Hi, once again, sorry about the delay. I can't seem to catch a break with this time thing.


Chapter 11: Fastest Way To Kill A Relationship?

The one thing that Puck had always sworn he would never do was get attached to some girl in fucking high school. Emotionally, anyway. He was more than okay with getting attached to them in all sorts of crazy physical ways, and he'd pretty much gone through the whole spectrum of physical shit you could do with a girl (except most of the gross stuff). That was one of the benefits of cougars. They taught him more than any teacher would have been able to (unless one of his teachers was a cougar. Then that would have just been fucking awesome).

But then he got Quinn pregnant, and that was all sorts of messed up, because he knew enough from his mom's most drunken of drunk ramblings that if he abandoned the mother of his kid, even if she was a judgmental bitch about a lot of stuff that he did (and stuff that everybody else did, but whatever. He was Noah fucking Puckerman, and she was lucky he'd chosen to spill his seed into her) then he was a shitty person. Full stop. And he pretty much accepted that he was a dick about most things, but he generally liked to think that he was overall a decent person. And if he skimped out on his kid, he was wrong. It was that simple. There was no gray area according to his mother, and that meant that there was no gray area according to him, either.

And then there was Rachel. Puck thought it was pretty clear that he only clung to her like he did because she was totally representative of all the things he didn't think he liked before he got Quinn pregnant. Because getting a chick pregnant when your only source of income is like three steps away from prostitution is pretty mind blowing (if he felt things like fear and pants-wetting terror, then it would probably be that, but he settled for mind blowing despite the fact that it didn't even begin to cover the descriptive purposes). It sort of rocked his world and made him start wondering about shit that he'd been taking for granted ever since he watched his first Rambo movie and realized that being a badass was totally the way to go.

And so naturally that was like, Rachel. So that was probably why he'd had that dream about her or whatever. And that dream was pretty much the only reason he asked her out in the first place. So it wasn't like he really cared that he thought Rachel was using him. He actually sort of admired the size of her ovaries. Not every girl would have dared to actually use the dude who used to throw slushies on her for the pure sport of it. Of course, there was the chance that she wasn't actually using him, but he was finding that less and less likely.

No, Rachel was definitely one of those chicks in those old school black-and-white movies that Mrs. Pelequin showed in film class where the chick with the dark lipstick and the weird hair would ask the private eye with the lame ass trench coat to solve a murder while she was secretly trying to do some crazy shit behind his back that was too confusing to be followed by anyone without half a brain. Rachel was all calm and cool and totally disarmed him with her hotness to the point where he was willing to trust anything she said purely because agreeing with her might get him boobs. Boobs. He didn't even hold out for access to her vagina like he usually would have!

And so he was attached. Like Krazy Glue attached. Like, there was no hope of escaping, attached. And sure, he was almost positive that he would get over it. His mom said all the time how when you grew up, your tastes changed, and you stopped caring about the things that used to seem super important. Puck sort of hoped that he wouldn't change too much, because he thought he was awesome, but he was also pretty sure that change wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing about some of his personality. Like, if he could develop some sort of attention span, that would be all right. Or if he started remembering things more easily, like his social security number or the capital of Ohio, or whatever. Stuff like that.

But at the moment, he was sort of okay with not being able to outgrow Rachel. Sort of. Not like, a lot okay, because he was still a little annoyed with himself for liking her at all, but he was at least remotely all right with it because, hey, there was still the chance of boobage. The week was young, and Rachel wasn't a prude enough to wait for marriage or at least until she was drunk enough that she could blame it on him in the morning. No, Rachel was definitely special. And not just in that 'wow she sings really good' way, because he honestly didn't give a shit about that. It was in that weird sort of, 'maybe she can totally help me with my future' kind of way that scared him. He was a high school boy. He wasn't supposed to think about his future. But it was sort of hard to avoid because Rachel was always talking and talking forever about her stupid dreams and stuff that made his determination to beat all four Left 4 Dead campaigns on Expert look pretty fucking petty.

So he had officially lost it. And that was why he was waiting outside Rachel's locker for the end-of-the-day bell to ring. Actually, he wasn't even really sure why he was there, only that what Quinn had said to him earlier was kind of annoying him. He just wanted to get it all out on the table. If Rachel was trying to make Finn jealous, he didn't want her to think that he didn't notice. He didn't want her to think that it was just okay to do that, because it wasn't, because even though they were using each other, at least there was a level of mutual agreement there. He wasn't using her to make Quinn jealous, because that had been part of the deal, and he intended to keep up his end. If she was still trying to hook Finn, then that was just low. And he wanted her to know that.

