Puck was waiting for Santana, just inside the bunker. His abilities were still all over the place and he was back to being invisible. He'd been that way since coming round from his encounter with Rachel earlier that day, and had cancelled all of his other training sessions.
Santana had no idea what was going on at the school. Quinn's stuff was gone - again - and she'd heard rumors about Rachel either leaving as well or trying to or something - she didn't know how much of it was true. And where was Dr. Schue through all this?
She got to the bunker and found herself alone - but then she wondered if it was a test of some sort. She reached out with her ability the best she could and found Puck's - light, she'd decided to call it. She focused as best she could and turned him mostly visible. "There you are," she said, proud of herself.
He gave her his best smile, which was dull, but at least it was there. He was relieved that she seemed to be able to fade him back in, somewhat.
"C'mere," he said, holding his hand out to her. He needed her to negate his power fully. "Please?"
Santana didn't have the faintest idea what to say. She knew he must be devastated about Quinn leaving, but how could she even begin to broach that subject? Instead she approached him slowly, taking his hand like it was fragile. She let the sensation of power wash over her and, doing what she assumed he was asking for, snuffed each of the lights she could see in him until he was completely visible. She released him quickly, shaking a little from the effort.
"Much better," she smiled hesitantly.
His weak smile brightened a little. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice sounded unlike his own. Smaller, thinner, weaker. "I... I needed that."
He was about to say something about pushing on with her training, after she'd missed so much, on his account, when he suddenly faded back out. He tried to fight it, but it was stronger than he was, in that moment.
The realization made him crumple to the ground, in utter despair.
She didn't like this at all. He sounded half-dead. And when he faded out again, she jumped.
"If this is a test," she reached out for him, knowing she couldn't keep this up forever, "I'm going to fail. I can only do this a few more times before I need to sleep for a while. This kind of focus is hard." He wasn't where she expected him to be, though. She reached out through her power again and found him on the ground. "Puck," she whispered. "What the hell's going on?"
Reaching out and putting a hand on what must be his back, she snuffed out each light in turn and swayed a little on her feet. "There," she said dazedly. "Better."
"S'not a test," he mumbled. "M'sorry..." He faded back in. "It's getting too hard to hold on," he told her. "It's going to happen again..." He knew it, and he figured she should be aware, so it didn't alarm her when he faded again. "You don't..." and out he went "... have to keep trying."
"Puck," she breathed. "You've gotta stop doing that. It can't be healthy." She reached out for him again and snuffed each light, although the last few took a supreme effort, and fell heavily to the ground beside him, gasping. "Only one," she sighed, "or two more. All I can do."
"I can't help it," he told her. "You don't have to do it anymore," he promised. "I just needed it the one time. It doesn't hurt anymore... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." He stayed visible for a few more moments, before he was pulled into nothingness, once more.
"Jesucristo," Santana cursed. "It doesn't matter if it hurts, estupido, it's not good to be that out of control." She reached for him and forced every bit of energy she could muster into the connection. His lights went out - snuffed all at once - but she fell backward when it was over, struggling to even stay conscious. "There," she muttered, "better. Maybe."
"What part of I can't help it, isn't computing?" He asked, lacking in energy, himself. "I know that. I've been fighting this - on and off - for days, and I don't know what to do. The pain's pretty much there the whole time I'm faded out now, but it's not helping me snap out of it, like it should," he explained.
He faded back in, feeling like he might be able to hold onto it a little better - although not indefinitely - this time. "I told you," he frowned. "Stop doing that... If you pass out, I'm in no shape to heal you, or even get you back to the building," he told her. "But thanks."
"I know," she murmured, shaking her head in an effort to clear her blurry vision. "I'll do what I can, if I can help."
She chuckled, although it hurt a little. "Not the boss of me," she stuck her tongue out. "And you're welcome."
"Two can play that game," he told her, taking her hand in his. He closed his eyes and pushed energy that he couldn't afford to spare, into Santana. He felt himself flicker out, for a moment. Taking that as a sign that he should stop giving away his energy, he stopped and resumed focusing on staying visible.
He kept his eyes closed, unaware that he was still clutching Santana's hand, and let his head fall back against the wall.
"So," he said after a moment. "What's new?"
Santana frowned, but it was hard to criticize him when her vision got clearer. She laid there beside him, trying to phrase an answer to his question. "I have no idea," she finally decided on. "Feels like everything's changed in just a couple of days, and I missed all of it."
Puck had no idea what she was talking about. He had only ventured out of his room for an hour, the previous day, to attend Rachel's training session that never was.
"Why? What do you mean?" He asked, letting his head fall sideways, onto her shoulder.
