The clock read 3:45 am when Puck finally gave up on sleep. The light coming through the slats of Dave's blinds was faint. There was a moon, but it was shrouded in the haze of the warm September night; most of the illumination outside came from the street lamps.

Puck sat up in bed and carefully leaned over Dave, trying not to jiggle the bed or disturb Pascal, and turned the rod to open the slats on the blinds so the fine lines of light became stripes. They fell across Dave like arrows, pointing. See, they said. This is the one. The one you've been wanting. The one you've been dreaming about. He's right here.

Puck followed the arrows with his eyes, drinking in the sight of Dave at rest, Dave unencumbered by the pressures and fears of waking life. The muscles on his forehead that knotted when he was upset were relaxed. Puck resisted stroking them with his fingers. He didn't want him to wake up. His lips were slightly parted. Puck watched his chest rise and fall, rise and fall.

He stood, flexing his feet, and got Dave's robe from the hook on the back of the door. Even at three in the morning, he wouldn't want to risk being seen naked by the neighbors on Dave's back deck. Dave had mentioned he liked those neighbors.

There was already water in the kettle on the stove, and he found some honey in the cupboard by the fridge and decaffeinated tea in the cupboard. He turned on the burner and waited for the water to boil.

Puck figured there was no reason for him to feel any different. A little sore, maybe, but he could deal. The angle had been different, on his back like that. He barely remembered that part of it. Even if it had been awesome. There were other things, though, that had stuck with him, that had kept him awake past exhaustion and into feeling a little manic.

Dave's arms around him, tighter than before, tight enough to keep him from bolting. Not that he'd wanted to, probably, but Dave wouldn't have let him, even if he had. That was... Puck didn't know what, but it wasn't bad.

I just look at you, he'd said, and there you are. And you're pretty fucking amazing. What the hell did that mean? Since when did Dave think he was amazing? As far as he knew, Dave hadn't thought much about him at all for the past ten years.

Right here, he'd said. This is where I want to be. Right here? Inside of Puck? In Dave's house? With him - for tonight? What about tomorrow? Was Puck going to catch Dave's need for space before it was too late this time, or would they be going through this every week? He was pretty sure he would break into tiny pieces if he had to do that.

I'm here, you're here. And I love you. At least that was unambiguous. Puck took the kettle off before it could whistle and wake up Dave. The flush that ran through him was hotter than the boiling water.

"I love you," he murmured, hearing the words in the dark room. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the answering voice, but it was just Pascal, meowing from the doorway. Puck bent down to hold out his thumb and forefinger for him to sniff and rub against, then scratched his chin.

"Yeah, you too, buddy," he agreed. "I guess I belong to both of you now."

The idea was strangely comforting, way more than he ever expected it to be. He wasn't exactly calm, but there was a space inside himself that was suddenly very still, very peaceful in a way he didn't think he'd ever felt before. It was a little like the feeling he got when he was working through a kata, performing every move before he even realized he knew it, without having to think. It was part of him.

Dave, he thought. He's like that. He wondered if the idea would freak him out.

Then he grinned. Overlaying the peaceful sensation, he was having a whole second set of emotions, and these apparently belonged to a teenage girl. Oh my god, he really likes me. He shook his head at himself, amused, and stirred some honey into his tea. It wasn't the first time he'd had feelings like this, but he'd been hanging on to these particular ones for such a long time, it was like they had grown up along with him. Now they were bigger, heavier, more important. Maybe the most important feelings he'd ever had.

Puck took his tea and walked out onto the back deck. The early morning was sultry, more than he would have expected September at 3 AM to be, but it was kind of nice to be the only one awake like this. The calm of the world was reflected inside himself. He wondered how long it would last. The rest of the semester? A year? Another ten years?

Pascal followed him onto the deck. Puck hesitated for a moment before he let him out the door. He hadn't seen Dave let him outside, and he didn't want him to escape, but he figured he could probably catch a cat if he had to.

He settled into the chair, putting his tea on the table in front of him, and took a deep breath. If he left it there, long enough, the tea would cool, become bitter. If he kept sipping, eventually he'd get sick of it. He'd stop wanting it so much. Wouldn't he?

Puck blew out a breath between his lips, startling Pascal. "Sorry," he said, calming him again with one hand. "It's just... I haven't even had one fucking drink yet, and already I'm thinking about dumping out my tea and starting fresh. I don't know why I'm in so much of a hurry." He picked up the tea and smelled it, kind of orangey and spicy. It was almost too hot for his tongue, but he sipped anyway, enjoying the scalding heat. It felt good between his hands, too. Really good.

"That's where my robe went."

Puck looked up, startled, but kept the tea steady. Dave was standing in the doorway, arms crossed across his bare chest, wearing flannel pajama pants and a little smile. Puck just lost himself in that moment for what was probably a long time because, math guy or not, Dave clearly still worked out, and damn. He fought an urge to ask Dave can you turn around about three-quarters, that way, so I can see your back? He wondered if it would be too obvious if he just walked around him to take a look.

"Yeah." Puck looked down at the robe. "You can have it back if you want, but I'm not wearing anything underneath." He grinned at Dave's expression, which was an amusing combination of disgruntled and hungry.