The bell rang, and Puck felt his heart jump-start. He knew that she would be the first one out of her class, because she always was, because she was a complete freak like that. He knew this because he would leave class early too, but like an hour early. Not three seconds early, which was lame. That was the big difference between he and Rachel. She did lame things, but they were close enough to his cool things that they got all confused when he tried to think about them. And it was sort of nerve-wracking, because suddenly he'd start thinking about crazy shit like, what's so wrong with being a geek, anyway?

He cleared his head of whatever thoughts he could find, repeating the same ideas over and over again in his head so he wouldn't get off topic. It was hard to stay on when you were talking to Rachel, because she had all these crazy ass ideas about things, and it was sometimes easy to get caught up in it, if you weren't busy trying your hardest to not listen at all.

Then he watched Rachel's steps stutter as she saw him leaning casually against the wall. Her eyes were wide and her mouth wider in a smile that made him feel totally stupid. So stupid that he completely failed to say anything as she walked up.

And his whole damn plan had counted on him getting the first word in.

"Hi," she breathed, reaching up on her tip-toes to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek, which was lame but also made his skin tingle a little, like coming in from the cold.

"Uh, hey. Look. I sort of wanted to talk to you about something."

"Noah, I'm sure I'm merely being overcautious, but I hope you're not going to ask me about anything relating to sex or my teenage sexuality, because as I'm sure I've already made you well aware…"

"No! Jesus, no. Stop. You're going to make sex sound like the unsexiest thing ever with your big words. Look, yes, I totally want to bang you before my balls shrivel up and melt off like someone just opened the fucking Indiana Jones box…"

"Arc of the Covenant."

"…and even though it's completely hot that you knew what I was talking about because Indiana Jones is awesome, I'm trying to say something here, all right? You get to talk ninety percent of always, so can I have like, three seconds?"

"I'll give you six," Rachel said thoughtfully, and for a full two of those seconds, Puck was confused enough by her casual attempt at a joke that he didn't speak.

"Okay, look. I don't want you to think that I've been, like, thinking about this, at all, but Quinn sort of mentioned something today and it got me…uh, thinking. I just want to know if you're only in this to make Finn jealous."

"What? I thought we discussed this."

"Yeah but, you know, it's not like I've always been totally honest with you all the time, so I wouldn't be offended if you were lying or whatever. Except, if you decided not to tell me the truth after this, then I would totally be offended, which is why I'm saying something at all. If that makes sense."

"Oh, Noah, it makes perfect sense! Quinn Fabray, putting those thoughts in your head. Honestly. No, Noah, I was entirely honest with you when we arranged our deal to become romantically involved once again. This is an exercise in physicality and a hopefully beauteous friendship for me. Like it or not, I need to move on from Finn, and you are the most excellent candidate for the position because you are the antithesis to everything that Finn is."

"Whoa, hold up. What do you mean by that?"

"Antithesis means the opposite of."

"Shockingly, I knew that. I'm just a little confused because, I mean, what, do you think I eat babies and kick holes through puppies? You think the sun shines out of Finn's ass so…"

"No, not at all! I'm simply saying that my feelings for Finn are akin to a fantasy. They were built on a fantasy. Which I know I said was the same as the basis of our initial relationship, and in a way it was. But in another very real way, it wasn't. How should I explain this…Noah, what we experienced when we were romantically involved was strangely uplifting for both of us. Yes, we struggled to find things in common and our conversations were often centered around my topic of choice because you lack my natural vociferousness, but the wonderful thing about you was that you were here, with me, and you were willing to learn to enjoy my company. With Finn…Finn only learns what he can do to help himself and Quinn. Which, of course, I'd never say wasn't admirable but I'm afraid I'm selfish enough to want something more. Finn will never have enough room in his life for me. It was never meant to be with him. He was my leading man, my partner in making the world a better place through song, and despite my affinity for cop shows and the romantic tension between law enforcement partnerships, I very quickly deduced that our love would not at all be like Stabler and Benson, Booth and Brennan, Lassiter and O'Hara, Reid and Jareau, although those last two are merely my preferences, and actually not at all canonical despite…"

"Oh my God. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sorry. I forget that you don't watch television as much as I do. When you exercise as frequently as I and when you're used to multitasking, television is a natural answer."

