Chapter Text
“I’m Yours” – The Script {www[dot]youtube[.]com/watch?v=wtVbumrFmzA}
A lot of things can happen in 10 years. A baby grows into a child – a pre-teen, even. It walks and talks and goes to school and makes friends and becomes an actual person. An oak tree grows 15 feet in 10 years. A television show that lasts 10 years is considered to be a huge success, a veteran by current standards. Hell, anymore a marriage that lasts 10 years is practically a miracle. Ten years is a long time – a decade, a generation, a lifetime by some standards.
For Noah Puckerman, 10 years meant a high school graduation, four jobs and zero careers, a short-lived engagement to the wrongest of girls, and watching his little sister gradate high school, then college, and then sneak off for a quickie wedding and what looked to be a not-so-quickie marriage. He hated to say it, one ‘cause he was more than a little leery of that whole ‘romance/soul mates’ thing, and two ‘cause he wanted to continue thinking of his little sister as just that, but the way Sarah and Aaron looked at each other and spoke to and about each other and just generally were when they were around one another pointed toward babies and grandbabies and silver and golden and maybe even platinum anniversaries (they reminded him of his Grandpa Joe and Nana Connie, and it was just really sweet, even though he would never, ever say that out loud).
Those 10 years meant just kind of floating through, and bouncing from one project or scheme or grand idea to another and never really going anywhere with any of them. They meant cursing Lima, Ohio and swearing that one day he was going to get out of the hellhole town that all but defined him but never actually doing anything about it. Until he did.
Puck woke up on his 28th birthday and decided he was done. He was done jumping from one job he hated to another that he hated just as much, if not more. He was done walking into the grocery store or the dentist’s office or any restaurant worth eating in and running into an ex (and he uses that term loosely, in many cases) who hated him and stared daggers at him, yet inevitably managed to flirt with him before he got away. He was done seeing the looks of pity the old biddies at temple shot his mom every Saturday morning when they walked in together. In short, he was done being a Lima Loser.
He knew his mom would be sad to see him go; he was really the only family she had left around since Aaron got that job in Indianapolis and Sarah moved away, but he also knew how sad it made her to see him living the life that he was. She spent his entire childhood trying to teach him how not to be his father, and he was finally going to step out of Eli Puckerman’s shadow. His ma would understand that, even if it meant picking up and leaving Lima, and everything about it, behind.
He quit his job without so much as a two-day, let alone a two-week notice. He didn’t figure it really mattered, since he had absolutely no intention of ever unloading stock and cleaning back rooms again, at Best Buy or anywhere else. He packed everything that would fit into his two suitcases and Grandpa Joe’s old Army foot locker and threw them into the back of his truck, then sold everything else for $200 to the kid who was taking over the lease on his apartment. He spent his last night in Lima in his old room just down the hall from his ma, then got up the next morning, kissed her goodbye, and climbed into the truck with his guitar occupying the passenger seat. When she asked him where he was going, he lifted one shoulder and answered, “Dunno. Hadn’t really thought about it. New York, maybe.” A couple silent tears slid down her face, but she nodded and gave him a small smile, like maybe she knew something he didn’t, or maybe she just expected that all along.
To be honest, he really hadn’t thought about where he was going before his mother asked, but as soon as the words came out of his mouth, he figured New York was as good a place as any to start over. It didn’t matter that once he got there he had no more idea what he was going to do than when he left.
When he pulled into the city, he decided that, for one night, that didn’t really matter. He drove in what felt like circles until he finally saw a motel that looked like a balance somewhere between what he could really afford and somewhere a civilized human being would choose to stay. He didn’t care that the whole room, bathroom included, was about the size of the walk-in pantry in his ma’s kitchen. It seemed clean enough – it certainly didn’t smell disgusting, anyway – and he didn’t hear any gunshots or an alarming abundance of sirens, so he figured the place was good enough for him, for a little while, anyway.
~.~
Puck was on the sidewalk by 8 a.m. the next day. Regardless of how it may have seemed in high school – he just really thought school was for chumps, okay? – Noah Puckerman was not afraid of hard work. And he knew there was no way he was going to last more than a week in New York otherwise. So because going back to Lima was just not an option, he was determined to find a job. That day, if he played his cards right.
Later, at lunch, thinking things through over what had to be the best hot pastrami on rye ever made, Puck shook his head and wondered why people complained so much about the economy. He’d been in the city for about 14 hours, job hunting for about four, and he’d already landed not one, but two jobs. Okay, so the two were kind of connected, but whatever.
The third place he’d walked into after getting off the subway at Times Square (because hell, why not, right?) was a random little music store called ‘The Band House.’ When the clerk, some high school punk who looked like he wouldn’t know a bass from a bass drum, went to get the manager, Puck picked up one of the demo acoustic guitars and, without thinking or planning, started to play.
“Neil Diamond. A classic.”
Puck’s head jerked up from the instrument when he heard the manager, a small man who looked to be at least in his 60s, speak to him. “A musical Jewish icon,” he replied with a smirk. “Sir,” he added quickly, lifting the leather strap off his shoulder and replacing the guitar on its stand to extend a hand to the older man.