"I think you should come inside before you take it off, then. But you don't have to, yet." Dave wasn't moving from the doorway, and he was still looking at Puck.

"Can I make you some tea?" Puck offered. He paused, and shook his head. "I mean - it's your house, of course; you'd make your own tea if you wanted it - you can do whatever the fuck you want."

Dave shook his head. "Thanks, but what does that have to do with anything? Okay, it's my house, you can make tea, that would be nice."

Puck shrugged, feeling embarrassed that he wanted to do something like that for Dave, but not embarrassed enough to keep him from doing it. "Okay - great." He stood, setting his tea aside, and giving Pascal one final stroke on his soft head. Dave wasn't moving out of the doorway, so Puck had to nudge by him as he went. He stepped aside just enough to let Puck pass, but not more.

"Hey. Thank you. You don't have to...but thanks."

Puck laid a hand on Dave's shoulder as he passed, and kissed him softly. "It's fine." It was, but he felt a little stupid for offering, as though Dave couldn't just as easily have made up his own mind what he wanted, or gotten his own tea.

Dave followed him inside. "You couldn't sleep?"

"I like being up in the middle of the night." He grinned at Dave, filling the tea kettle at the sink. "It's a good time to think clearly. No distractions. I don't usually wake up like this anymore, but... I had trouble getting to sleep. How about you? I thought I was being pretty quiet."

Dave came up behind him and put an arm around his waist. "Don't worry about it. I wake up sometimes, anyway, and just go back to sleep right away. But then you weren't there, and..." Puck could hear a bit of a smile in his voice. "...I was pretty sure that was where I left you last night, so I woke up for real and went to see where you might have gone."

"Sorry to disturb your sleep. I guess I'm not used to having somebody else there." He fiddled with the tea bag, relaxing back against Dave's warm chest. "You like cream, or honey or something?"

"Just a little bit of honey would be perfect." Dave brought his other arm around him and let them rest, linked together, on his stomach. He kissed Puck's neck lightly. "Thank you, babe."

Puck felt the word, glowing inside his chest like a coal. He dribbled a little honey into the mug and wiped off the rim with his finger, licking the extra honey off. He wasn't exactly chilly, but Dave's body felt so fucking good behind him; he didn't want to move from that casual embrace. He sighed and turned his head, nuzzling against Dave's neck with his lips. "God, Dave."

Dave brought a hand up to Puck's head, cupping it in his palm for a moment, still keeping a firm hold on his waist. Then he took the mug out of Puck's hand and placed it decisively on the counter. "That will keep. Or not, I don't really care." He turned Puck around in his arms and, tea taken care of, grabbed the back of his head again, leaning in for a hard, messy kiss.

Puck felt himself losing all of his senses, one at a time, under the impact of Dave's mouth on his. The first to go was his hearing, as the sound of Dave's gentle moans overwhelmed him. He couldn't feel anything but Dave's arms around him, the heat of his skin, the smell of him - it was intense, and perfect, and all he wanted to do was this, for as long as Dave wanted him to.

"Come back to bed," Dave said, and, even though his voice was soft, it didn't feel like a request. Puck took the hand Dave was holding out and followed him up the stairs.


Dave thought later that the truck hadn't sounded quite right when Puck started it up that morning after class, that something was a little off, but it hadn't been significant enough for him to comment on - until it was too late. They were heading over the bridge onto King when there was a loud metallic clunk, and the engine cut out.

"What the - " Puck swerved to the side of the road, braking hard, his hands gripping the wheel. He looked back over his shoulder. "What the fuck was that? Did I drive over something?"

"I don't know! Shit!" Dave hated how high and panicked it sounded. The only thing missing was an actual scream, and that was really the last thing that would help, if something was really wrong. The car rolled a little further along the side of the road, then came to a complete stop.

Puck cranked the ignition, but it wouldn't catch. He let out an exasperated breath and leaned forward to pop the latch on the hood. "Well, Dave - here's where I admit I know fuck-all about cars. How about you?"

"About the same. I can fill up the oil and change a tire, but I don't think any of those are what we need right now?"

"I doubt it. I can't get it started at all, but it doesn't sound like it's the battery." Puck turned on the emergency lights, then climbed out of the cab and went around to the front, lifting the hood up and staring at the engine in baffled annoyance.

Dave followed him, just so he could feel a little more useful. Not that he could do anything other than stare, too. They poked at the silent engine with uncertain fingers for a few minutes before Puck sighed and stepped away from the car. "Forget this. I'm not going to figure it out. I always get Mr. Hummel to help me with shit like this. Who would you call around here?"

"There's a towing service out of Columbus - I think I have the number in my phone. Want me to call them?" He took the phone out of his pocket and started searching for the right name in the list. It wasn't much, but it was something he could do. He might not know any of the things a man was supposed to know about cars, but at least he'd listened to his dad's nagging about emergency phone numbers.

"Yeah. I don't think we're going anywhere any time soon." He kicked the front tire and sighed. "Crap, man, I'm sorry. My stupid truck's been making funny noises for weeks."

Dave shrugged. "It's not your fault." He didn't know what else to say, so he pushed the call button and raised the phone to his ear.

