And I turned 'round and there you go
And, Michael, you would fall
And turn the white snow red as strawberries
In the summertime...

{Fleet Foxes – White Winter Hymnal}

He hasn't been keeping track of days, to be honest. He measured time by when he was supposed to be working and how long Rachel stayed away. The longest had been a blur of day and night for what he estimates was about a week and a half.

Puck is so drunk one night that, when she comes home, he frowns at her and slams his bottle on the counter. "Why don't you just move in with him, Rach?" he slurs angrily.

Rachel drops her bag on the ground and cross her arms over her chest. "Noah, you're-"

"Drunk? Why yes I am. Don't even care, Rach. Why don't you just move in with him? And then you can get married, and wear a stupid dress, and I won't even come. I promise I will never come to your wedding. Another promise, huh? You want to fuck this one up to?"

"I never made you any promises," Rachel says quietly, trying to be strong. He can hear the thickness in her voice though, see the trembling of her lip. Well, good, he thinks. It's about time she suffers. He's had enough of it.

"Maybe that's the problem, Rach! Maybe you should make promises to the people who care about you. But let's go back to my story. So anyway, after your big, stupid, wedding – which I won't even know how stupid it is because I won't be there – you can go on a big fucked-up honey moon to help some endangered turtles or penguins or whatever it is 'good' people do. And then you'll come back and be fat and you'll be pregnant and your stupid kids will be just as horrible as you. And you know what? You can be happy. Or at least, you can be as happy as you'll settle for."

"Enough, Noah!" she shrieks, throwing her bag over her shoulder again. "Maybe I should move out! Then I wouldn't have to put up with your worthless crap and I wouldn't have to be tied down to some boy who works in a garage!"

"That's what you've always thought, isn't it? You've always thought I was a total loser who would never get anywhere. You picked me to come because you knew I'd always hang around because there's nowhere for a jackass like me to go, right? Maybe it's all true Rachel. Or maybe you're just a total bitch who only cares for herself."

Her hand is shaking as he talks, and he's almost waiting for the slap of her hand against his cheek. He wonders if he's, like, anticipating it. It would be the closest she'd been to him in weeks, ever since St James ruined everything.

"Why do you do this?"

"Why don't you listen?"

Rachel doesn't have an answer, so she starts towards the stairs. She's sick of Noah and not being able to have a life. She's sick of him making her feel terrible and she's sick of the drama in her life – which is funny, because she was so sure she was made for drama. She's also wondering whether he's right, if she's a bitch, if she's a terrible person. She decides against it, because he's drunk and he's jealous and his vision is clouded by the long distance of his daughter and friends.

"Goodnight, Noah."

He watches her as she heads towards the stairs, her back turned to him and her shoulders squared. He remembers the beginning of this, in her favourite sun dresses, dancing around the apartment, a smile on her face. It was almost like the seasons were changing with her mood – she was getting icier as the weather was cooler. He suddenly misses summer. He's sick of the rain, the clouds, the dull colours, the need for blankets and fires. He's sick of boring talks and lonely days and one person living in a two-person apartment. He's mostly sick of Jesse St James, though.

"I miss summer Rachel!" he says, almost like a child.

She doesn't try to interpret it as she showers. She doesn't think about it as she puts on her warmest pyjamas. She almost forgets about it as she turns off the lights and tucks herself into bed.

(Except, she can't seem to shut her eyes and sleep, because all she's thinking of is those four words.)

He flops onto the couch without removing his belt or shoes. Rachel is too draining; life is too draining. God, he's sick of this.

God, he misses high school.

When Puck wakes up to find Rachel not in her room, he isn't surprised. He just puts on his running clothes and gets ready for a long jog. He needs to clear his mind. He passes the coffee shop and sees her working, but he can only recognise her by her long, brown ponytail. She's facing away from him, thankfully, and doesn't see him sprint by.