“So, what can I do for you son? You in the market?”
“Nah, I got my own baby. I-I was actually kind of hoping there was something I could do for you.” Puck squared his shoulders and looked at the man straight-on, projecting his best honest, genuine image. “I just got into town – sir,” he coughed a little into his fist and tried his best to make it look like he wasn’t completely uncomfortable using the term of respect, “and I could really use a job. I love music, and I only play guitar and piano, and bass and drums a little -,”
“Only, huh?” The older man chuckled.
Puck continued, ignoring the interruption, since that seemed to be the safest course of action, in terms of like, respect and politeness, or whatever, “-but I’m pretty sure I could answer any question about anything in here.”
“Let me get this straight,” the manager crossed his arms over his chest and leveled Puck with a questioning look, “you’re brand new to town,” Puck nodded, “and you walk in here, pick up one of my cheapo display models and play ‘Sweet Caroline’ like, well,” the man laughed lightly, “like no one your age should be able to, and you want me to hire you to sell guitars you’d probably give your left arm to play to spoiled Manhattanites who’ll go home, break the strings after a day and never pick ‘em up again?”
“Umm,” Puck rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “yes?”
The manager let his head fall back and let out a full belly laugh. “At least you’re honest. Alright kid -,”
“Uh, I’m 28, sir.”
“Right, you gotta job, under two circumstances, kid,” he looked back at Puck, amused, as Puck nodded his head enthusiastically, “one, don’t ever, ever call me sir again. You think I’m old or something?” Puck’s eyes widened as he shook his head, “Alright then, I’m Abe. And you are?”
“Noah Puckerman. Puck, if that’s alright with you.”
“Whatever,” Abe shrugged. “Second condition, you open every weekday, six to two. Take about an hour or so break, then come back and give lessons. I know it makes for a long day, but trust me, it’ll be worth it. You’ll make more money givin’ private lessons for three hours a day than you’ll ever get outta me, but ya gotta work for me too, ‘cause the prick at the insurance agency says I can only let full-time employees give lessons here on account of the liability, or whatever, and those lessons bring me a lotta business too, so I’d like to keep ‘em around. You don’t even have to give me a cut of what you make, just, ya know, encourage ‘em to open their wallets a little bit wider while they’re here. All that sound doable, kid?”
“Y-yes – yeah! That sounds awesome.” If Puck had ever been the hugging type, he was pretty sure he would have hugged Abe so hard he might have broken a few bones. Seriously, dude was old.
You touch these tired eyes of mine
And map my face out line by line
And somehow growing old feels fine
I listen close for I'm not smart
You wrap your thoughts in works of art
And they're hanging on the walls of my heart
When he finished his lunch, Puck left the deli and decided to go looking. He wasn’t looking for anything, exactly. It was just that he figured he might as well get a little familiar with his new neighborhood while he had the time. And okay, it wasn’t exactly like he lived there. Yet. But that’s where he would be working, and he figured, eventually, it’s where he’d be living, too. Besides, the job hunt had taken a lot less time than expected, so he had a free afternoon in front of him. And the idea of going back to his shitty motel, with its tiny room and three television channels, was just depressing.
So, he walked. He walked from the deli back toward The Band House, just to make sure he had his bearings. Then, he walked back toward Times Square, laying out the route that would take him to work every morning. At least, it would until he found a place of his own. When he got there, he just stood for a minute, taking all in. He didn’t want to be, like, all touristy, or anything, but he hadn’t taken the time that morning to really let it soak in, and no matter how much he tried to play it off, he knew it was a big deal.
After a few minutes had passed and he felt he was about to cross the line from appreciating his new circumstances to, like, gawking, he started walking again. He had no particular destination in mind, so he just turned and took off, ending up on 42nd Street. It didn’t take him long to realize he had walked smack into the Theater District. The realization brought a smile to his lips as his mind involuntarily conjured up images of long, dark waves of hair and wide, shiny, chocolate-colored eyes. He laughed at himself when his own eyes started to play a trick on him, transforming the chick on the Mamma Mia! poster on the side of the bus stop into the same pint-sized ball of passion and energy that he’d just been remembering. Only, the longer he looked, the more it became clear to him that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. That really was the same hair. Those were the same eyes. Those were the same lips and the same cute little hands and the same nose. Definitely the same nose. And thank God for that.