"Uh…"

"Of course, none of this is on topic at all, and I'm sorry. What I've been trying to say is that I'm not attempting to make Finn jealous because I know that it will not work. Finn cares for me in the way that I care for him. It is a lie, it is a fantasy. He sees a vulnerable young ingénue looking for a leading man, and I see a strong athletic natural leader who is also easily susceptible to my wiles. We see each other in terms of our ideal mates, Noah. And while Finn may be my schoolgirl fantasy, you are reality."

"I'm sorry, I still…that sounds sort of bad."

"Oh, not at all! I merely meant that, due to my past experience with my feelings for Finn and my feelings for you, and my attempts to compare them, I've deduced that Finn is the ideal fantasy mate, but it was too ideal a fantasy to attain. It never existed because he never existed, at least in the way that I thought he did. But you exist, and you're real, and you're so different from any other fantasy that I've had that it took a while for me to ascertain what I felt for you. And while it's still not as earth-shattering as formulaic romantic comedies make it out to be, it's real."

"So you're saying that you like me because I'm a loser."

"That's not at all what I was saying!"

"Um, yeah, you kind of were. I know I understood at least that much without needing to break out my fucking thesaurus. Look, I get that you're trying to be all fair and honest, and that's cool, except holy shit, I can't believe you really said that. You don't say stuff like that."

"Noah, you know I have a problem with my social filter…"

"Well get it fucking fixed then. You don't tell your boyfriend, no matter how casual, that he's only your boyfriend because you realized that your Prince Charming is actually Prince Idiot. You know how many girls would try to poison your slushies to get what you're getting? And you're telling me that I'm not your fantasy?"

"Noah, I can sense that you're about to be aberrantly cruel, and please reconsider."

"No, you know what, if you get to be honest, then I get to be honest, too. Just because I don't use fifty words to describe one single emotion, it doesn't make it any crueler. Because you know what my fantasy is? My fantasy is peace and quiet. My fantasy is a girl who doesn't use a ton of words to make her feel better about the fact that no one likes her. My fantasy is someone who never tells me that I'm not their damn fantasy."

"Oh, please, Noah! You're acting like a child! A jealous, spoiled child."

"You're acting like a child!"

"Yes, because honesty is so childish. And while we're on the subject, did you think that throwing slushies in my face and throwing eggs at my house and lurking about in the shadows was the way to go about establishing yourself as a fantasy figure? Because while you may find me to be insufferable and petty and selfish, at least I don't terrorize people for lack of a more enterprising activity to fill my time."

"I don't even do that anymore."

"Well, it's not something I can just forget."

They stared at each other blankly, barely registering the fact that the hallway was empty, and that everyone else was gone except for a few stragglers at their lockers who were torn between fear of Puck and intrigue at what he and Rachel could possibly talk about.

"I think this was probably a mistake."

Puck was surprised at how much it stung that she was possibly breaking up with him again. And, sure, part of that hurt was the shame at how far his reputation had fallen. But another part of that hurt was undeniably the fact that he just couldn't get it right. No matter what he did, he couldn't be her Finn. He couldn't be anybody's Finn.

"Rach…"

"You know what? I need some time to think. We wanted casual. Maybe we were foolish to think that we could manage given our past. Maybe it was just a fantasy all along." She laughed bitterly and hiked her book bag over her shoulder. "So at least you can be comforted by that fact."

Puck almost stopped her. He could feel his muscles twitching in his biceps, burning to reach out and prevent her from leaving. He knew from experience with chicks that the longer they had to think about why they were mad, the more reasons they would come up with to stay that way. But he didn't say anything. He just let her go.

He stayed leaning against the wall and wondered how the hell it got so out of control so fast. Why couldn't he have just said his rational speech like he had intended. It was all full of 'you know, I really don't care's and 'honestly, I just want to touch your boobs's, and it was totally perfect. But he'd fucked it up, and now she thought he was bleeding from his mangina or something.

Fuck.


Rachel stood outside the school, exhaling heavily. She knew that she should have kept her cool considering that Noah was her ride home, but she didn't care. She had said what she wanted to say, and although it didn't have the ending she had hoped for, she was willing to face the consequences. After all, she should have expected it. People were not rational. People were not able to control their emotions as effectively as she was (sometimes. At least when it wasn't related to her career or talent). She could effectively separate her feelings for Puck from her feelings for Finn in terms that she thought were easy to understand, but Noah had apparently disagreed.