The sick feeling doesn't go away, though, once she's out of his sight.

Puck dials Quinn's number when he gets home. He needs to hear Beth – to hear a familiar voice. He needs to make sure that somewhere back home, things are in there rightful place and he or Rachel (or most likely Jesse) hasn't screwed things up there too, somehow.

When he hears a sigh on the other end of the line, he already gets the impression he isn't wanted here either. "Puck? What do you want? I'm in the middle of something."

"Whatever Q. I really need to talk to my- Ah, sick! Really? With Beth there? God, Q, have some . . . Not around my kid, okay?"

Quinn snorts over the line. "She's not here, Mr Suddenly-A-Good-Protective-Father. She's with my mom."

"Oh. I'll just . . . Bye Quinn." She doesn't reply, just hangs up.

He has an idea, and with his phone in one hand, a suitcase by his side and his best friend still living in Lima, he decides it's time for a good long trip away from Rachel Berry and her fantasy world.

When Rachel gets home from work, her eyes are puffy and tired from crying the night before and her legs are aching from the busy day. She can't blame people – the café is a great escape from New York's weather.

Noah isn't home and most of the junk that had been lying around on his floor is gone. On her bed is a note – a note she hardly thinks she wants to read.

But she does it anyway.

Rach,

Guess you're pissed at me. Of course you are. You always are. I'm not going to apologise, I'm pissed at you too. Like, really mad. Like, so mad.

You ditched me. You dragged me along to this city and I'm stuck as a dead-end while you have your great boyfriend and your career that's going to go somewhere and Rach, God, I'm sick of it.

I could swear and swear and swear in this letter, but I won't. One, because I know you hate that. And also because I dunno how long I'll be gone for.

I'm enlisting in the army.

This is when her heart stops beating, and all the breath is sucked out of her. She can't bring herself to read the rest. Oh no, she can't. She just can't.

She does, though.

Hah! Just kidding. I'm going to stay at Finn's. I don't know how long I'll be there and I don't know why. I'd rather be a loser in Lima and belong than tag along on your dreams and stop mattering after a while. God, I sound like a low-aiming version of you right now.

I'm not sorry,

Puck.

He's done a squiggly little P underneath his name, which she takes to mean is his signature. He really has terrible writing.

How is she thinking about handwriting now?

She reads over the letter a couple of times before shuffling back into his room and falling asleep on his bed. The sheets smell like him, and they almost still feel warm, even though he wouldn't have been lying here for a good ten hours. If he had been lying here with her, she'd apologise. Maybe. No, no she wouldn't. Not for last night, but for bringing him along like this, yes.

She is sorry.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs into his pillow as she falls asleep.

Rachel wakes to the sound of someone knocking on her door. Her hair is disgustingly messy and she still has on her apron, black t-shirt and jeans from work. But she opens it anyway, because maybe it will be Noah, telling her he just wants to be her friend again.

It's not.

Jesse looks stunning compared to her. His hair is combed back and his eyes are taking her in like she's the loveliest thing he's ever seen. "Rachel," he mumbles, kissing her cheek.

Rachel's eyes flutter shut for a second, and it feels good like this – to be held. Warm and strong and caring. "I love you," she says quietly. She hadn't said it yet, but they'd been dating for a few months now, and it had never sounded so true than in this moment. "Please just stay."

They lay down on her bed, because she's still tired and he doesn't want to let go of her. They don't sleep. It's nowhere near as warm as Noah's bed, but it will do.

That's what Jesse is for, right?

Somewhere after dinner but just before sex, she calls Noah and leaves him one or two (seven) messages. Not apologies, just grumblings about where he is. She knows of course, she has the letter, but he's hoping she'll call him back. Maybe he'll think she never got the letter. Maybe he'll think she stopped reading, and believed he was really off to be a soldier. (But pfft, yeah right.)

"Call me back," is the last thing she says before joining Jesse on her bed.