It wasn’t that the poster itself surprised him. In fact, he would have been shocked to learn that there wasn’t a Broadway poster somewhere with her face or name on it. He just wasn’t expecting to see it – to see her – so soon after getting into the city. He also wasn’t expecting the way it made him feel. He expected to feel something, of course. He figured he’d be kinda nostalgic, and definitely a little turned on (she’d been hot 10 years ago, no reason to think that woulda changed by now), but the last thing he had counted on was homesickness. That wasn’t to say he missed Lima. Hell no! He’d been outta that shit town just over 24 hours, and already they’d been the best 24 hours of his life. But there was just this feeling she stirred in him, a feeling he’d always gotten with her, of contentment and warmth and just belonging. He knew that the hollow feeling in his stomach and chest was directly linked to the fact that he had been without that feeling of belonging, that feeling of home, for about 10 years. And once the homesickness washed over him, he had to wonder how he had even made it through the last 10 years without her there to push him along. And it wasn’t like he’d spent all that time like, wallowing, or whatever. To be honest, he rarely even thought of her unless someone brought her up. But now, seeing her face again, even in a photograph and buried under stage make-up, in her city, made him feel like he needed to see her for real. He needed to talk to her and have her tell him that she believed in him and that he was never a Lima Loser, even if it had taken him 10 years to figure it out himself. He didn’t really know why, but he needed her to tell him that he was doing the right thing and that he wasn’t going to fall on his face. He needed the girl who cornered him in the choir room and gave him a very loud, very angry, 15-minute lecture about how he could – he would – be something amazing one day when he made that comment about being dead or in jail in response to Mr. Schue’s ‘where will you be in 2030?’ question; the same girl who nearly tackled him off the stage a couple weeks later when it was just the two of them left in the auditorium after he admitted that he really did care about graduating.
Puck scanned the poster until his eyes landed on the words ‘New Amsterdam Theater.’ There was no address, but he figured t couldn’t be that hard to find, considering that every way he looked he saw theaters. It took him about an hour (he had doubled back a couple times and no way was he going to ask an actual New Yorker for directions and prove just how new he was) but almost randomly, he found himself standing directly in front of her theater.
“Hey.” The kid in the box office jumped and looked up from the book he was reading when Puck spoke to him. “Yeah, I uh …” he shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “I never done this before, so I don’t know if you gotta like, buy tickets way in advance, or …”
“You alone?”
“Huh?”
“We’ve got about 10 empty seats left for tonight, but they’re all singles.”
“Yeah. It’s just me.” Puck half-way expected the kid to act surprised or give him a once-over or something – he certainly would have given a second look to someone who looked like him buying theater tickets for just himself – but the guy only nodded and tapped away at the keyboard in front of him. He guessed it was New York, after all. Kid had probably seen way weirder shit. “Hey, uhh … Rachel Berry is gonna be performin’ tonight, right? I mean, I saw her name on the sign, I just wanted to make sure.”
The kid snorted a little as he chuckled at Puck’s question. “Oh yeah. She’ll be out there. They say the worst job on Broadway right now is to be Rachel Berry’s understudy. Director had to actually ban her from the theater for three days when she twisted her ankle in rehearsal and it swelled up to the size of a softball. Baseball,” he corrected himself, leaning closer to the glass and looking at Puck as if he were sharing insider information. “She’s really tiny to begin with.” He sat back in his chair almost smugly and held out his hand expectantly.
Puck smiled as he handed over his debit card, and the kid grinned back proudly, so Puck knew he thought he had succeeded in impressing a Rachel Berry fan. Puck was really smiling because it made him happy to be reminded that, if nothing else, some things never changed. “And, is there like, any way I could see her before or after the show?”
“Wouldn’ta pegged you to stagedoor,” the teen snickered.
“Huh?” Puck didn’t mean to like, sneer, or whatever, but he figured he must have, if the way the kid stiffened and straightened his face was any indication.
“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Umm, yeah, if you wait by the side door after the show, a lot of the actors come out and sign autographs and stuff. Miss Berry does it pretty much every night. Hey,” he stopped, the hand holding Puck’s card and the ticket for the play paused halfway to the opening in the glass, “you’re not some crazy stalker psycho or something, are you? If Miss Berry turns up like, floating in the Hudson next week or something, I will remember what you look like.”
Puck couldn’t help but laugh at the kid’s delayed, and misplaced, worry and his ludicrous almost-threat.
“Don’t worry. I’m cool.”
The young man behind the window gave him one last look, his eyes traveling critically from Puck’s head to his feet, before finally approving, if the fact that he handed over his ticket and card was any indication. Puck smirked when he thought about the mohawk that used to be his trademark and how it would have really thrown the kid for a loop.
“Well,” the kid was smiling again, no doubt ready to impart more Rachel Berry wisdom. “If you’re going to bring flowers, Miss Berry likes -,”
“Lilies. I know.” Puck grinned when the kid’s face shifted from proud and almost smug to slightly disappointed. “Thanks though. For everything,” he lifted the hand holding the ticket as he backed away from the window.
~.~
Puck was really glad he was wearing his job hunting clothes – his lone pair of khakis and the only button-down shirt he owned that wasn’t plaid – because it meant he hadn’t had to go back to his crappy motel room and change for the show. He still felt a little underdressed compared to some of the people around him, but he also saw some people who looked a little worse off than he did, so he figured he was doing okay.
When the show ended, he hung around in his seat while the rest of the audience cleared out. He told himself that he was just waiting because he didn’t want to fight the crowd and because he knew Rachel wouldn’t be out yet anyway, but there was a part of him, a tiny little part that he tried really hard to ignore, that was just kind of - stuck. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he’d kinda had the breath knocked out of him a little. Rachel had always been an amazing singer, there were no surprises there. And he knew she was a talented actress as well. He just wasn’t quite prepared for the presence she would have. The Rachel Berry he had just spent two and a half hours watching owned that theater and everyone in it. She was nothing like the lonely, insecure girl he used to throw slushies at. She did bear some resemblance to the confident, determined young woman he had become friends with and graduated high school with, but this new, fully grown Rachel put even her to shame.