It wasn't as if she was saying that she didn't find him desirable. Indeed, she thought he was everything that she could want in a physical partner. But he was well aware of the fact that in the emotional department, he left a lot to be desired. And she had for some reason been under the impression that he was all right with that, or at least aware enough of it that he was able to compartmentalize reality from fantasy.

But he hadn't been. And she was out of a ride, doomed to walk home in the already-darkening afternoon.

She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, lifted her head in the air, and forced her chin to stop quivering through the unparalleled strength of her willpower. She would go home, pop in a DVD, and enjoy her afternoon binging on Ben and Jerry's before hopping on the treadmill and working off those calories with a new sense of purpose in mind. And her new determination? Avoid the other gender at all costs, at least until she was done with the year. Possibly the month.

She strode briskly down the street until she reached the nearest grocery store, and then headed inside to purchase several tubs of ice cream. While trying to decide between two very chocolatey flavors that seemed to contain the same basic ingredients to various degrees of chocolate-ness, she heard an approaching shuffling gait that could only belong to one very grace-devoid giant.

She turned to face Finn and his sheepish smile, a grin of her own flashing across her face although she tried to suppress it. She had meant what she said to Noah earlier – that she knew Finn was a hopeless dream – but that didn't stop her from feeling the same metaphorical conflagration in the pit of her stomach as she watched his goofy, lopsided self wave enthusiastically.

"Rachel! Hi! Wow, this is cool. Usually I don't see anyone here except Puck's mom, and she always judges me for buying so much ice cream because I feel awkward telling her that it's for Quinn's baby. I usually just tell her it's because I'm growing, but I think that stopped working once I hit six feet."

Rachel almost sighed with relief. Finally, someone nearly as gregarious as herself with whom to converse. Noah was so silent and so unwilling to participate in whatever conversations she wished to have. Finn, on the other hand, lacked a filter almost as much as she lacked a filter, so their conversations were at the very least satisfying on the chatter level. Unlike Noah, Finn did not get annoyed when she got off topic or rambled or did anything. Finn thought she was wonderful the way she was, and wasn't that the whole point of romance in the first place? Wasn't it accepting one another for the people that you were? Wasn't it loving what was in front of you instead of what was in your head? Rachel thought so.

"I'm buying some ice cream for myself, as you can see, because I've had quite a stressful day."

"Oh! Did you break up with Puck? Not that it's any of my business, or not that I even care or anything because…okay, maybe I care a little, but Puck's sort of a player, you know, and I don't want you to get hurt because you deserve better than that."

"I'm touched by your concern, but I really don't feel like talking about it. It would be unfair to Noah."

"Okay. But, just so you know, I'm available to talk or, you know, whatever."

Rachel smiled at him sadly and said, "Finn, no you're not."

Finn looked down at the ground, properly chastised by the implication in her tone. Rachel groped blindly at one of the tubs of ice cream, her eyes misting over in a sudden wave of tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks in a humiliating display of the melodrama she was so unfairly famous for. Before Finn could look up and see, she had already beaten a hasty retreat.


It was dark by the time she got back to her neighborhood, and the lights in the living room were out, which meant that her fathers were still at work. This was expected, because they were both very busy, but still a little disheartening. And, of course, it was a continued reminder of just how lonely she found her life to be, sometimes. If she had any friends, she would have been inviting them over to study or watch TV or even just talk instead of curling under a blanket home alone with a baseball bat shoved under the couch where she could reach it in the case of unwelcome intruders.

She was just about to step off the curb at the corner and cross the street to her yard when she saw a dark shadow dart in front of her window. She only noticed it at all because the streetlight was reflecting off the glass and the shadow passed in front of it. So it was perfectly reasonable for her to assume that she was seeing things, but she ducked behind the neighbor's hedge nonetheless, her heart racing as she peered through the closely-connected branches to see if she could spot any more movement.

Like very few paranoid people, Rachel was aware that her fears were most often unfounded. However, her healthy Criminal Minds appetite had led to her firm belief that she should never discount a threat, no matter how seemingly inconsequential. And it was a good thing that she stuck to that policy on that particular night, because moments later someone else walked in front of the window, confirming her suspicions.

