Disclaimer: Ownership is neither claimed nor implied.
A/N: In deference to the recent tragedy, this is my tribute.
Puck sat, crouched against the wall in the hallway just outside his and Finn's dorm room, his knees up to his chin, his arms wrapped tightly round his legs, keeping everything in, tight in. Around him the hive of activity, the police, the paramedics, the coroner, barely penetrated his numbed brain, he was in shock, Puck was in shock. And he didn't think anything could ever be right again.
Puck walked slowly down the hallway towards the exit, towards solitude, he heard the first whispers, rumours. "Drugs," he heard, "it must be drugs, it has to be, how else, right?"
Puck turned very slowly towards the sound of the voice, the voice that was denigrating his best friend, destroying the reputation of someone just for the sake of it. A red mist descended. "Say that again," Puck ground out, daring the guy to actually open his mouth, if he could open his bruised and bloody mouth. "You don't know Finn, you don't know him, you don't know fucking Jack shit about him, so don't…" he was cut off by a police officer.
"Hey, hey, hey," the officer called as he jogged up to the scene of the incident, he pulled on Puck's raised fist, drawing it back from his battered victim. "Want to tell me what's going on here?" the officer asked.
"He started it," the guy mumbled through swollen, bloody lips. "I was just minding my own business and he attacked me," he declared.
"You fucking liar," Puck screeched, seeing red once again. "You were mouthing off about Finn, saying it was drugs, you don't know the first thing about Finn, he would never touch drugs, ever, he's not even cold and already you've decided how he died," he growled, pulling away from the officer. "They don't know him, they don't know anything about him, I've known Finn since we were six, he would never do drugs, never, it's how his dad died for fuck's sake, he wouldn't do that to his mom," he broke off with an embarrassed sob. Puck turned and ran.
"Carole," Mrs Puckerman said huskily as she took her friend into her arms. "I don't know what to say to you, I just, I.." she broke off, her voice cracked, unable to go on. Carole sobbed and nodded into her shoulder, understanding all the same.
"None of us know what to say," Carole agreed. "I mean, what can we say? It's such a waste, such a tragic, tragic waste."
"Noah," Mrs Puckerman called softly though his bedroom door. "Noah, please, you have to eat," she sighed and listened for a few moments, she couldn't hear anything. He was in there, he had been for two days, but he hadn't eaten, hadn't spoken, nothing, it was like he wanted to fade away.
The official word came through. Sudden Adult Death Syndrome. How very apt. Puck wanted to smash things, he wanted to break things. Why Finn? He had everything to live for, everything, why him? If it had been himself he could understand, 'cos yeah, for sure he was sad, a sad, sad excuse for a human being, a Lima Loser, an LA reject, he couldn't even hack it in LA for six months before he came running home to mommy. Why Finn? What the fuck had he done to deserve that?
The funeral was overwhelming. At Carole's request, everyone wore red, white and black, McKinley colours. New Directions, old and new, sang three songs, again at Carole's request. Rachel hadn't managed to utter a single note, she was so grief stricken, all she could remember was the last time she'd seen Finn, remember his smile, his bright shining eyes, the look of adoration for her. Rachel sank to the ground, she couldn't keep herself upright any longer. Mr Schue and Puck both bent to assist Rachel to her feet, they took an arm each and kept her upright, helped her though. Burt held Carole close to his side, Kurt at her other side giving what comfort he could. The service was moving, poignant, celebrating a life barely started before it was snuffed out.
The first thud of earth hitting the shiny coffin made it all incredibly real. Quinn sucked in a breath, with every shovelful of earth that landed, she flinched as though she'd been slapped. Santana took her hand, they gave each other a tiny squeeze, a comfort, just enough. Quinn sought one gaze from the gathered friends and family, just one, there, there it was. Slowly his bloodshot eyes raised and locked with hers over the gaping hole that was swallowing up their friend, Quinn saw the abject sorrow in them, the utter forlornness of being left, rejected by yet another person he loved. Quinn couldn't look away. Neither could Puck.
"Noah, it's been six months," Mrs Puckerman grumbled gently, straightening the collar of Puck's shirt. "Do you think Finn would have wanted you to stop living too?" she asked, concern for her son marring her features. "It's time. You know what you have to do," she nodded. "You can't stay here any more," she announced, her voice a little tough, stern.
Puck looked at his mom in shock and surprise. "You're kicking me out?" he asked, hardly able to believe his mom was doing that. "Seriously? You're kicking me out of my own home?" he demanded.
"I'm telling you to move on, find something, do something with your life," she advised, still sounding a little stern, forceful. "You know that you had a dream, you were working towards it six months ago, you can pick it up and go for it or you can fade away. Here," she offered an envelope in her outstretched hand. "This is the agreement for your new apartment, you can collect the key when you arrive, your truck is packed up already, the gas tank is full, the Sat Nav is programmed, you just have to follow the directions," she said, her voice getting quieter and quieter. "Go find your dream," she advised. "She's waiting for you," she whispered too quiet for her son to hear.
Puck arrived at his destination. Six hundred and seventy two miles. Thirteen hours including hold ups and rest stops. He was exhausted, it was dark, he just wanted to fall into bed. He found the right apartment and knocked, according to the literature his mom had thrust on him, he apparently already had a roommate. "He just fucking better be into Super Mario and pizza," Puck thought with a scowl as he knocked again. "Hurry the fuck up," Puck whispered to himself as he waited for what seemed like ages for the door to open.
"Puck," Quinn breathed when she saw who stood on her doorstep. "You're here," she sighed and threw her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight. "You came."
Puck stood still, his mind was working at a hundred miles an hour. His mom had deliberately sent him to be with Quinn? Knowing how they felt about each other? How capable they were of screwing up each other's lives? And she still thought this was a good idea? "Wait," Puck found his voice. "You live here?" he asked, checking the address on the information his mom had given him.
"Yes I live here, this is my apartment," Quinn nodded, her red lips shining in the dim light of the hallway. "Come inside, you must be exhausted," she urged, pulling on Puck's hand, leading the way into the apartment.
"I have to get stuff from my truck," Puck said, still a little confused, pulling back a little.
"Ok, I'll give you a hand," Quinn offered brightly, "it won't take us long."
"No that's cool," Puck replied, "I can manage," he told Quinn. "And I can call my mom and ask her what the fuck she's up to," he said to himself.
"You've arrived I take it?" Mrs Puckerman asked the second she answered Puck's call.
"Yes I've arrived," Puck growled. "And why didn't you tell me it's Quinn's apartment too?" he demanded.
"Because we knew you wouldn't have gone," she replied. "We knew that you both would have carried on denying that you need each other, love each other, we had to take a chance," she said, a hint of apology in her voice.
"Who's we?" Puck asked, still feeling wary.
"Me, Judy, Russell Fabray," she admitted. "We were wrong, all of us, you could have made it, you probably would have made it, we were wrong to force Quinn into the adoption, all of us and I'm sorry. I know it's something you can't ever get back but you can go forward, move on with your life, Quinn can too, you both need to forgive each other and maybe eventually you can forgive all of us, Noah. Just one thing before I go, just remember that life's too short for regrets, for missed opportunities, grasp every day with both hands and wring the best from it, you hear? And Noah, Fox love the concept, they want you to write some more, they think it might work, a show about a Glee Club. Good luck, I love you."