When the theater was empty save for the ushers making their way up the aisles, Puck finally got up to leave. Part of him felt silly as he made his way out to the side exit to wait with the middle-aged women and obviously gay men, but another part reminded him that he was badass. If anyone could make it cool to stagedoor (and yeah, he just got the stupid term that the kid at the box office used), it was Puck. Besides, he wasn’t just some starstruck fanboy (although yeah, he did feel just a little starstruck) trying to get a glimpse at Broadway star Rachel Berry. He was Puck, and he just wanted to say hey to his old pal Berry. Maybe he brought a bouquet of those big pink and white lilies that look like stars. Just a friendly gesture – no big.
Puck positioned himself near the end of the line, hoping he might get more of a chance to actually, like, talk to her that way. Even though he couldn’t see her through the crowd (‘cause she certainly hadn’t gotten any taller in the past 10 years), he knew when Rachel emerged from the theater. The low murmur of the fans rose to a dull roar as Rachel Berry made her way down the line, signing autographs and accepting flowers and other gifts before passing them off to the (very large) man at her side.
By the time she had made it halfway down the line, Rachel’s head pretty much stayed down, her eyes darting up to look through her lashes with a smile as she made a few seconds’ worth of small talk with each fan while scrawling her name across the playbills. When she reached Puck, about six people from the end of the line, she kept her eyes on the playbill he handed her as the pen flowed over the paper.
“And who should I make it out to?” She was just finishing up her signature (metaphorical) star as she asked the question and hadn’t yet looked up from the paper.
“Just write, ‘To the badass Puckerone.’”
The pen jerked to a halt and Rachel’s eyes flew to Puck’s face just before the pen fell out of her hands altogether.
“Noah!”
At that moment, Puck thanked God for his quick reflexes. Rachel launched herself at him, seemingly oblivious to the crowd around them and the fact that she still had fans awaiting her attention.
“When … How … Why …” Puck laughed as Rachel pushed herself away from him, shaking her head and struggling to find the words she wanted. Finally, she took a step back and disentangled her arms from his, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her summer dress. “What brings you here, Noah?”
He just shrugged as he presented the bouquet that he only barely managed to keep her from crushing when she flew at him. “I was in the neighborhood,” he smirked.
Rachel took the flowers from him and buried her nose in one before speaking again. “Are you busy? I mean, do you have some time?”
“For you babe, I got all the time in the world.” It was dark, so he couldn’t be positive, but he was pretty sure he saw her blush.
“Wait for me outside the box office. Don’t. Go. Anywhere.” She punctuated each word with a quick poke to his chest. He backed out of the crowd, offering her a mock salute, and walked back toward the front of the building. He couldn’t help but smirk when he glanced back over his shoulder to see that, unlike all the others, which had been quickly handed off, the bouquet he had given Rachel was cradled in her left arm as she signed autographs with her right.
Puck smiled when Rachel came skipping – literally – around the corner, flowers still in hand. “You were amazing.” He spoke close to her ear when she threw her arms around his neck for another, much gentler hug. When she pulled back, he could see the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes. “Hey,” he tilted her face up, palm gently cupping her chin, and frowned a little as he studied her expression, “you okay?”
“No,” she laughed a little and swiped at her eyes with her free hand. “I mean, yes, I’m just …” she reached out and squeezed his bicep. “It’s just really great to see you.” She smiled almost hesitantly, then brightened. “I know you said you have time, but how much? I mean, have you eaten? We could grab a late dinner, if you want. Or there’s a great little café just a couple blocks away. They have wonderful coffee, and they even have some vegan-friendly pie options. Oh!” she said suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to her, “Maybe you would prefer drinks. I mean, I don’t drink a lot but -,”
“Coffee and pie is fine,” he cut her off with a grin.
“Okay,” she smiled back at him sheepishly. “Well, I have a vase in my dressing room. Let me just take care of these,” she held the flowers out to him, “then we’ll be on our way. I’ll be sure to take them home tomorrow.” She fingered a petal absent-mindedly. “They’ll look lovely in my living room. They’re perfect for the end table by the window.” Puck nodded and started to fall into step with her but she stopped him with a hand to his forearm. “No need. You stay here; I’ll be right back.”
“But,” he frowned at her as she continued to walk away.
“No, it’s fine, really. Marcus, one of the security guards, always hangs around by the door until everyone is gone, and I know Linda hasn’t left yet.”
~.~
“No way, I don’t believe it. You’re gettin’ swindled Rach, cause there is no way that pie is vegan.” Puck nearly moaned as he took another bite of Rachel’s banana crème pie. (And if it really was vegan, which, no way in hell, how could they call it banana crème?)
“I promise.” She grinned smugly back at him. “I’ve even seen the dairy substitute myself. I was as skeptical as you are the first time.”
Puck didn’t continue to argue, but he did push his own slice of chocolate pie aside when she gently nudged the rest of her banana crème toward him.