In another context, she'd have been thrilled that his head was on her shoulder. But not now - right now she was just tired. "Well, there's - whatever happened with Quinn," she nearly didn't say it, but he'd asked, "and I heard Rachel left too. There's all kinds of crazy rumors going around, and I have no idea what's true right now."
"Quinn's gone?" He asked, sounding more surprised than he really was. She had inadvertently warned him, but he hadn't expected it to be so soon, and she hadn't said goodbye, like she'd promised. "Okay," he sighed.
"I'll go look for Rachel, later, see what's what," he announced. He felt bad that he hadn't been to check on her yet, but he'd been in no state to do anything either. He'd only dragged himself out to see Santana for his own selfish reasons. He felt bad about that too.
"I think so - her stuff is gone, anyway. She didn't say anything to me. But she didn't last time, either." She rested her head on his.
"I just don't know how everything got so messed up in just a couple of days. I can go and look for her if you want, but I think you've talked to her more than I have." She closed her eyes and sighed. "I thought stuff was getting better, you know?"
"She promised me she'd say goodbye," he whispered, fading out. "She fucking promised!" Within seconds, he was up and beating the hell out of the nearby punching bag. He had no idea where the sudden burst of energy had come from.
Just as suddenly as it had waxed, the energy waned, and he had to slump back down to the floor. "Yeah... Well life's just a bunch of bullshit," he mumbled. "Nothing stays ok for long."
Santana flinched, not expecting the sudden movement. When he faded out again she sighed disappointedly. "Sometimes it does," she promised him, sliding along the floor until she bumped into him. "Sometimes it will." She reached for him and pushed out with all the energy she had left, fading him back in once more. She drifted in and out of consciousness for a moment before landing less than firmly on the "awake" side of the equation.
"It'll get better," she swore, "It will. I know it doesn't seem like it, but it will."
"Stop. Doing. That," he told her, seriously.
He let out a resigned sigh. "I won't hold my breath," he told her, pulling her against him.
"Then st'p fading," Santana slurred, still barely conscious as he pulled her closer. "An' I won't have to. Simple. An' don' hold your breath. Can't help wi' that."
He let out a weak chuckle. "Alright."
He already felt the pull of invisibility tugging at his insides. Fuck it he told himself and slid his hand into his bag that was lying next to him on the floor. He removed his book and slid the photograph of Beth out from between the pages. He began to focus on that, trying to settle his power back down.
Santana settled herself against him, feeling exhausted. She watched his hand as it withdrew the photo and gasped at what she saw. "Is that..." she stopped herself, knowing it was really none of her business.
"Yeah," he said softly, a kind of awe in his voice. "It's her," he told her, stroking his thumb across the tiny face in the photograph, like it was the real thing. He had to try exceptionally hard not to say something truly obnoxious like "isn't she beautiful?" or something. He didn't need anyone to confirm his assessment, anyway.
"She's amazing," Santana whispered. "She looks like you. She's going to break so many hearts when she grows up."
"She really is," he confirmed. Already broke her daddy's heart.
Santana felt herself tear up a little and felt vaguely ridiculous. It wasn't her baby, after all - she just felt so bad for Puck. That this little picture was all he had...she couldn't imagine how he felt.
"You know, it's weird, how much better this picture makes me feel," he told her. "I've never even seen her, didn't see Quinn while she was pregnant, and I've only known about her for a week... But something about seeing that she's real... I dunno... It makes all this sadness not matter so much..." He shook his head. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I don't even know what I'm saying, or if it makes sense. It's stupid. I'm sorry."
"I don't think it's stupid," she assured him. "Seeing that, it means she's not just some name, some statistic. She's there, and she's real, and she's going to have a good life. And I think that's why it makes the sadness not matter so much - you know there's something good that's come out of it."
"Yeah," he agreed, making the effort to give her his best smile. He'd only been able to let this much out to Santana because he was just so exhausted that the last of his emotional defenses had crashed to the ground. "Thanks," he said, hooking an arm around her and pulling her closer. It was getting colder, but he didn't have the energy to move just yet - and he was almost certain that it was the same for her. "You figure things out for me a lot better than my girl, Apache," he chuckled quietly.
She let herself be pulled closer - she was in no shape to try and get up, in any case. "Anytime. And I'm flattered at being compared to a horse, so thank you for that." She nudged him gently. "It's just what every girl wants to hear."
"At least I said you were better at helping me than my horse... I could have said you're almost as good," he teased, nudging her back.
"Yeah, yeah - see who turns you visible next time," she laughed, which promptly turned into a yawn.
"Wouldn't it be cool if she could do that though?" He noticed her yawning, and was just as tired himself, but he still hadn't regained quite enough energy yet. He was getting bored though, his existential crisis now on pause.
