. Thanks to everyone who has followed this story and especially to those who have reviewed. Oh, and do not Wikipedia syphillis. Seriously. I'm a Bio student, and I was pretty grossed out.

xi. Stole my temper back from the lost and found

Puck spent his first period of the morning replaying the conversation that he and Rachel had in her car before school. He'd come to the conclusion that he'd been a ginormous ass. When she'd said, "I know that" she could have easily been saying that she knew that he wasn't an idiot, right? And that was actually kind of a compliment, coming from Rachel who, for all of her craziness, managed pretty great grades.

He spent the second period wrestling with what to do. He knew he had to apologize, obviously. A better one, this time. But how? And how not to screw it up again? And what if someone saw…

Okay. He had to stop thinking like that. Why did it matter if someone saw him talking to Rachel Berry? First of all, he was Noah Puckerman, and therefore, awesome. He could do anything and people would still think he was a total god. Second, Rachel Berry was a cool girl. Beneath the weird clothes, and the snotty arrogance, and the layers of nuttiness, at least. It just took awhile to get past them.

It boiled down to the fact that he really just needed to man the fuck up, and be willing to tell everyone else to mind there own fucking business. Why was that so damn hard?

By the time the bell rang, dismissing second period, Puck had formulated a plan of attack. Step one: isolate Rachel Berry. Rationale: it was probably smarter to make everything cool, just between the two of them, before bringing in everyone else.

Puck knew just where to find Rachel. She hadn't posted a new song last night. And yes, he checked her MySpace. After the bell rang Puck went to his locker to grab his jacket and an extra hoodie that he had stashed in there. Rachel had made a good point this morning. They did get along better away from school.

Convincing Rachel to leave was going to be tricky.

He found her in the choral room, right where he thought she'd be, as she was nothing if not predictable when it came to her MySpace schedule. Rachel was sitting cross-legged on the piano bench with sheet music in her lap. She looked up when he walked in, but quickly looked away.

"Fancy meeting you here, Berry."

"I'm busy, Puck."

Oh yeah. She was pissed.

"Well that's just too bad," Puck walked forward a few steps and pulled the music from her hands, and tossed his sweatshirt in her lap. "Because we're taking a field trip."

"We are not doing anything. I have work to do. You can run along and... plot your petty pranks, or lift weights or do whatever other scintillating activity generally takes up your free time."

Puck rolled his eyes. He refused to be goaded. "Less talking. More walking. Up!" He bent down and lifted the piano bench up a bit so Rachel slid to the side slightly. She uncrossed her legs and stood.

"Even if I was willing to go anywhere with you, which I most assuredly am not, we can't leave."

"Sure we can."

"No. We can't. This is a closed campus. Students are not permitted to leave the grounds without written permission from a parent or guardian.

"Berry, just use your brain for a second. Do you think that there's a slushie machine in the locker room?"

Rachel tossed her hair, and crossed her arms, "With the way that resources are distributed so unequally and unfairly by the current administration, I wouldn't doubt it."

"Well there isn't. I leave all the time. Have never gotten into trouble."

"What about the security guard at the gate?"

Puck waved a hand dismissively, "He used to be a linebacker for McKinley. He won't care."

"Typical. And I am still not going anywhere with you. And you can't make me."

Puck groaned. He'd expected resistance, but it was still irritating. "Seriously? What's the worst that could happen? Even if we get caught, which we won't, the worst that you'll get is a warning. Whatever happened to being able to authentically portray teen rebellion?"

"Well..." she was wavering. Excellent.

"You're sixteen. Can't you just act like it? For an hour or so?"

"Why?"

Now that? That was a good question. Puck glanced upward briefly. If only there was a script written on the ceiling. "Because you were right this morning. We get along better away from here, when neither of us has to be 'in character.' And because I'm asking you to. Please, Rachel?"

A 'please' and her first name? He recognized when it was time to break out the big guns.

"Fine. But I'm still mad at you."

"I know. It's one of the reasons why we're leaving."

She looked down at the sweatshirt she was holding, "Why do I have this?"

"Because it's cold and I'm not giving you the chance to over think and back out, by letting you go to your locker. Don't worry. It's been washed recently, and I only wore it for like a half hour. And you've already told me that you have no objection to the way that I smell."

He smirked. And leered at her a little. She blushed for a moment. "I thought we were pretending that evening never happened," she pulled his shirt over her head and began rolling up the sleeves, "What happens at Puck's house, stays at Puck's house?"

Puck shrugged. "My rule. My option to break it. Now let's go." He gave her a gentle shove towards the door and followed her out into the hallway. She gave a nervous glance to the security cameras and he nudged her. "Relax. There's only one guy to monitor all the cameras. Act normal and he'll never notice us."

"How, exactly, did you come across this information?"

"My security guard friend, obviously."

"Oh, obviously." He could hear the eye roll in her tone.

They had reached the set of outside doors that lead to student parking. Puck pushed one open and held it for Rachel. When she didn't walk through, he looked down at her expectantly, "What?"

"Who are you, and what have you done with the real Noah Puckerman?"