She briefly contemplated running away, but then remembered that one of her many heroes, Emily Prentiss (her feminist, kick-ass, justice-seeking hero), would stay put and discern what the threat level was before making any other movements. So Rachel stayed, listening intently, and as luck would have it, the culprits moved close enough to the sidewalk so that she could hear their exchange.

"Where the hell is she? You said four thirty."

"She might be with Puckerman or something."

"Well she better get here soon, or I'm going to be really pissed."

"Mark, look …"

"Don't tell me you're pussying out on me. We're not gonna hurt her. We're just gonna make her squirm a little."

"Dude, are you even listening to yourself? Stop acting like the biggest fucking creep ever. So the chick had balls. Yeah, I'm pissed. But stalking her is different. That's grounds for, like, police involvement or whatever."

"What, you think because you watch Castle for that hot chick, you're suddenly a detective? Relax. No one's going to know it was us."

Rachel smirked to herself and drew away from the sidewalk silently. Karofsky could keep his Castle and his Detective Kate Beckett. She preferred the infinitely more badass Criminal Minds BAU Agent Emily Prentiss. And that was exactly who she would channel in order to get out of this mess.

Of course, first she had to get away. She thanked the powers of Kurt's wardrobe critiques for suggesting flats that morning, and she was able to sneak back through her neighbor's yard with very little difficulty or volume. Once she was safely pressed up against the side of a deck three houses away, she dug her phone out of her bag. But who to call? She couldn't tell her fathers; that would only make it worse. She couldn't call Noah because…well, because she was stubborn. Also, inviting him into the mess would only make it violent. The last thing she needed was a full-on brawl in her neighborhood. No, she would call Kurt. His affections for her were certainly not set in stone, but he had been nice to her that day, and she thought it was safe to assume that he would understand her current situation, given his past with bullying.

She dialed the number quickly and with fingers that trembled from the cold and the fear. When the youthful voice answered, she nearly sobbed with relief.

"Kurt?" she said as evenly as she could manage. "I don't mean to alarm you, but there are several boys staking out my house in order to cause me some kind of physical or emotional distress, hopefully the latter, and I need you to come pick me up so that I may inform the police."

It was only when she stopped talking that she realized that she heard music in the background, and a few whispering voices. Finally, a girl who was unmistakably Mercedes whispered, "She's fine. Just hang up."

Without so much as a word of protest from Artie and Tina – who were easy to hear in the background – the line went dead. Rachel stared at it with a flash of horrified resentment. How dare they? How dare they hang up on her? She was quite possibly going to end up on the news at eleven, and they hung up on her?

Her eyes were burning with humiliating tears as she furiously dialed Finn's number. Surely Finn would believe her story. Surely he wouldn't think she was being dramatic. Surely he would have to know that she would not call him for anything other than a life-or-death situation.

"Hello?" he said when he answered, already sounding warily surprised.

"Finn, I need your help."

"Oh, hi…Puck. What's up?"

Rachel inwardly groaned. So Quinn was with him. That was not at all conducive to her current predicament.

"Finn, there are several boys outside my house, and from the sound of it, they're not aiming to do anything savory to me if they discover my hiding place. I need you to pick me up. I don't feel safe going out into the open to escape."

"I'm really sorry, you know I would, but I can't. I don't have my truck. My mom needed to get to work. But, uh, maybe you should call Puck, anyway."

"I thought you said that was Puck," Quinn said in the background.

"Uh, yeah, I mean, Puck, you should totally call, um, Mike or something. Because you are Puck. Sorry about that. I thought I was talking to…Kurt? For a second."

Rachel sighed with exasperation and flipped the phone closed. Fine, maybe she couldn't rely on the aid of her friends. But she did have to call somebody. And there was only one person left to call.


Puck felt like a total fucking idiot. It was bad enough that he was driving to her house at all, in the dark (granted, it was still pretty early, but it seemed so much later, and it made him feel so much more whipped), to apologize to Rachel Berry (or at least try to get the upper hand back, which was a lot harder than it should have been), but he'd bought her fucking ice cream (okay, he'd sort of bought himself ice cream, but he wasn't going to tell her that, and he thought she probably wouldn't ask too many questions and would hopefully just take the present and smile). He knew that the fight with Rachel earlier wasn't totally his fault, but he also knew that his mom thought Rachel was the shit, and he wasn't going to throw that away when his mom was still mad at him for buying a flamethrower off eBay with her credit card. Also he sort of liked Rachel because she made him feel good about himself, and why did it matter if they weren't totally in love or whatever? High school romance was stupid, everyone outside of high school knew that. It either ended, or everyone ended up miserable, like his mom and dad. So he and Rachel could be friends. That had been the plan all along, right? Right.