"Wanna make out?" He deadpanned. People tended to have very interesting responses to that... Boredom solved.
Santana spluttered, lost for a response. She decided, for embarrassment's sake and the lack of a witty reply, she'd just go with it and see how far he was going to push the joke. "Sure," she replied in a low voice. "But let's skip the boring parts. Take your pants off."
He had to bite his lip to keep a straight face when she started spluttering. Reaction achieved.
Take off my... Oh she has no idea who she's messing with! "Score!" He immediately reached for his belt and started undoing the buckle, making like he was perfectly eager. But it wasn't like he was actually going to try to take them off... Probably.
So, he was going to play along, was he? Fine. Shaking off the cobwebs and ignoring the ache in her bones, she reached down and grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it up just far enough that the dark lace of her bra would be visible. She hesitated, then, waiting to see what his next move would be.
Interesting. Very interesting. Fine... Noah Puckerman never backs down. Ever. Besides, the more clothes he took off, the more she was likely to take off, and Noah Puckerman never turns down a free show, either. And so far? Nice.
He yanked his belt through the loops in his jeans and swiftly pulled his shirt over his head with absolutely no hesitation, before moving his hands back to his zipper, pretending he was totally unaware of the stand-off situation.
Fuck it, Santana thought. He'd seen her in a sports bra before, this wasn't much different. Or so she told herself as she pulled her shirt the rest of the way off. She pulled away and looked him over with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't deny he looked good without his shirt on. She gestured for him to go on, waiting to see just how far the game was going to go.
Santana just went up in "Puckable ratings" from "kinda cute" to "actually super hot", and that didn't sit well with Puck, at all. He'd started this thing as a way to poke harmless fun at her little crush on him, (harmless, because she was unaware he knew about it) and now he'd never get into her pants. Crap!
Oh well, the damage was done, so he decided to carry on pushing. By this point he was really curious to find out what she was made of, anyway. He unabashedly let his hand linger suggestively on his crotch, whilst leering at her - it wasn't like he'd been unable to feel her eyes on him as he removed his shirt, anyway - before leaning forward to remove his boots and socks, so that he could remove his jeans, if necessary.
"I feel like I should say this now," he said, keeping his tone serious and pretty honest sounding. "If you're just messing with me - as some cruel joke - now's probably a good time to speak up. I'm going commando today, and bailing on a guy after you get him completely in the buff is just really uncalled for. It'd be bad enough now..." He said the last part under his breath - but still just loud enough for her to hear - as he finished his task and turned to her and gave her what probably looked like a sincere apprehensive look. "Ok?" He moved his hand back to his fly and waited for her response. Playing the clueless card was all he had left before the pants would come off, but it wasn't like he actually cared if she saw his junk, anyway... Hell, she might even go for it the idiot voice in his head piped up, before he silenced it.
Santana had a brief internal debate. She'd started this without thinking, and now she had a dilemna on her hands. She didn't know anymore if he was playing with her, or if he was being sincere, and she was sitting here with just her bra on up top, and god did she feel dumb all of a sudden. She only wished she could discern whether this was an act, of if he was actually worried about her running away. She was somewhere better arousal and abject terror, and she had no idea what to do next.
"I...uhh," she sounded stupid, and she knew it, "it's not a joke," she said in a choked voice. "But maybe," she swallowed, "maybe we should stop." She bit her lip. "Actually, that wouldn't be fair. I got to see you topless," she reached behind herself and undid the clasp of her bra, but held it between her fingers. "Only fair I should return the favor before we quit."
Okay, now he was torn. He'd won their little game, and he couldn't help but feel a little smug about that, even if he hadn't exactly been fighting fair. But he couldn't very well tell her he was messing with her, because that would just be even meaner than doing it in the first place.
Then she was undoing her bra and offering to show him her breasts... Boobs just made everything ten times more complicated.
He couldn't hold back the sigh of disappointment in his decision, even if it was the right thing to do. "You shou-" He began to speak, but his voice roughened and deepened, a little, by arousal. He cleared his throat - as if it would help - and started again. "You shouldn't... I mean, not that I don't wanna see - I really, really do - but you're clearly not comfortable, and that's not right. I won't make you do something you don't wanna do. Besides, it's really not the same thing when a guy's shirtless... Although I'm not really sure why..." He shrugged. "It's ok, I swear." He gave her a small, apologetic smile. He felt like the total ass that he was being, for messing with her, but at least he was trying to make amends.
There was a brief moment of indignation - he didn't want to see her? - but her rational brain snuffed that like a candle and she only felt ashamed and stupid. She really had no idea what had come over her, and she'd likely made things deeply uncomfortable between them at a time when he really needed her.