“I meant it before, ya know,” Puck spoke around his last mouthful of Rachel’s pie. “You really were amazing.” She smiled brightly at him. “You look amazing, too.” Rachel blushed furiously and shook her head a little, ducking it and taking a sip of her coffee. “Seriously. Prob’ly better right now than you did in the show, even. I mean, without the costume and make-up and everything – just you.”
“Thank you, Noah.” Rachel was still blushing, but she lifted her eyes to meet his again. “You look quite good yourself.” Her eyes roamed over his face then down to study his chest and arms.
Puck snorted. “Right. Look Rach, I know you’re like, the queen of good manners or whatever, but let’s get real here. You look just the same as the last time I saw ya. Hell prob’ly better, if that’s possible. I look old.”
“Noah,” she sighed and shook her head, “you’re 28.”
“I know how old I am. I said I look old. You’re just a few months behind me, and your face is flawless. I. Look. Old.” He punctuated the statement by scrubbing a hand over his face as if to emphasize the creases beginning to form.
“Noah, look at me,” Rachel’s right hand crossed the distance between them, pulling his hand away from his face and pinning it to the table as her left hand lifted to his forehead, fingertips just skimming the faint lines they found there. “You don’t look old. You look like you’ve lived.” Her hand fell a bit and her fingers ghosted over the slight crow’s feet at the corner of his right eye. “You look like you’ve had to work and scrape for everything you’ve gotten.” His eyes fell closed as she dropped her hand again to let her thumb outline his lips and trace over the small, fresh wrinkles that were no doubt a result of the constant smirk he had worn for as long as either of them could remember. “You look like you’ve spent your whole life proving people wrong and fighting for what you deserve.” She smiled, letting her hand linger by his mouth. “But you don’t look old. You look strong, and brave, and wonderful.”
Puck cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure how to react to what she had said, or to the fact that she was still touching him. So, he didn’t. He opened his eyes and sat stock-still, staring at an invisible spot on the table between them. After a few seconds, when she moved her hand and his eyes were drawn to the movement, he snapped out of it, his eyes focusing on her left hand until it disappeared under the table. “So … Berry. Is that like, a stage name?”
“No.” She shot him a small smile. “Legal. Finn and I broke up a couple years after graduation. It was amicable, thankfully, but a separation nonetheless.”
He knew that. It wasn’t hard to figure out when Finn had shown back up in Lima, alone, after being in New York for only two years. But eight years is a long time. Puck didn’t think it was unreasonable to believe that she could have found someone new to share her life and her name with in that time.
“And since then, well,” she shrugged as if it was really no big deal to her one way or the other, though that was hard for him to believe. “I just haven’t been that close to anyone. Romantically, I mean. And what about you, Noah, do you have a wife waiting for you back in Lima? I mean, I would hope if you do have one that you haven’t left her back in a hotel room for the past several hours.”
The defensive part of him wanted to ask why she automatically assumed he still lived in Lima, but then he remembered that, while he rarely spoke to them, he saw her dads most Saturdays at temple. The smart ass part of him wanted to point out that if he had brought a wife with him to New York, leaving her in a hotel while he came to Rachel’s show probably wouldn’t be any worse than holding her hand across a cool metal diner table, which he had been doing for the past several minutes. But he thought if he mentioned it, she might pull away, and he had to admit that he liked the way it felt to have her little hand resting on top of his.
“Nah. Haven’t taken that leap. Kinda came close once,” he lifted one shoulder, hoping to convince her that he wasn’t upset about it and didn’t need, like, consoling or whatever. “But it fell through before we got all the way.”
“I’m sorry, Noah.” Rachel furrowed her brows and squeezed his fingers a little in her own. “I don’t want to pry, of course, but if you want to talk about it, I hope you’ll remember that I’m a very good listener.”
He did remember. “Not much to talk about, really. It was a few years ago. We’d been dating for a few months, sure as hell wasn’t true love or soul mate material or nothin’.” He scoffed a little. “Then we had a scare. Ya know, the Beth kind,” he added when her head tilted a little to one side. “I couldn’t do that shit again, so I convinced myself we’d be good together eventually and that it was all worth it for the baby I thought was in her belly. Bought a ring and everything.” He chuckled darkly. “But then, there was no baby after all. I mean,” he added quickly when Rachel gasped, “she didn’t like, Terri Schuester me or anything. It only lasted a couple months, maybe not even that, then she tried to tell me she lost it, but she couldn’t pull that one off. So then I lost it and said some pretty shitty things, even under the circumstances, and we haven’t spoken since. Kept the ring in my glove box for a good six months ‘till one day I was in Cleveland seein’ some bands and I drove over Lake Erie just to throw the damn thing in.”
Puck was used to getting all kinds of reactions at that point in the story. There was the obvious pity that was to be expected in such a case. There was more than a little judgment for his behavior in the whole thing. And he had seen pretty much every emotion between the two at least once.
Rachel only nodded. “That sounds very cathartic. Expensive, but cathartic. And sometimes the monetary cost is well worth the emotional payoff. So,” she smiled brightly, “how long are you in town? I mean, I can take you around, show you some of my favorite places, if you would like. Is your hotel near here?”