Dave explained the noises as best as he could to the auto repair place, and described their location by cross-street. He was informed it would be another half hour at least. Puck folded down the door to the pickup bed and took a seat on the edge, his legs dangling down. "Might as well get comfortable." He heaved a sigh.

Dave looked at him, crossing his arms in front of him. Puck seemed fine, he should just sit down with him and relax. He tried to lean on the truck, then pushed off it again, and went to stand by the side of the road. This wasn't a big deal, nobody was hurt, but there was something about standing there, waiting, in a place people shouldn't be standing unless something was wrong. It felt more dangerous than it should.

Puck pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted across the four busy lanes of traffic passing just a few feet in front of them. "Dude. I always get headaches when I have to deal with my truck like this. I don't know, maybe it's psychological, or fumes or something."

Dave instinctively moved over to stand beside him, and put a hand on his neck, rubbing it gently. It wasn't until the scar was actually under his fingers that it hit him, exactly when the last time was that he'd been standing by a broken car with Puck. The memory was strong and sudden, and he fought to keep his hand steady, like nothing had happened, which shouldn't be so hard considering nothing actually had. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just a headache... what?" He glanced at Dave. "Are you? You look kind of... I don't know. What is it?"

Dave pulled his hand away. How could he possibly explain that he wasn't seeing Puck as he was now, a guy with a broken truck and a slight headache, he was seeing a boy, bleeding, unconscious, and... and himself, watching helplessly. He forced himself to actually focus his eyes and look, at the present, at Puck, alive and fine and grown up. "Yeah. Just something I remembered."

"Huh. Must have been some memory." He leaned into Dave's shoulder, just a little nudge. Dave jumped at the touch, then felt immediately guilty. Puck didn't mean anything by it.

"This reminds me of ninth grade JV football, driving to Dayton with Finn," he said. "He was driving his mom's car and he blew a fucking tire on the highway. Freaked the shit right out. Luckily there was a police cruiser on the scene, but the police officer turned out to be one of the dads of the opposing team..."

Puck probably didn't remember, and he was glad, he shouldn't, but god, couldn't he at least shut up about the stupid football story. "Yeah? Is that's the only car accident you can remember?" He snapped his mouth shut. Shit, had he really just said that?

Puck stared over his shoulder at him. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I guess... I don't remember much about the other one."

Dave moved a little closer again, looking down. "I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I know you don't." But he did, and Puck was the one who'd been hurt, and Dave had just gotten mad at him for it. Damn, he was an idiot.

"Hey, no, it's not a big deal. I really think it was worse for you - you're the one who has to deal with remembering it. I just had to sit there on the hospital bed and get better." He shrugged, swinging his feet off the end of his truck. "After all those police reports and telling the story so many times, I gotta wonder how much of my memory about it is made up and how much of it actually happened."

"So what do you remember?" Dave looked at Puck, trying to judge if he wanted him to change the subject or not. "If you want to tell me. Maybe I can fill in some of the gaps."

Puck kept his gaze fixed on the skid marks in the gravel behind his truck as the traffic drove by. Nobody had even offered to stop and help, but Dave figured two guys and a truck didn't exactly scream for assistance from passers-by. It was just as well.

"I don't even know if I should ask," Puck said. "I'm kind of afraid to hear the answers."

Now that he mentioned it, Dave kind of was too. What would Puck think of him, once he knew? It was a long time ago, things like that didn't ever really change, did they? And Puck was looking for someone strong, reliable, someone to take care of him - not someone you couldn't trust in a crisis. "Okay. It's up to you."

Puck nodded slowly. "It's like I've told myself this story, about somebody else, this car accident, all the players, the scene - I can see it all in my head. Only I wasn't there. And even if I had been, I wouldn't see it like that, like a movie, from someone else's point of view, would I? I'd be living it." He shivered, wrapping his hands around his bare arms, even though it was eighty degrees out. "I don't know if I can handle remembering that."

Dave took a deep breath. He still didn't know what to do, but Puck like that seemed to be the one thing that trumped all his fears and insecurities. He went to stand in front of him, and put his hands on his upper arms above Puck's own. "Yeah, maybe it's a good thing you don't remember. But sometimes, what you imagine can be worse than the reality, you know."

Puck shook his head. "I doubt that." He glanced around them, at the passing cars, the empty space beside them. "You really want to do this out here in the middle of everything?"

Dave looked at him, trying to guess if this was Puck actually telling him to back off, or if he was just offering an excuse, or what. "Why not? We're stuck here, nobody's even noticing us." He moved his hand a little, almost stroking Puck's arm but not quite. "I think... it sounds like you maybe need to hear it. If you think you can handle that."

Puck closed his eyes, growing still under Dave's hands. "Maybe," he said, almost inaudibly. "Yeah. Maybe I do need to."

Dave took a deep breath. Maybe he'd miscalculated and they really shouldn't do this out here. He'd failed to take into account how much he needed to hold Puck, when he got like this, how hard it was to resist the urge to pull him tight against himself.