But she took the out she was given and re-hooked the clasp of her bra, eyes kept firmly directed at the ground. "Sorry," she muttered, her cheeks flushed and tears of embarrassment stinging the back of her eyes. "I don't know...I'm sorry," she finished lamely.
Logically, he knew he should tread carefully, otherwise there'd likely be water works, but he'd always been a rather impulsive creature by nature.
He waited until her underwear was safely fastened, before leaning forward and tilting her head up, with a finger beneath her chin.
"It's ok," he told her, closing the gap between them and pressing their lips together in a chaste, but lingering kiss. "We should get dressed," he announced, after pulling away. If they didn't, he was sure something more than kissing would happen. He wasn't ready for that, even he knew it. Quinn and he were over long ago, and although deep down that was true, for almost as long, he still loved her, and needed to process the fact that she was gone. Probably for good this time. So any moving on with Santana - he hadn't a clue where her head was at - or anyone else, would have to progress slowly. Even if it started soon.
Santana did her best not to lean into the kiss - it was supposed to be a conciliatory gesture, she knew, not the start of something more. Quinn had just left, and the last thing she wanted to do was finally get a chance to act on her crush only to screw it up by doing something he wasn't ready for. Or that she wasn't. Because while she thought she was, she hadn't taken even a second to examine how she felt while she was pulling her shirt off.
"Yeah," she agreed softly when he moved away. "We probably should." She grabbed her top from where she'd tossed it and pulled it over her head, still feeling embarrassed and stupid.
Puck pulled his own shirt back on and then moved on to his socks and boots. "What's that face for?" He reached out and stroked her jaw. "You're gonna give me a complex," he joked. "You look depressed or somethin'."
"Not depressed," she shook her head. "Just feeling a little silly, that's all. I really shouldn't have done that. You've got enough on your plate without me being insane too." She tried a hesitant smile on, but she was sure it didn't look all that convincing.
He was on the cusp of revealing that he had been fully aware of what was happening, the whole time. He wanted to ease her embarrassment, but had to remind himself that it was way too late for it not to just make things worse.
"No harm, no foul," he told her. "Not your fault I'm extra-specially-gullible, when I haven't gotten off in - like - forever, and a hot chick tells me to take my clothes off." He had to try hard to resist the urge to smack himself in the head. "Sorry... I included too much information in there, didn't I?"
"Be as insane as you like. I actually feel pretty good, right now, all things considered. I'm not having to fight off fading, and I don't know how much of is your ability, and how much of it is you, but some of it is... I know it... So I'm not complaining," he told her with a genuine smile.
He leant in again, so that heir lips were almost touching, but not quite there. "Santana..." he breathed out her name in an almost inaudible whisper, but it was loud enough for to hear the plea for her to make her own move. He closed his eyes and waited, for a kiss? For a slap? For her to push him away and tell him he was being an idiot? He didn't know, but he'd find out...
"Maybe a little too much," she smiled, though, taking any sting out of the words. "But that's okay."
She blushed a bit more, which she would have guessed was impossible, and smiled back at him. "I'm glad I can do that, power or not," she said softly. "You deserve it."
She felt her head spin when he leaned close to her, but managed to retain enough common sense that when she kissed him - she wasn't that strong willed, thank you - it was only a chaste one. She brushed her hair back with one hand and rested her forehead against his. "We shouldn't - not this quick. If you - I mean if you're interested, at all, I want to go slow with you. Do this right, you know? We could watch a movie or something, just hang out for a while. Would that," she bit her lip nervously, "would that be okay?"
"Well damn, if I didn't think this was going slow" he said, completely seriously - it was, right? - but he let out a chuckle. "Sure," he smiled at her. "Sounds good."
"It's a date, then," she smiled back. "Your room or mine?"
"Depends. Do we want the big TV or guaranteed privacy?" He asked, seriously. He loved that TV.
"Well, I hate to inconvenience your roommate," she grinned, "but a bigger TV does sound like a nice bonus."
"Sam'll either deal with it or I'll, like..." He scrunched his face up in deep thought. "I don't know what I'll do to him... Kick him outta the bed for a week, or something."
"Sounds like a fair deal," she agreed, before the oddity of the phrase caught up with her and she frowned. Kick him out of bed? Were they - well, clearly they weren't together if he was going to go out with her, right?
She leaned away and started to stand - and weaved a little as the overuse of her ability caught up with her again. She sat back down with a sigh. "Okay. This time for sure," she promised herself out loud. "You can do it."
When she tried - and failed - to stand, he looked at his watch. "Speaking of which, I'd better haul ass, or he'll be doing an impression of a starfish in the middle of the bed again, and I won't be able to wake him up for love, nor money."