So, fuck, whatever. It wasn't like he actually cared that she liked Finn, or whatever. So what if Finn got all the hot chicks, and so what if everyone thought he was the shit despite the fact that he was sort of a dick about things (although it wasn't like he meant it, he just sort of was that way, without realizing it, and it was totally hard to hate him)? And so what if he actually sort of liked Rachel and wanted her to like him, because she should have liked him, that was the thing?

But fuck, whatever. Like Rachel was such a prize, anyway. He never remembered why he liked her at all until he was with her, and even then it was sort of hard to pinpoint. Something about how when she smiled, she smiled for him and not for anybody else, and she gave him her whole attention. And then she said shit, like out of the blue, and he'd realize that she really thought he was special. But then he'd leave her, and he'd think fuck, what's wrong with me? And he'd try to remember why he liked her at all, but he couldn't, and he could only think that he knew, and that it made sense, in some weird ass way that didn't make sense at all.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why did he have to give her that slushie in the first place? Life was so much easier when he could pretend that he'd never dated her at all. She was just vaguely annoying, somewhat less vaguely hot, and definitely not important enough to warrant driving across the whole damn town to bring her ice cream because she bitched him out.

It was just like dating Santana again, except with less sex, which had been the highlight of that relationship in the first place.

But then he turned onto Rachel's street and saw the red and blue flashing lights parked in front of her house, and his brain almost literally exploded. Sure, he was sort of pissed at her and he definitely didn't feel too loving at the moment, but as soon as he saw those police lights he went to a pretty dark fucking place. Raised on movies where love interests were killed early on to set up a revenge-driven protagonist, girls were put in horrifying positions just so they could be saved by the normally-indifferent male, and shirtless action stars were randomly covered in grease in the middle of the desert, Puck had practically been waiting for this moment. But not really, because that would be stupid. But still, it was sort of scary. Because, holy shit. It was just like a movie, except real. And scary, because it wasn't a movie, and she could actually be hurt.

Karofsky's stupid fat face flashed in his mind suddenly, and he pulled up to the sidewalk with a squeal of tires that was jarring and probably not a good idea since that cop was standing right in the front yard and everything.

He jumped out of the car and immediately spotted Rachel standing in the grass, her arms folded across her chest and her hair flowing around her like some kind of model in a beach photoshoot (Rachel in a bikini? Fuck, he would totally have to stay with her until the summer, or find a friend with an indoor pool). Officer Dennett was standing a few feet away from her, and when he saw Puck his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Noah!" Rachel exclaimed, and she didn't smile like he expected her to. But then again, that was probably because there was a cop outside her house. Probably.

"Dude, what happened?"

"Are you sure he wasn't the one you saw outside your house?" Officer Dennett asked skeptically. Puck had to seriously fight not to flip the guy the bird.

"No, Noah and I are friends."

"We're sort of dating," Puck said, trying and failing not to sound as smug as he felt. Officer Dennett could shove it, seriously. "And what do you mean there were people outside your house? Was it Karofsky? I bet it was fucking Karofsky."

"Yes, I believe it was David Karofsky, but unfortunately I have no proof."

"Do you need proof?"

"If you want to press charges, yes," Officer Dennett said with a sigh. "Unfortunately when I got here, the perpetrators scattered, and I was unable to chase them down on foot."

The whole thing totally wasn't funny of course (Karofsky? Was fucking dead the second Puck saw him), but he had to sort of stifle a chuckle at the image of chubster Officer Dennett trying to chase anybody. Usually when involved in chases with the guy, Puck wasn't stopping to think about how ridiculous it must look, let alone stopping to actually take a peek. But now it was sort of an unavoidable mental image, and Dennett totally knew it too, from the way he was staring at Puck like he was daring him to say something about it.

Puck didn't, and he thought that showed some serious strength on his part. Damn. His head was filled with so many good jokes, too; most of them about donuts.

Rachel didn't seem to notice that he was choking back laughter – thank God – and actually it was really unsettling how calm she was. If it was Santana or Quinn, they'd be crying nonstop and screaming at him to do something, which was exactly what he wanted to do, but Rachel was acting like it didn't even bug her. Like there was nothing wrong at all.