Puck relaxed into the booth. Telling people that story never really left him feeling all that great, but then, Rachel Berry wasn’t exactly ‘people.’ At least, not in the common, overly general sense of the word. And he didn’t know how she knew exactly when to change the subject, but the change was very welcome. “Uhh … Indefinitely, sounds cool – if you’re up to it – and not really.” He watched her eyes roll back a little as she nodded her head, ticking off his answers and matching them to her questions in her mind.
“Okay,” she drawled, once she had the information straight in her head, “I’m not sure what ‘indefinitely’ means, of course I’m up to it – I would love to spend some time showing you around my city – and where is ‘not really’?”
Puck smirked. “’Indefinitely’ means I don’t really plan on leavin’, it’d be pretty awesome to have somebody who knows what they’re doin’ give me some pointers, and the Bronx, I think.”
Rachel’s breath left her in a huff. “Can we speak in complete sentences now? I have far too much to say to that to continue this silliness.”
Puck grinned and ducked his head a bit before nodding for her to continue.
“Alright then. Well, I am really quite curious to know what brings you here indefinitely, possibly even permanently, but I’ll save those questions for later. And since that is the case, and I believe you will need my assistance even more than I had previously thought, I now proclaim myself to be your official guide to all things New York. With me on your side, it will be no time at all before you’re being mistaken for a real New Yorker.” Rachel wrinkled her nose a bit, “Except for your accent. But I wouldn’t want that to change. Your voice is lovely as it is, singing and otherwise.” Puck smirked at the blush that crept up her neck and over her face. “And finally, no. You’re not staying in the Bronx.”
“Umm, yeah, I’m pretty sure I am.” He chuckled and nodded. “I mean, I know I’m the new guy in your city, but you don’t even know where the motel is. I think I might know a bit more about this one than you do.”
“Of course,” she waved her left hand flippantly, the right one making no move to leave its resting place atop his, “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. What I meant was, starting tonight, that is no longer where you’re staying. Especially now that you have said the word ‘motel.’” He had to grin at her dramatic little shudder. “It’s probably even worse than what I was imagining.”
“Look Rach, I’m not broke, exactly. I mean, I didn’t leave Ohio with empty pockets or anything, but I didn’t know how long it was gonna take me to find a job, and even though I found one today, I got no clue how long it will take me to find a place to actually live. So, this place is basically clean, and as far as I can tell, it’s safe enough, so as much as I appreciate your offer to show me to some nice, 5-star place or whatever, it just makes more sense for me to stay where I am.” Puck squirmed a little in his seat. It wasn’t easy for him to show weakness or admit vulnerability or whatever the hell it was he just did with that little speech.
“Oh Noah,” Rachel sighed and shook her head a little, her eyes fluttering closed for a second before she continued, “I should not find myself even a little surprised that you automatically jumped to the defensive. But that isn’t what I was suggesting, at all. I’m not one to spend someone else’s money. What I was actually suggesting,” her fingers began to trace over the back of his hand distractedly as she spoke, “was that you should – you will – come stay with me.” She shook her head, holding up her free hand to cut him off when he opened his mouth to argue, “I have more than enough room and I could not consider myself a decent friend, I would never forgive myself, in fact, if I didn’t share that with you while I have the opportunity.”
“Look,” he sat up straighter in the seat and ran his hand over his closely cropped hair, “I appreciate the offer Rach, really. But I don’t wanna, like-,”
“Impose? Intrude? Get in the way? Whatever it is, Noah, forget about it. You won’t do any of those things, trust me. You said you already have a job, and I seriously doubt that your work schedule will match up to mine, so I’m sure we won’t possibly get in each other’s way. I’ll let you take care of your own food – which should end up being much better for you than whatever you would be eating if you stayed in that place, since you will have not only unlimited access to my kitchen, but also increased funds due to the fact that you will not be paying for a room – and I’m sure that I won’t even see a change in my utility bills with you there.” Rachel stood from the table, twining her fingers with his and tugging him from his seat on the other side of the booth. “I insist, Noah,” her voice was softer, showing some vulnerability of her own as she looked up at him, “I want to do this. Please let me.”
Puck sighed, his head dropping until his chin hit his chest, and squeezed Rachel’s hand for just a second. “Look Rachel, I appreciate the offer. You have no idea. But I don’t want you to think that I looked you up tonight to get something from you. You get that, right?” He watched as she nodded. “And I don’t want either of us to let this go from you helping an old friend to me taking advantage of an old friend. We clear?”
Rachel nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course Noah. I understand completely. Going only off of what you have told me since we’ve been here, I have to imagine that you have come to New York to have independence, to break out in some way, and I wouldn’t dare take that away from you. I just want to be a good friend to you.”
When Rachel smiled up at him sheepishly through her lashes, Puck almost took a step back. Since the moment he’d seen her picture on that poster, he’d seen nothing except Rachel Berry bluster and confidence. He had almost forgotten that somewhere in there, even if she was tiny and buried incredibly deep, was a scared, insecure girl who had spent half her life being bullied and defending her right to have big dreams.