He dragged himself to his feet, wobbling more than he thought he would. He'd been feeling okay, for a while now, but standing up didn't agree with him. He put his bag over his shoulder - making sure he hadn't left his book or the photo behind - and held his hand out for Santana, so he could pull her to her feet.
"Well, we can't have that," Santana grinned. She reached out gingerly and took his hand, bracing herself for the pain and weariness that was going to come from getting pulled up.
He counted to three, before he yanked her to her feet, then against him, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist.
"I'll write you a note, excusing you from assembly in the morning, so you can sleep in." He tucked a few strands of loose hair, behind her ear. "Call it an apology, for being the worst mentor to ever exist... There's gotta be a reason I started out with seven students, but only have two left." He forced out a chuckle to hide that he wasn't joking. "You don't even want to know how little I'mma get paid now." Again, he pretended he was kidding.
"I'm proud of you though" he told her. "What you did earlier, took a lot of control... That said, if you ever do something that dangerous again, we're gonna have problems. We clear?" he asked, pulling her even tighter, against his body.
The world turned sideways for a second, but she managed not to stagger too badly as she leaned against him.
"Cool," she grinned as he brushed her hair back. "Sleep sounds good. But you don't need to apologize. You're a good mentor - I can't say why you have less students, but it's not because you're bad at it. And if I need to start tipping you after our sessions, just let me know," she tried to keep her tone light.
"Thanks," she blinked as the world went a little fuzzy around the edges again. "And as long as you don't make me have to do it again, I promise I won't." She let herself get pulled closer, grateful for the support to keep her standing.
"If I was on speaking terms with my employer, I'd talk to him about actually getting paid for everything else I do around here. Like medic duty and looking after the horses. I mean, if it was anyone else's job, they'd be paid for it, right?" He mused. "I think Schuester's trying to make sure I can't save up for college or something... Controlling asshole."
"I didn't make you do it in the first place," he frowned. "But I'll try to keep it under control," he promised. "You good to walk?"
"Seems fair to me," Santana agreed. Without any idea what had gone on between them, she didn't want to ask why Puck wasn't speaking to Dr. Schuester, or speculate about him keeping Puck from going to college.
"Well, I wasn't going to leave you invisible," she countered. "I - I think so," she blinked hard to clear her vision. "Are you?"
"Right? Not gonna happen though," he let out a frustrated sigh. "Maybe I should just stop doing the things he doesn't pay me for. I'm sure he'd get the point pretty fast."
"Think so," he replied, stepping away from her. He went silent for a moment, before finally making the decision to tentatively offer her his hand. Nothing was really happening between them yet, and he was worried she'd think he was being weird. "Shall we, then?"
"Not a bad idea," she mused. "I don't think it'd take long. You do a lot around here. Way more than anybody notices."
She weaved a little, but it wasn't as bad as she'd feared. "We shall," she took his hand, not thinking much of it. They were still friends, no matter what their new relationship might end up being. Friends could hold hands.
"Yeah. His ears don't seem to work too well, most of the time, but I'm sure his eyes are just fine. He'll see that things aren't magically getting done anymore," he stated. "Doubt it'll have any impact other than me getting a telling off, but it's the principle of the thing."
He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face when she took his hand. "You sure you don't wanna get a few laps of the lake in, before we go?" He smirked.
"Well, I hope it'll be a lesson for him," she bit her lip. "Not like he's going to hire anyone else to do it, is he? Seems only fair he pays you the same as he would them."
"Twenty bucks says you'd drop before me this time," she chuckled. "But still - no."
"Which one of us stood up under their own steam?" He bumped her shoulder with his, as they waked.
"Fair point," she conceded with a grin. "I would have got up eventually, though. Maybe."
"Sure," he gave an incredulous chuckle. "Would that have happened before, or after I died of old age, waiting for it to happen?"
She grinned. "Maybe after. What's your point?"
"Remind me again, why I put up with you...?" He chuckled and squeezed her hand. "Pain in the ass," he joked.
"Because I'm just that damn cute," she tossed her hair and squeezed his hand. "No one can resist."
He pretended to ponder it for a long moment. "No... No, I don't think that's it," he smirked.
"I'm pretty sure," she nodded, laughing. "Everyone loves me, this I know," she sang to the tune of the old Sunday school song, "because my mama told me so..."
He snorted out a laugh. "Ok, you're cute," he conceded.
"I know," Santana laughed. "Everyone comes around sooner or later."
"...Obnoxiously so," he added on to his previous statement, with a laugh.
"I'm taking that as a compliment anyway," she giggled. "And if you try and convince me otherwise I'll stick my fingers in my ears and go "la la la la la la" until you're done. Fair warning."