"You're sad," Jesse notes quietly, brushing his fingers through her hair. "Don't be sad."

"Noah's run away," Rachel mumbles. She can't decide what she hates more – the fact that she's talking about him as if he's some undisciplined child pulling another stunt, or the fact that she knows he'd hate that if he were here. But he's not, and there's obviously nothing she can do to change that. "But he was drunk, the last time I saw him. He said things, and I feel so bad, but I can't apologise. I should but just . . . Not now, not for this. This is my life. It's finally all stitching together."

Jesse grins at her, knowing he's a lot of the thread doing all this stitching. He doesn't know that Noah is probably more of it.

"What did he say?"

"That I should just leave and live my life. That I was horrible and selfish and I only ever looked out for myself. He's right you know." Jesse is about to interrupt, but she places a finger on his lips. "No, no. He really is. I brought him here because I was afraid of the people and the challenges. I would have still brought him had there been other options, but still. I'm terrible."

"It's okay to be afraid," is all Jesse says. It was what she wanted to hear, but not necessarily what he should have told her.

"Call me back."

That's all she said. No, 'Noah, I'm sorry'. Not even a 'Noah, I swear I'll scream if you don't pick up this phone' ('cause Rachel screaming? He lost his hearing for twenty seconds the first time it happened).

Finn quirks his eyebrow in that adorable way that just seems to reel the chicks in. Brittany is humming in the kitchen, baking some choc-chip muffins or something, even if she doesn't really get the instructions, or how to work the oven, or the whole rising process altogether. He'll probably be eating raw mixture for dessert tonight.

(That's the best bit, though.)

"Is Rachel okay?" Finn asks, being all high and mighty with the caring thing. God, when is he ever not the good guy? It makes Puck look like an ass sometimes.

(But a badass, so it's all good.)

"Don't know, don't care. You gonna keep pressing pause, you pussy? You're just pissed you're losing."

"Don't you think you should, like, make sure she's okay?"

"No," Puck replies, thrumming his fingers on the controller. "Dude. We have serious time to kill. Play the damn game and let me crush your last bit of dignity."

Finn exhales slowly, pressing resume game and continuing on with the game. He was kind of worried about Rachel – mostly because of all the hell Puck was surely putting her through. But also because of the whole Jesse thing, and the last time Jesse came around it seriously meddled with all of Rachel's relationships, not just the whole, Finn-and-Rachel one. He screwed up her life. It's just not cool.

"Fine, man, but you can't stay here forever. Me and Brittany are going strong. It's hot," Finn grumbles, hitting the same button repeatedly. Puck raises his hand, his eyes never leaving the screen, for a high five. "S'not fair! My controllers screwed!"

Puck just laughs. Son of a bitch.

"Stuff the cupcakes!" Brittany announces, twirling into the room. She was in USA Cheer, and about to head off for International Cheer Union Championships. She was still a babe, of course, with all the working out, but still as dumb as a post too. "Let's order pizza, Finnie."

"Aw, Finnie!" Puck coos, punching Finn in the shoulder. Finn groans, standing and kissing Brittany on the cheek before picking up their home phone. Puck doesn't know when Britt moved in, but Finn seems happy as ever, so it's all good.

"I told Finn Rachel was a good person," Brittany mumbles, "that you shouldn't be fighting. You know, except for the fact that she's contaminated with that new zombie virus. I'm sorry." She pats him on the shoulder and, like all conversations with Brittany, he's left wondering if he's missed something.

But Puck has missed these people, however adorably airless their little heads were, and he's missed this town. He's missed the summer days and the pool cleaning and parading around without a shirt.

It feels so good to be free of Rachel.

(Actually, that's a lie. He misses her.

But he tells himself he missed his best friend more.)

I was following the pack
All swallowed in their coats
With scarves of red tied 'round their throats
To keep their little heads
From fallin' in the snow

{Fleet Foxes – White Winter Hymnal}