"Is there anything you need?" he asked. "I bought you some ice cream, if you want that."

Rachel turned to him with a smile on her lips, finally, her eyes lighting up a little (fucknuts, not lighting up. Just stop breathing. Just stop existing).

"I was wondering what brought you here. I thought maybe Finn might have called you."

"Why would Finn call me?"

Rachel looked ashamed suddenly, and Puck sort of figured what had happened. She'd called Finn to help her out. She had called Finn, and not him. But, okay, wasn't that sort of the point of the whole trip? To show her that he totally didn't care if she still had a thing for Finn, because…well, fuck, he wasn't really sure how he felt. But he at least had to pretend that he didn't care, because that was what she wanted to hear. And if there was anything he learned from Finn's stupid relationship with Quinn (other than the fact that even Christian girls could be cheating bitches), it was that girls just wanted to hearwhat they wanted to hear, even if they maybe suspected that it wasn't true. Like when Finn told Quinn that he didn't like Rachel. Obviously he liked Rachel. He knew it, Quinn knew it, even Rachel knew it when she wasn't too busy thinking that everyone hated her. So if Puck told Rachel that he didn't care if she still sort of had feelings for Finn, she would believe him. She would be happy. She would know, maybe, that he wasn't totally serious, but she would be able to fool herself into thinking that it was okay.

Shit, that was sort of deep. And in like, the most awkward possible way. Rachel was seriously fucking with the way he thought about relationships and stuff.

Shit, relationship.

Shit.

"Um," Rachel stammered, but Puck shrugged good-naturedly.

"Whatever. Looks like he couldn't make it, right? And no, he didn't call me." That was a little passive-aggressive, but whatever. He could pull that shit if he wanted to.

"Oh, then you were just coming for…fun?"

"Well, yeah, I sort of felt weird about what happened at school…"

"I'm sorry, but can you two work this out later? I need to finish up and get back," Officer Dennett sighed. Rachel laughed, and Puck forced a smile.

Everything was going to be okay.


Rachel was thoroughly surprised that Noah had decided to take the first step at repairing their argument. She had foreseen two possible resolutions to their argument; either they would simply stop dating and not speak after that (much like their first attempt at a relationship), or she would get up the nerve to call him or talk to him the following day in school, and they would tentatively start again, except this time with more concrete groundrules. This was utterly unexpected. Not to mention unprecedented.

Officer Dennett finally left with a promise to drive by in a few hours to make sure that everything seemed okay. At first, he had wanted to talk to Rachel's parents himself, but she convinced him that it was better for them all if they heard it from her.

"I have not told them much about my bullying experiences in high school, you see, and I think that they would benefit from hearing all of it from my mouth. But don't worry. I will certainly be telling them everything the moment they come home, and if we need further assistance, of course I will be asking for you directly."

She was proud of what wiles she possessed that allowed her to get away with things, and this was no exception. She of course had no intention of burdening her parents with the whole of the information, but rather desired the ability to inform them of the police involvement herself because she could omit certain things. For example, the fact that the attack was personally motivated instead of a random act of delinquency. Her fathers of course knew that she did not have much in the way of a social life, but there was no reason for them to come to understand the lengths to which her social ostracism extended.

As soon as Officer Dennett pulled away from the curb, she allowed Noah to lead her inside, because she knew that he liked to feel protective, and in truth she was in need of a feeling of protection.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Noah asked quietly, and it was strange because he truly was trying to make her feel at ease.

"Yes, of course I'm okay. Are you?"

"What? Yeah. Duh. I'm just…okay, seriously, what the fuck were they thinking? I have to kill them. I have to. Literally, kill them. I'm not exaggerating."

"Of course you're exaggerating. You're not actually going to kill anyone, Noah."

"Well, no, I guess not literally, but…I mean, what the hell?"

"I'm as much at a loss as you are. After our conversation in the music room today, I was led to understand that Karofsky had nothing else planned."

"You talked to Karofsky today? I thought he was suspended."

"He approached me between classes today to warn me about thinking of retaliating for the slushie that he threw at me."

"Wait, is this a different slushie than the first time?"

"Yes. He threw a slushie at me this morning. It was unpleasant."