"Remind me how old you turned, last week... Was it seven or eight? I forget..." he smirked.
"See, now you've got me wondering if talking to you in a little girl voice is a turn on for you, and that's why you're asking. Would Pucky wike that?" she couldn't keep a straight face and finally burst out laughing.
"See, for a split second, I considered going along with that joke... Can't do it." He shook his head.
"Probably for the best," she snorted. "It could only have gotten more disturbing from there, really."
"I really don't see how, but I'd rather not find out either," he said, opening the front door and holding it for her.
"Oh, trust me. It can always get more disturbing." She winked at him and walked through the front door.
"You worry me, Lopez," he said seriously, following her inside.
"Honestly?" she leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, "I worry me too."
"I'm glad you at least have the good sense to be concerned," he smirked. "Crazy people don't usually tend to realize they're nuts." Puck poked his tongue out at her.
"So, tomorrow..." He said, changing the subject. "I'll text you when I manage to get rid of Trouty Mouth, and you can bring a couple of DVDs over... If you're lucky, I might make you dinner... And by that, I mean I'll sneak into the kitchen and steal some of what they're serving," he laughed.
"I didn't realize you were a psych major," she stuck her tongue out in reply.
"Sounds like a hell of a plan," Santana laughed. "Maybe I'll bring over some of the latest care package for you too. It'll be an epic feast."
"I'm full of surprises," he laughed.
"It is one hell of a plan," he nodded, smiling. "Movie on the big TV, stolen food and/or your mama's cooking and my fantastic company? You're a lucky girl." He began climbing the stairs.
"I'll bet," she winked, following him up the stairs. "And I know exactly how lucky I am," she said softly, a smile in her voice.
"Ugh... Stairs. Hurt," he announced grumpily, climbing the second flight.
"Not," Santana winced, "not fun. No. We need an elevator. Or somebody with TK."
"Right? And who's big idea was it to put the girls' accommodation on the 5th floor? But you're not allowed to complain, because it's your fault we hurt, right now," he squeezed her hand and smiled to make sure she knew he was kidding.
"Oh, really?" Santana chuckled, squeezing his hand in return. "Someday you'll have to explain why that is. For now, I'm more concerned with making it to my bed before I fall over, so you can tell me later."
"Tell ya now... s'not exactly complicated," he offered. "You could'a just not negated my ability. Then I wouldn't have had to waste my energy, so you didn't, like, pass out... or die... or something."
"Right," Santana rolled her eyes, stopping to lean against the wall for a second. "I could have just left you invisible and in pain. Very humanitarian of me."
"Well I wasn't in pain after the first time," he argued. "And I'll probably just fade out once I run out of distractions, anyway," he shrugged.
"See, now you're just trying to make me worry. Are you going to have enough distractions in your room? Because I'll stay there and just keep doing this if I have to."
"Am not. Just keeping things firmly in the realm of reality." He explained with a frown. "You can't distract me forever, babe. Sammy might still be awake, to talk to for a bit," he lied, trying to make her feel better. He knew Sam would be out like a light by now. He'd gotten up stupidly early that morning.
"Alright," Santana bit her lip. "I hate to leave you if he ends up not being awake, though."
"I'll be ok. When - if - I fade out, I'll manage. It doesn't really scare me anymore," he told her. "And I'm getting used to the pain too, I think," he offered a small smile.
She wasn't sure what to say to that. It wasn't exactly reassuring. The best she could manage was a noncommittal sound and a little nod.
"Come on," he said, tugging her along, as they continued their journey up the last few flights of stairs. "I know you're not gonna stop stressing about it unless I come hang with you, so lets skip the frowning, and worried sighing, yeah? You win," he rolled his eyes, but then brought her hand up to his face and kissed her knuckles.
"Thank you," Santana smiled, relieved. "I really do appreciate that." She grinned when he kissed her hand, touched by the gesture.
"You're very welcome," he smiled. "I don't want you to worry. Besides," he confessed. "I lied. I'm 99.9% certain that Sammy's sprawled out, snoring away, as we speak."
"Thank God," he said when they reached the top of the stairs.
"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad. I'll actually be able to sleep if I know you're okay." She doubled over at the top of the stairs, trying to catch her breath. "Seconded," she wheezed.
"Come on," he kept on pulling her along, really wanting to just lay down. "We'll rest when we're inside. Besides, I don't particularly wanna get caught up here" he pointed out.
"No, probably not," Santana agreed, limping the rest of the way to the room as he pulled her along. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, staggering toward the bed. "Close," she gestured. "Please."
He nodded. "It would be bad news. Even in this half assed attempt at a school," he replied, shutting the door behind them.