"Okay. So I don't know how much you remember, of what came before, or even what you think happened, but..." Quit stalling, Dave, he thought. Rip it off. Make it simple, matter of fact, Puck has built this up to a huge thing in his head, and he doesn't need you to confirm that."...okay, so, he lost control of the car, right? You know that part, you've read the reports. I don't really remember knowing anything was wrong until it was already happening, so you probably wouldn't either? Though I guess you might have been paying more attention."

He could feel the tension in Puck's body through his hands. "I actually don't remember any of it. Like, for hours before, or hours afterwards. I don't think I do, anyway."

Maybe Dave should be telling him about that, too, then, but not right now. Stay focused, get it over with. He nodded and continued with the story. "So we rolled over...and I remember thinking, for a fraction of a second, that it was fine, we were okay. But then we kept going, and it seemed really slow, and when we stopped, we were upside down." He stopped to breathe again, trying to catch Puck's eye to see if he was okay. He couldn't, but he didn't push it, and he was too far in to stop now, anyway.

"I just...sat there, or hung there, or whatever, waiting to flip over again, until finally I realized it wasn't going to happen. I guess there must have been a lot of noise, before that, but it was really quiet." A lot like now, actually. "I tried to ask if you guys were okay, but I didn't get an answer. So I got myself out of my seat belt, and I thought I'd go over to try to shake you or something. And then I saw the blood." And then I sat there on the roof of the car and watched you bleed from the head, too afraid to move until you started moaning.

"Yeah, the blood." Puck gave a shaky laugh. "I guess there was a lot of it. The doctors told me they had to give a transfusion."

"So, yeah, I got you down from there eventually and I took off my shirt, because... there was a lot of blood, okay? And that was all I did. I sat there pushing a balled up sweatshirt at your head until the paramedics got there. I might as well have been unconscious, too."

He didn't keep going, because the rest of it had nothing to do with Puck, really - the lights, and how they'd dealt with Puck first, and then Scott and his dad, and Dave had given their names and explained how they'd all been knocked out except him, and no, he didn't know for how long, he hadn't even known they were awake again, and yes, he was fine, and someone had tried to give him a blanket before they disappeared. It had fallen off it shoulders, and he'd let it fall, preferring to keep clutching the sticky sweatshirt with both hands.

Dave kept his eyes at chest level, afraid of what he might see if he looked up. Some kind of response from Puck would have been nice, but he didn't really feel like he could ask for it. And how fucked up was that, anyway, to need Puck to comfort him about failing to be strong enough for Puck? If he was going to be weak, at the very least he should be able to handle his own weakness, and he didn't even know anymore if he was holding on for Puck, or for himself.

Puck cleared his throat. When Dave finally did look up, Puck's eyes were wet. "I... fuck. I just feel... lucky, I guess. that you were there. Because, like, what if you hadn't been? There'd have been nobody. I would have been totally alone." He put a hand on Dave's chest. "But I wasn't."

Dave had no idea how to respond to that, because like he sometimes did, Puck had turned the whole situation upside down and come up with something that...seemed to make sense, but also had nothing to do with reality.

He reached up to touch Puck's cheek, and Puck let out a little gasp. "God, Dave." He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "I feel like there's no way I can ever thank you enough for being there. I'm trying to let it go, but... I don't think I can." The way Puck was looking at him, it was almost embarrassing. Like - like he was some hero, or something, and he wasn't anything like that.

Dave shook his head. "You... I didn't even do anything. I can't make you let it go, but...I really hope you're not here because you think you owe me." It hurt just to say that, and he didn't even believe it was true. "I was just there, same as you. Chance. None of us really had much to do with it. I might just as well thank you for being okay."

"Yeah, lucky me." Puck grinned, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. "But I'm totally not just here because of that. No way."

Dave glanced down the road. No tow truck to be seen. He put his arms around Puck and pulled him in, just long enough for a quick kiss on his forehead. Then, still aware of the time and place and not quite trusting his own self control, he pushed himself away and went to lean on the truck beside Puck, leaving a deliberate foot of space between them.

Puck seemed calm enough, willing to let Dave declare that space, but he wasn't saying much, not even when the tow truck pulled up beside them. Dave hated sitting there with that awkward distance, having to do that and not knowing if Puck knew why he was doing it.

Dave noticed the tattoos on the driver's arm, blurry and indigo, like they'd been done long ago, except the guy wasn't much older than they were. "What seems to be the problem?" he drawled, giving the truck a once-over, then doing the same with Puck and Dave.

"I don't know," Puck said, shrugging. "It just made a crazy loud noise and cut out. We barely got it to the side of the road." Dave didn't really have anything to add to that, so he kept quiet. They didn't know anything about cars, and there was no point in trying to pretend, but he still felt uneasy with this guy looking at him.

"Well, okay, let's pop the hood." He waited while Puck reached in under the dashboard to pull the lever, and came around the front to peer at the engine, as though looking with the tow truck driver with him there would suddenly illuminate things for him.

He seemed to know what he was doing, checking belts and components under the hood, but at last he shook his head and said, "I can't tell anything from here. Let me lift it up a little so I can see what's underneath. You said you couldn't get it started again? Try cranking it for me once, and let me see."

Puck obliged, climbing back into the cab and turning the ignition, but just like before, it wasn't doing anything. The driver hooked the cable up to the front bumper and turned on the motor to lift it up, while the two of them stepped away and waited. Puck's hand went back to his forehead.