"That was so unoriginal, Berry. I'm disappointed in you."

"I don't care!" Rachel stepped through the door, stood in front of him and crossed her arms, "I am finding the events of the last few minutes highly disconcerting. I am wracking my brains for possible scenarios to explain them, but they mostly resemble the plots of bad sci-fi movies. Unless... do you have syphilis?"

"I do not! Fuck, why do you make everything so difficult?"

"I thought it was a valid question! Syphilis can result in dementia and personality changes."

"Another Wikipedia article of the day?"

Rachel flipped her hair over her shoulder, "Episode of Buffy. And with all of your rumored, um… extracurricular activities…"

Yeah. They were absolutely not going to discuss those, at this stage in their relationship. Puck placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down a bit, to put them nearly face to face. "Rachel. For once in your life, please shut up. I'm trying here, okay?"

She stared at him. Like she was searching for something. Finally, she bit her lip and muttered a quiet, "Okay."

Puck dropped his hands, "Okay. Where are you parked?"

Wordlessly, and Puck was kind of tempted to get his phone out to record this moment for the history books, she pointed.

They made their way over and Rachel unlocked the doors. Puck got in. His coffee from this morning was still sitting in the cup holder and the bag of Danishes was sitting on the dash.

He was hit with a new, not so refreshing, wave of guilt. Man, had he been a douche.

"So, where am I going?"

Puck knew that he had forgotten something. A planned destination, apparently.

"Um..."

"This is a very poorly planned kidnapping."

"I don't think it qualifies as a kidnapping if you're the one driving, and I am unarmed, does it?"

"Probably not," she admitted. Okay, he really, really wished he'd gotten that on film. Rachel Berry admitting that he was right? Totally a moment that needed documentation. No one would ever believe it. Damn.

"Do you mind just driving around?" That was pretty genius. It was probably easier to have a serious, potentially awkward, discussion in a moving vehicle, where they didn't have to look at each other.

"I suppose not. My car has an excellent fuel efficiency rating."

"Okay."

Rachel backed out of her space and made her way towards the security booth. Puck leaned over, and Jared, former football player, current Lima Loser, saw him and waved them through. Puck waved back.

Rachel pressed her lips together, but managed to hold her tongue.

"Okay," Puck took a deep breath. "First, I shouldn't have said what I did this morning. It was out of line."

She kept her eyes on the road but Puck saw her brows raise, "Yeah. I agree that implying that no guy could ever want me was out of line."

Puck thought back, "What? I didn't say that."

"Your implication was that I am Quinn Fabray's opposite. And you stated that Quinn Fabray was every teenage boy's ideal. The rest is just a small leap in logic."

"Yeah. That doesn't seem logical to me."

"There's also the fact that the only boy to show much interest in me is an absolutely disgusting lout. And he doesn't even like me, just my breasts."

"What?"

"Jacob."

"The guy from Celibacy Club?"

"Yes."

Was it wrong to wish for a horrific car accident? Puck didn't think so. "Berry... I mean, Rachel, trust me when I say that you can do better. And I'm sorry if what I said to you this morning made you doubt your..." he trailed off, and struggled for a word.

"Attractiveness? Sexual appeal? Self-worth?" Rachel supplied.

"Yeah. Those. You really don't have anything to worry about. In that department," he saw her open her mouth, to argue, so he forged ahead, "That's not the point. I didn't think it would make you so... upset."

Rachel shot him a scornful look. "Right, Puck."

"Really. I didn't think it would make you upset because nothing ever did. I've done and said way worse stuff."

"And you think none of that ever upset me?"

Puck squirmed a little, "Well no. Not really. You seemed shocked a couple times. But otherwise you were like, I don't know, Teflon coated or something. Nothing stuck."

Rachel chuckled. Short and bitter. "You're a moron, if that's what you believe. But I'm not going to list all of the things that stuck. You should be very satisfied to know that it would be a substantial list, though."

"I wouldn't. Be satisfied." Rachel shot him a quick look that was equal parts disbelief and anger. "I'm serious. It might have. You know... before."

"Before what?"

Puck closed his eyes and let out an impressive series of curse words. Rachel remained silent.

"Before. Before I joined Glee. Before my mom decided that the sun shines out of your ass. Before I really heard you sing. Before I found out that you have a ferret and that your gay dad's are actually decent dudes. Before..."

He shifted. Why was the seat so 'friggin uncomfortable? "Look. I'm not a words guy. I know that I've been an unimaginable dick to you. But I know that now. And I know that you didn't deserve it."

Rachel interrupted. And thank god, because that little speech had been excruciating. "You can say all that stuff, Puck, but from my perspective? Not a whole lot has changed."

"What do you mean? Berry, I've learned choreography. I haven't thrown any slushies, have I?"

"Be that as it may, the only time you've managed to be nice to me, we've been alone." Puck opened his mouth to protest, "Or with our parents."

"Not true! I was perfectly nice to you in front if Tina and Miss Pillsbury."

"Because you wanted something, that time. And Miss Pillsbury is an authority figure."

"Oh. Well, I guess you have a point there."