"What the fuck? Why didn't you tell me? This was when you were at your locker this morning, wasn't it? I knew you were acting weird! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I hoped that Karofsky would think that he got the last word in, you would think that we got the last word in, and no one would retaliate anymore. The whole thing could go on as a distant memory to fuel nostalgic conversations in later years when enough time had passed for it to be anything other than blatantly horrible and disrespectful. And it would have worked, had Karofsky not showed up at my house with the intent to make me 'squirm' or whatever it was that Mark said."

"Mark Linder? That was the other kid who was here? What the hell?"

"Honestly, Karofsky even seemed disturbed by his vigor."

"Well, no shit. Karofsky is like a fluffy baby rabbit compared to Mark Linder. The guy's the biggest delinquent the history of forever. He makes me look like…well, you."

"This isn't comforting in the slightest, Noah."

"It's not supposed to be. Look, the reason I came here tonight was to tell you that I don't care if you like Finn. I don't care if you want to make him jealous, and I don't care if you don't think I'm your perfect fantasy. I still want to date you, because I like dating you, because you're easy to date and you're sort of nice sometimes when I can understand what you're actually talking about, even though you seriously need to learn some moderation and probably should start talking about shit that I like, just out of fairness or whatever. And so, I mean, I guess I want to be your boyfriend still, even though I know you're probably going to make me regret saying this in like, five seconds."

Rachel smiled up at him with what she hoped was not a watery smile. She did not want to feel romantic feelings for Noah Puckerman, because there was no way that could end in anything but disaster. He was uncouth, he was rude, and he was utterly uncultured.

But still, his words were practically throbbing in her bosom far more than anything Finn had ever said. Because Finn's words came with baggage: the knowledge that he was saying those things behind the back of his pregnant girlfriend. He could call her pretty, call her amazing, call her sweet, and it would all come with a catch. That catch was that she was not pretty or amazing or sweet enough, and she never would be. But with Noah, there were no strings except the one possibly attached to her breasts, because she knew he desired to at least see them at one point.

"Noah, you are positively wonderful when you want to be. And badass, since I remember you requested I use that word to describe you more often."

Noah smiled and said, "See? That's what I mean. Talk about things that I like. Like me."

Rachel rolled her eyes but sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to her.

"In all fairness, that's something I'm growing quite fond of, as well."

"Seriously? I can stay?"

"I honestly don't know what I would do if you left. There is nothing that could make me stay in this home alone tonight."

"All right, cool," Noah said, sitting down next to her quickly. "I'll stay until your dads get home. Is that cool?"

Rachel sighed with relief that she hadn't realized she would feel, and she let her body relax into the pillowy cushions beneath and behind her.

"Noah, I honestly can't think of anything more perfect in the entire world." He looked at her expectantly and she rolled her eyes before adding, "Other than your face."

He held his hand up for a high-five, and she begrudgingly obliged.


Puck woke up briefly that night to hear whispers coming from behind him. Feeling disoriented and forgetting for a second that he was in Rachel's house and not his own bedroom, he laid perfectly still and tried to even out his breathing. If one of those house-robbing fuckers bent towards him, he would snap the guy's neck.

But then he heard what they were saying, and he realized that, holy shit, it was Rachel's fathers. He did a quick mental check of his hands and feet, and mentally relaxed once he realized that everything was pretty innocent. Sure, his arm was around Rachel's shoulders and her head was on his chest, but that was hardly something you'd see in the Karma Sutra, or even Maxim. It was far from the most compromising position he'd woken up in.

"Should we wake them up?"

"No, let's not. I'll call his mother and let her know what's going on. I'm sure she won't mind him staying here for a few more hours. I'll drive him home when it gets too late."

"We should buy the boy a thank you gift for keeping our baby girl safe."

"By falling asleep with her on the couch? Hardly. Though I'm thankful he stayed. I don't know why Rachel insists on taking on the world by herself. She should have called one of us the second it happened."

"Thank God Officer Dennett got here as quickly as he did."

Puck knew that there would be a lot to explain once Rachel woke up, and he was pretty sure that she would be in a shitty mood since her whole self-worth revolved around her stupid acting and Broadway shit, and she had failed to convince Officer Dennett that everything was cool, but he didn't care. For the moment, he couldn't care. He could just lie there and tighten his hold on Rachel. And, okay, maybe plan revenge a little bit, but only because now shit was getting real. It was time to bring out the big guns.

He just had to figure out what those big guns were, first. Then, yeah, they would totally be getting brought out.