"Still got that headache?" Dave asked, and Puck nodded, stepping in briefly to lean against him before Dave could ward him away. He could see the driver watching them, and he didn't like the expression on his face.

Dave's intuition proved correct. When he climbed back out of the cab of the tow truck, the driver gave them a derisive sneer. "What, are you two a couple of fags or something?"

Dave felt the familiar rush of heat that had always accompanied his anger. He stepped closer, looking right back at the driver with equal contempt. "Why, would you have a problem with that?" He was getting into the guy's personal space now, and he could tell he was uncomfortable, giving Dave the upper hand. "Because if you do, you can take it up with me, okay?" He made an old, familiar move with his right arm, not really threatening, just indicating for the guy's information that it was there. And bigger than his.

Dave saw the guy's eyes flick towards Puck, standing slightly to the side behind him. Oh, if only he knew what he could do to him, too. Right now, though, Dave caught his eyes forcefully and moved to the side to block his view. "So, do we have a problem, or not?"

"Dude," Puck murmured, putting a hand on Dave's arm.

Dave turned his upper body towards him, still keeping an eye on the tow truck guy. He lifted his arm to put a hand on Puck's shoulder in return, and looked at him for a moment. "Don't worry, babe, I've got this." He turned back to the guy, who looked equal parts pissed off and scared now. "Do. We. Have a problem?" he growled. "Or are you going to shut up and do your job?"

"No - I mean, yeah, I'll... there's no problem." The guy was backing off, his hands up, glancing back and forth between Dave and Puck. "Um - I'm going to take a look underneath."

As the driver slunk away, Puck wheeled on Dave and grabbed his shoulder. "What the fuck was that for?" he hissed.

"Um, in case you didn't notice, that guy was being an asshole? Didn't you see how he looked at you?" Now that he was starting to come down from the adrenaline rush a little, Dave could see Puck's perspective, maybe that was a bit much. But, what the hell, the dude deserved it, it had worked, and it wasn't like Puck had never resorted to physical intimidation himself.

"Yeah, I noticed - but since when do you go off on some homophobe like that? Everybody's an asshole in Ohio. You're going to get your ass kicked, or worse." Puck glared at him. "What, you think I need protecting or something?"

Dave looked at him, at the defiant stare and the hunch of his shoulders. His whole posture said, I don't need you, fuck off, but in a way that somehow didn't convince Dave. Yeah, I do, he thought, maybe not the way you think I mean, but yes. Of course Puck could protect himself - physically, at least as well as Dave - but that didn't really mean much. He mostly looked like an angry kid who didn't know what he wanted. Maybe he was wrong, but...Dave took the chance of putting his hands on Puck's biceps, anyway.

"Leave me alone." He made a sweep with his arms, and Dave's hands were off him. It wasn't even violent, just quick and effective. Puck cradled his own forearms again, shivering; Dave wondered if he even realized he was doing it. "Let's just get this over with."

The driver emerged from under the truck. "Well, it looks like your driveshaft's broken off at the u-joint," he said, somewhat sullenly, "but that wouldn't explain why your car's not starting. We're going to have to take it in. You have a shop in mind, or should I just take it to our usual place?"

"Whatever. I'm not from around here - you can take it wherever you want." Puck waved a tired hand at the driver, avoiding his eyes.

There was an absurdly awkward moment as both Dave and the driver realized at the same time they were all going to need to cram into the cab of the tow truck together. Dave decided to get in first, putting himself in the middle. Puck followed him. "Actually," Dave said, turning to the driver, "change of plans. There's a shop on Kenny, Tom and Jerry's; you can take it there." He didn't actually care, but he didn't want this asshole to get to decide for them.

Puck slouched down in the seat next to him, crossing his arms, his eyebrows low. "It's my fucking truck," he muttered. "Pretty sure he didn't ask you."

Dave didn't reply to that, he just looked at Puck and at the seatbelt hanging unused beside him. "Sure. Put on your seatbelt before we go; it's not for decoration."

Puck stared at Dave incredulously, but he reached up with one hand and fastened it across his chest. Even the snap of his seatbelt sounded defiant.

"Jesus Christ," said the driver under his breath. Dave glared at him, but really, it was kind of ridiculous the way Puck was behaving.

The ride across town to Tom and Jerry's Auto Repair was brief and uncomfortable. At least the driver was willing to be courteous enough once they'd arrived and he'd unhooked Puck's truck. He took Puck's insurance information and said he'd send them a bill for the tow, and was out of there before they could exchange another word.

The repair shop listened to Puck explain about the accident and said they'd call him when they knew what was going on. The courtesy driver, a woman this time, had nothing but a friendly smile for them as she dropped them off at Dave's house.

Puck was looking everywhere, the tree, the garage, the porch, anywhere but at Dave's face. "That sucked. I can't believe my truck is..." He sighed. "Guess you're stuck with me for a little while. Got any Tylenol?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll go get it for you. Come on." Dave opened the door, leading him into the house. "Get yourself some water, I'll be right back."