“Fine,” Puck laughed under his breath when Rachel squeezed his hand between both of her own and bounced on the balls of her feet. “But I mean it Berry, soon as I start to like, interrupt your life, or as soon as I can find a place of my own, whichever comes first, I’m outta there.” He ducked his head and regarded her seriously.
“Yes, of course,” she grinned widely. “We’ll go get your things right now and you’ll come to my place. And it will absolutely be temporary, of course.”
I may not have the softest touch
I may not say the words as such
And though I may not look like much
I'm yours
And though my edges may be rough
I never feel I'm quite enough
It may not seem like very much
But I'm yours
It wasn’t temporary.
When they left the diner, Rachel dragged Puck to the nearest subway station (and he was really thankful she was with him at that moment, because if she hadn’t been, he would probably have walked all the way back to Times Square) and made him direct them back to his motel. Once there, she proceeded to send Puck up to his room to get his things while she argued with the night manager about consumers’ rights and taking advantage of out-of-town customers who don’t know better until she pointed to a young couple climbing the stairs and mentioned the words “pay-by-the-hour establishment.” The man quickly agreed that, though it was well past check-out (about 12 hours past, actually), Puck really only needed to pay for the one night he had actually slept in the room. Puck caught most of the exchange from his spot by the door where he waited, luggage in hand, and was equal parts impressed and terrified, and honestly a little turned on.
(“You know, you were right,” she told him once they were buckled into his truck and headed back toward Manhattan and her apartment, “that place really wasn’t that bad, all things considered.”
“Really? ‘Cause I was waitin’ on you to go after that prostitute and tell her how immoral and, like, dirty she was.”
“Oh Noah,” she actually giggled, “she wasn’t a prostitute. They were tourists. Kentucky or Tennessee, if I had to guess. Maybe Georgia.”
“Seriously? Then how come they didn’t get the riot act about stayin’ there?”
“They are a young couple trying to enjoy New York, probably for the first time. I couldn’t bear to take that away from them. And I only have one guest room, so it was either you or them. Would you like me to go back?”
“I’m good.”)
Their first two days as (not) temporary roommates were spent getting reacquainted with one another and getting Puck acquainted with the city and his new neighborhood (which just so happened to include The Band House – hells yeah!) between Rachel’s shows. She showed him to her favorite restaurants, both fully vegan and vegan-friendly, the hole-in-the-wall coffee place that she claimed was the best in the city, and the deli that he had already managed to find on his own the day before. They spent most of the time that Rachel wasn’t working or playing tour guide sprawled out on her couch sharing details about the past ten years of each of their lives. Although the time wasn’t spent void of all physical contact (it was much easier to let her guide him through the city streets with her arm looped through his, and after her two shows on Saturday, Rachel swore that if Puck’s conscience ever nagged him about staying with her rent-free he need only come find her to put his “magic fingers” to use giving her another foot rub), it was spent pretty innocently – exactly what would be expected of two old friends after a long separation.
On day three, Puck was surprised to emerge from the guest bathroom to the smell of coffee. He’d already been in bed when Rachel came home Sunday night (Monday morning) but he vaguely remembered stirring to look at the clock when he heard her bedroom door click softly closed. It was nearly one. So for her to pull herself out of bed at five to make coffee for him was more than he expected, even from Rachel Berry. And then he was just plain shocked when he came down the hall to see her curled up on the chaise end of the couch, one hand resting on the arm and curled around a mug of her own, the other clutching her Kindle.
“Good morning, Noah.” She sat the Kindle onto the cushion next to her and smiled up at him over her cup, seemingly unfazed by the fact that the only thing covering his upper body was the towel draped across his shoulders. “Pink is definitely your color,” she giggled and narrowed her eyes a little, still not lowering the coffee.
Puck grabbed the ends of the towel where they hung down onto his chest, not exactly sure what he planned to do with them. “Yeah, uhh, it was on top. Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be up. I’ll just -,” he started to turn back toward the hall and the guest room at the end of it.
“Don’t be silly.” He turned his head just in time to catch Rachel standing from the couch and shaking her head at him. “I’m a big girl, Noah, I can stand the sight of a man’s bare chest. Even one as lovely as yours.”
Was Rachel Berry seriously like, checking him out?
“So,” he only shook his head at what he thought might have been mischief in Rachel’s expression and followed her into the kitchen, “you always come in at one in the mornin’ and get back up before five?” He gratefully accepted the cup of coffee that was extended toward him.
“No,” Rachel turned to unplug the coffee maker and push it back to its spot against the wall, “on both counts.” She took a sip of her coffee and watched, pleased, as he moaned appreciatively when he took a drink of his own. “I usually come straight home from the theater, but since the lights of Broadway are dark on Mondays, the cast and crew often go out after our Sunday show. As you know, I’m not a big drinker, but on those nights I usually indulge in a drink or two and enjoy the company of my co-workers.”
Puck held his coffee cup in front of his mouth to hide the grin that her avalanche of words caused, ‘cause even after all this time, she couldn’t just say, ‘Went out for drinks with the guys.’
