A/N: And your reviews and awesome explicatives make me melt on the inside like an old M&M you find on the underside of your car seat. Thank you guys very much! I'll keep mine coming as long as you do too. It's official... We're in this together.
"Can I talk to you?"
"Noah. I thought perhaps you were a ghost. You seemed to have disappeared for quite some time now so I can't be sure."
There was no humor about this admission. Puck gets chills at the sound of words, pregnant with indifference, cold and stinging. Apparently the kid's patience could only last for so long. Days may be acceptable, weeks on the other hand... Not so much.
"What're you doin' by yourself? Aren't you usually with that black girl and company?"
Fancy huffs and continues to bead what looks to be a necklace, ignoring the surly teen with a steady vengeance. The necklace almost could be something from a magazine Puck notes off-handedly. Only Kurt can manage to turn such invaluable pieces of plastic into something so extraordinary.
"Look. I just want to say somethin' and all I need is for you to listen. Okay? Then I won't bother you anymore if you don't want."
Cool blue eyes avoid his; they stay glued to the beadwork he's currently engrossed in. Puck gently places his large hand over the project, lowering it to the table in order to capture the kid's full attention. Kurt sighs, then gives a subtle nod of invitation. Puck doesn't waste time.
"I'm not a fag."
"You've made that painfully clear to anyone who'll listen. Is that all?"
"No. I mean. I'm not... I don't think of guys that way. I just can't -"
"But you still want to be friends and blah, blah, blah. Been there done that Puckerman. Except they never are. And all little boys like you do is run away and act like the homo infected you with some secret sickness, and then beat him up or cast him away, or both."
The edge to his voice is overtly evident, but there's a twinge of something else dancing over each syllable: Pain... Puck has a feeling that those words came from a place of unfortunate experience.
Kurt moves to pick up his necklace again but Puck's firm grip on his wrist halts the action indefinitely. He stares intently, hoping to communicate everything his mouth may fail to articulate the way he means it.
"Just let me finish Fancy."
Kurt's eyes are clouded with doubt, but he gives another nearly imperceptible nod while Puck allows his hand to cover the other boy's pale digits.
"I've never been good at this. Talkin' about feelings and shit. I don't do this. Ever."
Puck wants to make it clear, like crystal, how difficult this truly is for him. Kurt looks un-impressed however.
"You're a dude. With boy parts and shit. And so am I - "
"Astounding how your mind works out these types of complexities."
Puck ignores this remark and continues. "I'm supposed to hate you. Everything about you. But as much as I will myself to... To want to hurt you, cause you pain... I can't. I won't."
The last portion is meant to be a promise. A vow, floating in the air between them like a tangible force.
"That day (Puck doesn't have to say it, he knows that Kurt knows the meaning) I felt like, connected to you. I just wanted nothin' more then to make you feel better, taken care of. Cause you're so special Fancy, and you deserve nothin' less."
Kurt's eyes are flickering between Puck's hand covering his, and the larger teen's determined face. Puck feels encouraged to go on.
"I hate on principle, man. That's just what I do. It's hard to put energy into anything other then that when it's worked for me for so long. Kept me from being hurt, I guess. I could always be on the offensive, get what I wanted from people and then leave them before they could do that shit to me."
Kurt is staring at him now. Hard, focused, like he was analyzing Puck in an attempt to discover something maybe he'd been missing.
"Point is, I always push motherfucker's away. But with you, I just wanna keep you close. I just wanna make you, I dunno... smile or somethin'." Puck clears his throat. "Make you happy."
And there's sincerity there, shining in the normally dark orbs, the light making them swirl with softer brown tones. Kurt moves to open his mouth, his soft lips parting, but no words escape.
Puck pats the other teen's hand to signal the conclusion of this ridiculous confession. Fuck he didn't even say the words he really wanted to say. He couldn't manage those particular words. Maybe he never would. He stands up, shoots one last desparately vulnerable look at the lithe boy gaping at him, then turns to leave.
"I'll see you around Fancy."
It was back full force: those looks that they thought no one else noticed.
Kurt was always searching, observing Puck, watching him out of the corner of his eye. And sometimes he would even smile.
Puck's insides seem to ooze with warmth when they would catch eyes. But he was feeling oddly drained after his disclosure. What did he expect was going to come from it anyhow?
They had come to some strange non-verbal agreement. That they would stay away, give each other space, but without harboring resentment and with just enough space to still be in each other's presence when possible.
Puck had even taken to going to the stupid arts and crafts class just to be near the kid, smiling to himself from a far off table as Lady laughed and enjoyed the company of his female entourage composed of that Tina and Mercedes.
It's on one of these particular days that he enters the room to find Fancy and a familiar, broad figure shadowing him.