Dave went up the stairs, considering the situation. It was obvious from the way Puck was acting that something was wrong, but Dave was tired himself, and he didn't know if he could actually deal with Puck in this state for as long as it would take to get him out of it.

When he came downstairs with the Tylenol, Puck was standing by the back door, his water glass in his hand. Dave went over to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Here. Your head, right?" Puck nodded and swallowed the offered pills. "Maybe you should get some fresh air, that helps sometimes. The back deck is nice and quiet."

"Yeah. Yeah, man, that's a good idea." He smiled faintly at Dave and touched his hand. "Thanks."

Puck left, and Dave stood in the kitchen for a while wondering what to do with himself. Eventually he remembered the huge pile of laundry he'd been neglecting for way too long, because all he'd been able to focus on outside of classes and homework was Puck. Maybe it was time to do something about that.

He sorted all of it into smaller piles roughly according to fabric and color, and started the first load. And then there was nothing more to do until that was finished, so he went back into the kitchen. He put away some dishes, stared at the counter for a while wondering if he should clean it. God, what was he doing? There was so much stuff, and he didn't really know where to start with any of it.

There was Puck - well, really, all of it was about Puck, in one way or another - what did he even want? It had seemed so obvious, earlier, that Puck needed him, but then had he gone too far? With a bit of distance, his behavior seemed almost primitive. What if Puck was right, and he didn't need Dave to protect him, it just looked that way through the haze of don't-touch-my-boyfriend rage?

But then there were other images - Puck shaking, clinging to Dave, telling him he needed him... and then telling him he didn't, trying to hold himself together, but not doing a very good job of it. That childish rejection, vibrating with anger but also begging with his whole body,please don't listen to what I'm saying, love me anyway. At least that was what Dave thought he heard. And it was damn near impossible to resist, even with the doubt still in his mind about whether it was really right. He covered his face with his hands and slowly dragged them down over it, sighing. He just didn't know.

When Dave looked up, he caught caught sight of Puck standing in the side yard through the window above the kitchen sink. He got closer to the window, watching him run through a series of karate moves. Pascal was out there, too, creeping through the grass on his belly, stalking prey real or imagined, but he was staying well away from Puck and his measured activity.

This was different from the sparring Dave had witnessed in the dojo in Columbus, or even from the simple routine he'd seen Puck teach the juniors class that weekend in Lima. Puck was moving in a fluid series of motions, turning one way and then another to strike with precision against innumerable unseen opponents. His hands and feet snapped out and back against his body, spare and clean, but the rest of him moved with liquid ease over the back lawn with hardly a pause. Watching Pascal hunting bugs and Puck working on his kata, Dave couldn't have said with assurance which of them was more graceful. In any case, Puck definitely looked more calm and together than he had half an hour ago.

Dave stood there and watched him in silence for several minutes while he completed the routine, ending with a formal bow, one hand pressing the other fist down. Then he reached down, scooped up Pascal with one hand and put him up on his shoulder. Dave could see him grinning and talking to the cat, and even though he couldn't hear what was being said, it made him smile. Pascal draped himself over both shoulders and rubbed Puck's head with his nose, marking him with feline ecstasy.

He slid open the glass door and stepped into the house with a shy smile. "Hey. You get some stuff done?"

That smile was like sunshine, and with the added power of Pascal, all the worries and doubts melted right out of Dave. All that was left was soft and warm and happy. He felt ridiculous, but he didn't care; he just grinned back. "Yeah, I put in some laundry. How about you, are you feeling better?"

"Lots. When I get stuck in my head like that, I just need to move, you know?" He leaned toward the table and let Pascal jump down. Then he went right to Dave and slid his hands around his waist with a sigh. "I'm sorry I was such a jerk. You weren't doing anything wrong."

Dave put his arms around him. "It's okay," he said, pulling Puck even closer and moving one hand up to his head. It was so good to finally be holding him again. "I get it. It was a lot to handle all at once."

"It's just - when you did that, when you... stood up for me..." Dave felt him sigh again, against the skin of his neck, resting his head on his shoulder. "I totally couldn't handle that. That's why I snapped at you."

Dave stopped. If that really had been as bad as he feared, why was Puck apologizing and leaning into his neck? Why wasn't he mad at him, or even scared? "I'm sorry. Guess I shouldn't have done that. I was kind of acting on instinct."

"No, no - that's just it." He swallowed, then spoke in a hoarse whisper. "I liked it. What you did."

Oh. Well, that put things into a different perspective. And...Puck had sort of done something like that before, hadn't he? Dave kept holding him tight, stroking his back a little, feeling him quiver under his hand. He didn't quite get it, but he saw the emotions there. "But that's okay, babe. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah, what kind of a man wants that?" Puck sounded appalled. "Fuck, Dave... I figure, we're guys who like guys for a reason - but what kind of excuse for a guy am I?"

Dave took a deep breath. "I don't know," he said softly. "Yeah, I like guys. And apparently sometimes I threaten tow truck drivers. So I'm pretty lucky that there's a guy for me who wants that, right?"

Puck shook his head, clearly exasperated. "I just keep waiting for you to realize what a mess I am and..."