Santana mumbled a reply, essentially falling face first onto her bed. "Sorry," she muttered, getting up again and gesturing to her bed. "Would you rather take this one?"
He looked at her in confusion for a moment, before realizing what she was getting at. "Nah, s'cool," he shook his head. "How overly-sensitive do you think I am?" Puck asked with a tired laugh, dumping his bag and kicking off his shoes.
He looked over at what was Quinn's bed. There was none of her stuff on the table next to it, like there used to be. It looked like it could have been any girl's - the lilac sheets she'd put on it being the only indicator that she'd slept there at all. He could handle that.
"I mean I understand you wanting to get me in your bed and everything, but don't you think that's a bit soon? We should like, go out on a date first," he smirked.
She was going to protest, say something quick-witted - but she was too tired for that. So she just stuck her tongue out and fell back into her bed fully clothed. "Quiet," she mumbled. "Sleep now."
So much for distraction. I'd probably have had better luck with Sam. "Ok," he said quietly. "Have good dreams," he instructed, taking his book from his bag and putting it on the desk. He switched the reading lamp on and switched the main light off, before sitting down in the desk chair.
"Sorry," she muttered, turning over so she was on her side. "I was only half-serious." She looked at him, illuminated by the reading lamp, and raised an eyebrow. "Call of the Wild? Interesting choice."
He shrugged. "You're tired. It's fine. I stopped needing a baby-sitter quite some time ago... I think it was some time last month," he joked.
He looked at the cover of the book, as if to confirm that was in fact what he was reading. Turns out, it was. Imagine that. "Yeah, s'my favorite. I must have read this book fifty times," he exaggerated. He rubbed the back of his neck, self consciously, embarrassed about his confession.
"Sounds about right," Santana agreed. "But I'm not too tired to stay up for a while."
"I don't think I ever have," she admitted. "Read the synopsis on Wikipedia once when I had to bs about it for a paper, but that's about the closest I've come. What makes it your favorite?"
"You're so funny, I forgot to laugh," he poked his tongue out.
"You bs in papers about having read shit like Shakespeare, not The Call of the Wild," he scoffed. "Just... I dunno. I sort of relate to a lot of the themes it brings up. Especially the whole being thrown from one environment into a completely different one and becoming so immersed in the new place that the old one seems like another life? Like Buck was a domesticated dog, but he eventually becomes the leader of the wolf pack, right?" That's me.
"See? You're just proving my point," she chuckled.
"I like Shakespeare," she stuck her tongue out. "And I can see why you like it," a smile turned up the corner of her mouth. "It sounds a lot like the life story of someone I know. Minus the whole, being a dog thing."
"I take back what I said before, about you being cute," he chuckled.
"Shakespeare's for pretentious dullards who want other people to think they're smart," he smirked. "I dunno... It's not like I don't get called a dog, with alarming regularity," he laughed.
"Aww," Santana pouted. "I'll have to try harder."
"Lit doesn't get any better than Romeo and Juliet. Just saying. 'What light, through yonder window breaks?' It's English like it's meant to be, all fancy and shit. But I'm sure your book's good too," she teased. "And I don't think a horn dog counts as being called a dog."
"That shit's not English. It's gibberish... Just saying," he retorted. "Purple prose doesn't necessarily mean good writing. Dude never wrote a single line of a play that didn't sound like fucking poetry. Not one. What's the point? People don't talk like that. Never did."
"Woof!" was all he said in response to the last part.
"The poetry is the point," Santana laughed. "And it's not purple prose. You're making sound like fucking Twilight or something. There's beauty in his writing, because it's more than just conversation. It's the language idealized, made into something more."
"Arf," she shot back with a chuckle.
"You're officially a pretencious dullard, Lopez," he announced. "I don't think I can associate with you anymore... I'm scared that the stench of literary hipsterism might not wash off. And yes, that is a word," he confirmed with a laugh.
"I feel the urge to howl at you, but I'm pretty sure someone'd hear me, and all hell would break loose," he said. "I can't believe I thought it was a good idea to come here. I mean, you're my student, it's totally not appropriate for me to be in your room all night... I mean, I really should not be rooming with Sam, either. And definitely not in the same bed, especially... considering. I bet Doc's just, I dunno, forgotten to move him or something... Sorry. I'm rambling. I'll shut up." He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"If I'm a hipster, I'm going to need those big black glasses," Santana mused. "Where can I get a pair of those?"
"Yeah, that might not be the best idea," she chuckled. "And don't worry about it - it's not like you're a teacher, kind of teacher. Not like you're that Ryerson guy I've heard so much about. You're a tutor. And you're, what, two years older than me? I don't think you're in a position where you're taking advantage of me - or Sam, for that matter - and we're both fully clothed anyway. Don't stress about it. I dragged you up here, so I take full responsibility."