Mercedes was most likely sleeping in, Tina probably off lounging somewhere with Jacob, so Kurt had been left to himself. That's of course if you didn't count the giant asshole currently leering at him, leaning over his rigid frame to whisper in his ear.
Puck felt his heart pick up speed, beating against his chest in time with his pace which had automatically increased.
"Gavin."
The gelled head turns, then he stands upright, his eyes bright with amusement.
"Mr. Puckerman. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You don't."
Gavin chuckles. "Hm. Arts and crafts huh? Didn't take you for the type." The last word carries weight of some unsaid implication. Puck hears the hiss, feels it prickle his skin. Puck's eyes narrow dangerously.
"Funny. Didn't take you for the touchy feely type. Guess we got our wires crossed a bit."
Puck nearly smirks at the flash of understanding, the sinking of that annoying fucking sneer. It didn't last long enough in his opinion. The sudden blanch was soon covered up by a cool chuckle.
"I could say the same about you Puckerman." Gavin leans into him, his hot breath washing over his clenched jaw as he whispers, "guess your dead Mama raised herself a disappointing, piece of coked out fag shit. She'd be rolling over in her grave if she knew."
Puck felt the nails digging into his skin his fists were clenched so tightly. Despite his tense position, his heart felt like it was stuttering to a slow drag. Dead... Grave...
His eyes widen. "Fuck you talkin' about?"
Gavin places his hand on Puck's shoulder, clutching it painfully hard though to any nearby spectator, it looked like a genuine show of affection.
"I was asking my friend Kurt here where I could find you and low and behold, you come straight to me. Tough being the bearer of bad news, but can't always be the nice guy." He sighs with a stiff pat on Puck's shoulder. "You ain't got a Mama anymore boy."
Puck pulls his shoulder away roughly, his eyes dark and shifty. Kurt puts his hands to his mouth in shock.
"You're fuckin' lyin?"
"Sad to say, but no boy-o. Got the call today. Foster agency was informed that your Mother Marilyn Stein, also known as Marilyn Puckerman for a time, was found last week."
"Noah," Kurt mumbles, a warning air clearly discernable despite the word being barely breathed.
"Her body was stinking up a motel room outside of Dayton. Seems she overdosed. Not surprising of course. Like Mother like son eh, there, Puck?"
Puck felt his body trembling of its own accord, his eyes burning. He felt on fire.
"Noah. Please-"
"Oops. That's right. I wasn't supposed to tell you. Darn. Dr. Schuester was meant to discuss that one with you. Guess I couldn't help myself though. I take real pride in being helpful to those less fortunate."
It happens in seconds as the last words are stated, ringing in Puck's ears like a painful echo of shotgun blasts bouncing off stucco walls. Puck grabs a chair and flings it across the room, flips the table over sending craft supplies spilling across the tiled floor. The residing counselor is ushering the other patients out the door while Gavin is standing aside, spitting orders into his walk talkie. Kurt watches, his hand still covering his mouth, tears spilling fast over pale cheeks.
"Noah, please stop! Stop this!"
As Kurt steps forward to touch Puck, calm him somehow, Gavin gets in between, wrapping his arm around Kurt's waist.
"Get off! Noah! Please!"
Puck was in the middle of tossing another chair when the room fills with several orderlies, their hands up in surrender as they slowly approach. Kurt is still crying, screaming his name as Gavin hands him off to two of the orderlies who have crowded the room, holding him back. Puck barely registers Jerry, a tall black man with a bald head and wisp of a mustache taking tentative steps toward him.
"Puckerman. You've got to stop man. I don't wanna juice you."
"Fuck you!"
"Puckerman. Come on, man. Let's calm down. Let's calm down so we can walk out of here-"
"No! I can't, I can't... She's fuckin' dead man!"
"Who's dead? Who're you talking about?" Jerry asks calmly.
Gavin intervenes. "Christ, I accidentally let it slip. I told the kid about his Mom. I don't know. I just wasn't thinking."
Jerry looks apprehensive, a glint of scrutiny passing over his features. Then he nods as if forgiving the mistake, focusing his gaze back to Puck who's breathing heavily, hands tightly wrapped around the back of a chair.
"I wanna help you man. But I can't help you if you're throwin' things. I need you to stay calm."
Puck feels his grip on the chair tighten. And then he sees Kurt. He's crying softly, his lean body being mostly obscured by several white uniformed men. But he sees it all the same: the silent yet very urgent plea for him to desist. Puck huffs, nods his head and sits himself in the chair he had been gripping fiercely.
The group descends upon him like vultures devouring rotting flesh. He hears Jerry yell out for them to take it easy, Kurt scream his name, fight and kick to be allowed to go to him. Then he feels the juice being pumped into him, the tell tale sting of a needle piercing him.
The dosage must be irregularly high because it takes him into darkness within seconds.