"Stop that." Dave turned his head and kissed Puck's temple. "I know a thing or two about being a mess, okay? There's nothing here that I don't want to deal with." He might feel like he was in a little over his head. But there was no way he didn't want to be there.

"Really?" Puck let out an amazed laugh. "I can't believe that. I mean - I'm not saying I don't believe what you're saying, it's just hard to swallow that you'd - that you'd want that from me." This time his breath came a little more easily. "I think I'm the lucky one."

"Okay, so we both win. But, I mean - I really do want that. And I know that's easy to say, but I hope you'll let me try to prove it to you."

He gazed up at Dave. "How?"

"I mean -" Dave put his hand on the side of Puck's face and looked into his eyes. "I mean I want to show you. I want you to stick around and keep telling me all the things you think you shouldn't want, so you can see for yourself that you can't scare me away."

Puck blinked, looking away momentarily, but he looked back again, and nodded. "I think I can do that. If you're sure it won't freak you out too bad."

Dave smiled. "Okay." He leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the side of his mouth. "Thank you." He pulled away far enough to see the awed, grateful expression on Puck's face. He stopped, changing his mind, and moved back in for another kiss, a real one this time.

It had been a stressful enough day that Dave wasn't too surprised to feel them both responding, passionately, almost desperately. He could feel Puck pressing close to him, and he held him tightly.

Puck took a deep breath. "So are you ready to hear something? Something I want that I shouldn't?"

Dave nodded. It had been easy to ask for - it made such obvious sense, when he said it - but it was starting to sink in what a huge thing it really was for Puck to do. Tell me the things you're ashamed to want. He of all people should know what that meant. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Okay. Um. I want you to - tell me what you want. So I can do it for you."

Dave thought about that. "That's...wait. You're telling me what you want, but you don't think you should want me to do that for you. And you think I'd have a problem with you doing the things for me that I want. What? Why?"

Puck looked at the floor. "Because guys should be in control," he said, a little impatiently. "You don't think it's a little crazy that I think it's hot when you - tell me what to do?" Just the statement seemed to have an effect on Puck, and he licked his lips, his eyes dark and intense.

Dave put two fingers under Puck's chin and lifted it. "I think we're done worrying about wanting the wrong things for today." He wasn't sure how much of his reaction was what Puck was saying, or seeing what it did to Puck, or anxiety about what the hell he was going to tell him. It was a bit like being put on the spot by a professor wanting an example (only about a million times hotter). He wanted to give an answer, he was pretty sure he had several, but when asked to pick one, his mind went blank.

I think it's hot when you tell me what to do. It had obviously cost Puck quite a lot of effort to get that out there. And Dave had to admit...it was kind of hot to him, too. So what was his problem? If Puck wanted it, and he only asked for things he was pretty sure Puck would want to do anyway...he wouldn't be doing anything wrong, would he?

"Okay," he said, searching Puck's face carefully. He was close enough to see every little hair, every detail of his skin, but he couldn't find any real clues about anything. He did look like he'd been sweating - maybe the karate. "It's been a long day. Go upstairs and take a shower, I'll come find you there."

Puck didn't hesitate. He just turned around and headed upstairs, without a word.

Dave went and got a glass of water, drank it slowly, and took a few deep breaths before he followed him. He wondered what he would find - who was this Puck who did what he asked without a single protest or pout? What other unexpected things might he do? Dave kind of wanted to find out.

He walked towards the bathroom, where he could hear the shower running. Puck hadn't wasted any time. He was standing with his back to him, but when Dave slid open the door, he turned around. He still wasn't saying anything, but he looked alert, attentive. Waiting, for Dave.

Dave looked at him. It was a little unsettling, he didn't quite know what to say - floored by both the expression on Puck's face and, though he should have been getting used to it, by how absolutely gorgeous he looked, standing there. "Hey," he finally said. "Is there room for me?"

"Uh..." Puck took a step back, flickering a glance at Dave's hands. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Come on in."

Dave took one more long look at him, before he quickly pulled off his clothes and stepped in. It was a little awkward, one shower wasn't really meant for two people, at least not people their size, but wet, naked Puck was a good reason to try. "Thanks," he said, as Puck gave him space to step under the spray. "Um, there's a bottle of shampoo behind you, could you get that for me?"

Puck reached over to the shampoo on the shelf and handed it to Dave. "This one?" When he turned back, his shoulder brushed against Dave's chest, and Puck took a sharp breath as he steadied himself against Dave's body. He looked away, but Dave could see how turned on he was.

"Babe." He tried to be gentle, but Puck flinched anyway. "What is it?"

"Just you," said Puck, his voice low. "Just what you do to me. I'm - helpless." He laughed bitterly. "I'm fucking helpless."

And I like you that way, Dave thought, but he figured that would be about the worst thing he could say, if Puck was so scared by that idea. "Come here." He turned Puck around so he was facing away from him again, and pulled him against his chest, his arms over Puck's, holding him tight, as tight as he could. Puck let out one frustrated breath and relaxed, his head falling back onto Dave's shoulder.

"You don't have to be here, right?" Dave said into his ear, feeling Puck respond to his breath, the timbre of his voice. "You can go home any time you want."