"You mean like these?" He picked his own reading glasses up off the desk and put them on his face, with a chuckle. "In my defense, I wear them ironically."
"I am though," he frowned. "I'm in exactly the same position of authority as Ryerson. I only seem less creepy than that freak because I'm so much younger than him, but really, I'm no different. I pretty much order you around, every single day, and nine times out of ten, you do what you're told. I have power of you, and Sam... Oh God, Sam! He must hate me... You have no idea how inappropriately I've been behaving, where he's concerned... Not cool..."
He faded out - deliberately this time - not wanting her to look at him right then. He felt like some kind of sicko. Just because nobody told him "no", didn't make it ok.
"Such a hipster," she shook her head with a chuckle.
"Quit it," she snapped. "Don't make me fade you back in, because you know I will. It's not the same thing. You can't fail us, and we follow your orders because we want to be better at what we do, not because you're some kind of authority figure we can't say no to. And if Sam felt threatened or forced into anything by you, he'd have told the doc, or somebody. Just quit it."
He faded back in, afraid that she'd use her power again. "Fine," he said, putting his book back down. He didn't think she really believed what she'd just said, but he wasn't going to argue.
"Don't just 'fine' me," she rolled her eyes. "I'll sit here and repeat myself all night until you believe me, you know that, right?"
"How about okay? That better?" Puck shot back.
He sighed in frustration. "Sorry, I've just had a really bad week, and I'm exhausted, but my brain won't shut up, for five fucking minutes, and it's making me dwell on shit that I wouldn't normally even think about. I can't help it."
Santana recoiled a little at the venom in his words, but she didn't take it personally. She knew that the Quinn thing alone must be taking its toll on him, never mind whatever else he had going on. She didn't say anything, just got up and walked over to stand behind the chair. She cracked her knuckles and went to work, massaging his neck as best she could.
He exhaled audibly and willed himself to relax, closing his eyes and letting his head roll forward. He was surprised to find that she was actually pretty good at this, most people were afraid to make it hurt a little, really dig in like it was usually necessary to get the knots out.
"Mmm... That feels good," he admitted after a few moments.
"I got a lot of practice at home," Santana smiled. "My mama gets really bad headaches, and sometimes this helps her. When I was home for the summer she made me give her one of these almost every day."
"I can see why," he told her, letting out a quiet laugh. "I could totally get used to this."
"Well, she repays me with her cooking," Santana smirked. "What are you offering?"
He smirked, even though she couldn't see his face. "I dunno... What have I got that you want?"
"Loaded question," she chuckled softly, still working at his neck.
"Why, whatever do you mean?" He joked.
"As if you didn't know," she smirked. "Smart-ass."
He zoned out for a moment, finally starting to feel some of the tension in his body, ebbing away. "Mmm? What? Did you just say something about my ass?" He asked, confused.
"Why don't you lay down before you hurt yourself?" she smiled, kissing the top of his head. "Try and get some sleep?"
He let out a quiet groan of disappointment when she stopped working on his shoulders, but reached back and took her hand. "Will you come lay down with me?" He pulled her around in front of him, so he could look at her pleadingly. "Please? I promise to keep my hands to myself. I've gotten real good at it," he sounded almost proud of that accomplishment, and he was. Almost three weeks of sharing a bed with one of the hottest guys he'd ever set eyes on, and barely an incident. It really was quite the achievement.
It would be the first time she'd been in bed with a boy since she wore footie pajamas, but they were both fully clothed. At least, that's how she tried to rationalize it when she nodded and gave him her best smile. "Sure," she agreed. "C'mon." She pulled him up and toward Quinn's bed.
Somehow, the fact that she'd agreed so easily made him feel pathetic, like she pitied him so much, that it wasn't a big deal for her to humor him. But he was tired, and he needed this. He'd not had to deal with a night alone, since his world had fallen down around his ears, a week ago, and he was grateful that she wasn't making him do it now.
He followed her to the bed, lifted the covers and flopped down in it. As he lay there, he noticed the familiar smell of Quinn's perfume. For a long moment, his tired brain couldn't piece together where it was coming from. The sheets! Why didn't I think of that? He did his best to ignore the pit in his stomach, giving Santana a weak smile and gesturing for her to join him.
She saw the uncomfortable expression on his face, and imagined it was something to do with laying in Quinn's bed, but it was too late to do anything about that now. She curled up beside him and softly whispered "goodnight," hoping that he'd be able to sleep.
"Goodnight," he replied, hesitating for a few seconds before pulling her close and placing a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you," he whispered, before falling straight into blissful oblivion, his lips still pressed against her skin.