"Yeah. I do. You may have joined Glee but you still think that you're better than me."

"Rachel..."

"No. You know it. I know who I am, Puck. And I know that I'm not the easiest person to get along with. I have dreams. Goals. And I'm going to do what it takes to achieve them, and I will not allow the shallow opinions of others to deter me."

He watched her hands, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.

"You, on the other hand. I don't know you well enough to know anything about any dreams or goals that you may harbor. I'm sure you must have some. But why do you care so much about what the McKinley High jocks and Cheerios think?"

"You don't understand."

"Being popular? Maybe not. But, come on, isn't it kind of false, anyway?"

"Please, I am absolutely popular."

"Amongst jocks and cheerleaders, maybe. A vocal minority, I grant you. Not even an especially intelligent one. Everyone else? Would happily leave you lying in a ditch somewhere."

"Ouch."

"It's true."

Puck could admit that it probably was. He'd just never really thought about it before.

"You need to make a choice, Puck. Either you want us to be friends, or least friendly acquaintances, or you don't. Either you talk to me, in front of other people, or you don't. I can handle it, either way. It's all just grain for my creative mill. I'm not saying you have to overhaul your entire personality and become totally nice, all the time. I actually enjoy our... unique and somewhat antagonistic banter. It's the back and forth, hot and cold, evil Puck vs. civil Puck that's giving me whiplash."

"I..."

"No. Think about it, please. Because once you make that choice you can't flip back. You can't let me in a little bit, and then throw me right back out the second I say something you don't like or agree with."

"I'll think about it."

"Thank you."

Both Rachel and Puck stared straight ahead. The silence stretched on. And on. Uncomfortably.

"So," Puck cleared his throat, "why did you come by my house, this morning?"

It was Rachel's turn to shift awkwardly. "Well, I had planned out a conversation similar to that which we just had. I made notes."

"Of course you did."

"I went way off script, sorry."

"No. Not a problem. Your script probably used bigger words."

"Oh, it did! My actual speech, looking back, was terribly inarticulate."

Puck laughed, "You definitely made your point."

"Thank you. Anyway. Mercedes, Kurt and Tina suggested it. Mercedes, especially, had quite a lot of opinions to convey."

"Oh right! Girl talk. Man, but I wished that I could have witnessed that."

"It was very illuminating."

"I bet."

Puck was just glad that he hadn't been on the receiving end of Mercedes' 'opinions.'

"There's something that I want to ask you."

"Shoot."

"And I want you to tell me the truth. Unvarnished and without pretense. You are very good at telling me what I don't want to hear."

"No bullshit. Gotcha."

Rachel hesitated, "The slushies."

Puck groaned. "The slushies?" He repeated, like it was a question, even though he knew it was not.

"The slushies. Why not skittles, or Twinkies, or water or any of the other products available at your average convenience store?"

"I considered pig's blood, but it had already been done."

"Be serious. I would like to understand the thought process behind the slushies."

"One day, a long time ago, some dude in a Quik-E-Mart was like, 'hey, wouldn't it be delicious if we mixed some syrup into this crushed ice?'"

"What happened to no bullshit?"

"Oooh! Rachel Berry said a bad word!"

"Don't be infantile, Puck."

"Infant-what?"

"And don't pretend to be unintelligent."

"Who's pretending?"

Rachel made a noise that would most accurately described as a growl. Puck realized that this arguing thing that they were doing was kind of fun.

"Why do you need to know so badly?"

"Let's see. How about because I kept three changes of clothes in my locker at all times? The clothes took up so much room in that I carried almost all my books to all my classes, at all times. I took up yoga to prevent a hunchback. Hunchbacks do not land starring roles in major Broadway productions! My dad's think that I have laundry OCD. They have cards for therapists. The smell of orange soda..."

"Okay! Okay."

"The words are one thing. I could pretend that those rolled right off of me. But do you know what it was like to walk down the hall, covered in the remnants of your lunch time beverage, while everyone laughed?"

Puck banged his head against the headrest. Could he feel like a bigger piece of shit? "It's not an interesting story, Rachel."

"Stop trying to circumvent the question, Puck."

He kept his eyes on the ceiling. "A couple of the guys and I were skipping sixth period one day. We went to 7-11, got food, and, you know, slushies. One of the guys said, 'wouldn't it be awesome to throw this at someone?' We came back. I saw you and... lightbulb."

"Lightbulb."

"Yeah," Puck felt ashamed of himself, for the first time in quite awhile.

"That's..."

"Stupid?"

"Stupid is too mild a word. Asinine. Loathsome. Puerile!"

"I know that. You asked."

"I did ask."

"Rachel," she looked over at him and her eyes, large and red-rimmed hit him like a fist to the kidneys. "I'm so sorry."

"Okay. I think I need time to process." She turned back to the road, and turned on the radio

The ride back to school was silent. Puck almost spoke up like thirty times, but Rachel seemed lost in her thoughts. She didn't even sing along to the music coming from the speakers.

She bolted from the car, almost as soon as the engine was turned off, with just a small wave in his direction.

She was still wearing his sweatshirt.