"Do you want me to?" It wasn't an angry retort. It sounded like Puck really was wondering if he did, which was completely stupid, because why in hell would he want to chase a naked wet Puck out of his shower? But he somehow could tell Puck was within inches of freaking out, and Dave wasn't going to make it worse. He kept his voice even and steady.

"No. I don't. But you could, if you wanted to. Right?"

"Yeah. I guess so." He hissed as Dave brushed a hand over his pierced nipple.

"Yeah. You could. But you don't want to." Another sweep of his hand, and Puck groaned, twisting his hips back against Dave. "And I don't want you to. You're not helpless. You're sticking around because getting what you want. Don't you want this?"

"Y-yeah," Puck stammered. "But -"

"You asked me to tell you want I want. Well, I want you to stop worrying." Dave cinched his arms tight around Puck again, and Puck caught his breath. "You feel how much I want you, babe? Do you?"

Another groan from Puck, this one a little desperate, but Dave wasn't letting him get out of this one. "Come on. Tell me. What do you feel?"

"You," he whispered. "You're - you've got a fucking hard on for me."

"Damn right I do." He punctuated his statement with a nudge that made Puck gasp. "I can't pretend that, any more than you can pretend this." Dave's hand drifted down to grip Puck's own erection, stroking it slowly, almost lazily, and he shivered as Puck let out a whimper. "So I think we're pretty much even. Come on, let's finish up in here. We have business to attend to."

Puck was quiet again after that, pensive. He responded readily enough to Dave's requests for soap and washcloth, but didn't make any of the usual innuendos, not even when Dave accidentally-on-purpose dropped the washcloth on the floor of the shower. When Dave washed his back, Puck leaned into it, breathing slow and even, and he rinsed quickly, without needing any prompting or reminders. And, even though Puck's own arousal hadn't faded one bit, he wasn't trying to initiate anything with Dave. He was just... waiting.

If this was any other guy, hell, if it was a week ago, that would probably have made him insecure enough to stop. But Dave thought he was starting to get it, a little bit. He could take a deep breath and not freak out. This was Puck. It was different.

Dave watched Puck drying off, and had a sudden, crazy urge to try telling him to do something irrational, like put down that towel and drip-dry the rest of the way. But he wouldn't, of course; that would have been the worst kind of irresponsible, to take Puck's trust and play with it, like it was a toy. He wouldn't do that. The responsibility Puck had placed on Dave loomed large, but he wasn't taking advantage of it. He was going to give this an honest try.

"When you're dry," he said, "go on into the bedroom and wait for me on the bed."

Puck nodded, looking away. Dave didn't like that. He grabbed Puck's hand before he could walk off, making him look at him.

"This is all right?" he said, like a question, but it wasn't, really. Puck hesitated for a moment, then nodded, and this time he looked Dave in the eye when he did it. Dave kissed him, then let his hand go. That was better.

Dave took his time, drying off and hanging the towel on the rack. It wasn't that he wanted to make Puck wait for him, but he got that maybe a few minutes alone to think wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. For himself, either. Eventually, though, he began to approach the dividing line between meditation and procrastination, and he had to take a deep breath and just walk the eight steps across the hallway into his bedroom.

Puck was seated in the middle of his bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, resting his head on his bare arms, looking for all the world like a Renaissance sculpture. Well, with a bald head, but Dave could stand a little anachronism. It was easier not to be self-conscious around Puck when he was lost in his own head like this. Dave could concentrate on him, instead of worrying about what Puck was thinking about Dave. He put a hand on his shoulder.

"Lie down," he said.

It was easy to watch Puck doing this and think, It's just us, together, just like yesterday and the day before. But it wasn't. This was Dave, directing, and Puck, following his lead. Because he wants to, he reminded himself, but somehow that didn't make it any easier. He stretched out next to Puck on the bed, gazing down on him, stroking his chest lightly. Puck's breath was slow and even, just as it had been in the shower, and his eyes wide and trusting. He would do anything I asked him to do. Anything I told him to do.

And suddenly Dave was having trouble breathing, himself, and he needed - he needed a little space. He stood up, stumbling off the bed and backing away. "Wait a second," he said. "I can't. I can't do this."

Puck didn't seem to understand what he was saying, at first. Dave watched his brow furrow, and he licked his lips as Dave's sentence sank in. Then he slowly sat up. "Okay." He reached out a hand. "Dave. Okay. It's okay."

Dave didn't want to take his hand, he didn't want to be there, but - he wasn't going to completely ditch him, either. He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face with both hands, trying to clear his thoughts. "God."

"It's okay," Puck insisted. "I guess it was... well, whatever it was, it doesn't matter. We don't have to do that."

Dave nodded heavily, then looked at Puck, kneeling beside him on the bed. He wasn't sure how they'd gone from that serious, complicated space to this, but it wasn't quite so hard to breathe now, and he thought he had a better sense of where they'd been a minute ago.

"I don't think I can, right now," he said, putting as much apology into that statement as he could manage. Puck nodded, and put an arm around him. They sat together on the bed, and Dave felt his warm skin and the rhythm of his breathing in the silence of the room.

"You want to get some pizza?" said Puck.

Dave gave him a shaky laugh. "Only if you let me buy," he said. "I owe you dinner."