“And as far as getting up,” Rachel turned to set her cup on the counter and shrugged. “I wanted to see you off on your first day of work – you know, to wish you well and everything. Of course, that would have worked better if I had thought to find out what time you planned to wake up. Or leave.” She ducked her head when Puck chuckled. “But luckily, I heard you moving around in the bathroom.”
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Puck winced a little, but Rachel only waved him off.
“Don’t be. Like I said, I wanted to be up. Okay,” she pulled the mug from his hands and turned him toward the bedrooms, “I may be able to handle you shirtless, but I don’t know that the rest of New York, specifically your new boss and his customers, will take it as well.” Puck laughed as she pushed him out of the kitchen.
~.~
On day six, Puck stumbled out of the bathroom with toothpaste film still in his mouth, tugging his shirt up onto his arms and fumbling with the buttons.
By sheer accident, he had still been awake when Rachel got home the night before. So far, he’d been really good – really responsible – about going to bed at an appropriate time for his 4:45 wake-up call, but that night he just couldn’t fall asleep. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but whatever the issue was, it meant he was on the couch with a beer when Rachel came in. Her being home didn’t make it any easier to go to sleep, since she dropped onto the couch next to him, took a long draw from his beer, and began telling him how many things had gone wrong for her that evening. Around one, with Puck sprawled on the chaise and clutching Rachel’s tiny feet in his lap, and Rachel laying the length of the couch, both finally fell asleep. If it hadn’t been for Rachel’s pea-sized bladder and the two and a half beers she had consumed while pouring out her heart, he probably wouldn’t have woken up for another several hours. As it was, he’d only had about 15 minutes to get ready for work, from shower to shoes.
Puck was still fighting with his shirt, having fastened the buttons incorrectly the first time around, when he got to the front door and stopped to shove his feet in his shoes. He had the door cracked, one hand on the knob and the other trying to fix the heel of one of his sneakers, when Rachel emerged from the kitchen with a travel mug in her hand.
“Thought you might need this.” She handed the mug over to him and watched as he took a careful sip. “Sorry about keeping you up last night. I feel truly awful.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Couldn’t sleep before you got home anyway. Besides, been here almost a week, about time to pay the rent, I guess.” He winked and Rachel giggled, blushing slightly pink.
“Noah, wait.” He had one foot out the door when she called out to him. He stopped, and when he turned to face her, she was only inches from him. “Just let me …” she pushed up onto her tip-toes and reached until her arms encircled his neck. He was about to ask her what she was doing when he felt her fingers tug at his collar. She worked her way around to the front, gently straightening and flattening the plaid fabric as she went. “There, much better.” She patted his shoulders twice, but instead of backing away, she pushed herself a little higher and kissed his cheek gently, her lips lingering for just a second. “Have a good day.” She finally backed away, swiping her thumb over his cheek to collect any sheer lip gloss, which was somehow still on her lips when she woke up (he remembered thinking she could do one of those lipstick commercials), that had rubbed off with the kiss.
~.~
She kissed him again on day 10.
The first thing he had pulled out of his drawer that morning after his shower was, not surprisingly, a plaid button-down. He didn’t bother buttoning it, since leaving it open afforded him a much greater range of motion at work, and between reaching for things in both high and low storage areas and giving lessons, that range was valuable. And he may have noticed, when he passed the mirror over the dresser on his way out, that his collar was flipped up on one side. It was no big deal, really. He just figured Rachel would fix it if she noticed, you know, being a girl and having an eye for that sort of thing and all. And if she didn’t notice, he’d just fix it in the elevator. The walls were basically a mirror anyway.
She noticed.
She came out of the kitchen when she heard him coming down the hall. She didn’t even wait for him to reach her, setting a black travel mug full of fresh, hot coffee (the same one she’d provided him with the previous Friday, after he told her how nice it was to have it to take with him on Thursday) on the small table just inside the door where he dropped her mail when he came in every evening and where they both left their keys. When he reached her, she pushed up as close to his level as she could get, and, without saying a word, rested her left hand on his right shoulder for balance and reached around his neck with her right. She straightened the collar, but didn’t let go when she got to the front. Instead, she used it to pull herself up, pulling him down in the process. But she didn’t kiss him on the cheek again. And it wasn’t even the kind of soft, timid kiss he would have expected – if he had expected her to kiss him on the mouth at all. No, this was the kind of kiss where he could tell not only what flavor lip gloss she was wearing (something peachy), but also what kind of non-dairy creamer she had used in her coffee that morning (cinnamon-vanilla). After about a .2 second delay, he kissed back, and he was really glad she had set the coffee down instead of handing it to him, because that meant he had both hands free to grab her hips and hold her to him.
After several seconds, or minutes, it was kind of impossible to tell, to be honest, Rachel loosened her grip on his shirt, and after another few seconds Puck let go of her hips, letting his hands just rest there instead of holding on. “You’ll be home when I get back from work?” he asked when she took a step back.
“It’s Monday,” she nodded, reaching for his coffee and passing it off to him.
“I’ll bring dinner.” Puck accepted his coffee with one hand and dropped the other to pat her backside.
~.~
On night 10, Puck slept in a bed outside Rachel’s guest room for the first time since that first night in the Bronx. On the plus side, the bed was in Rachel’s master bedroom.
Now, here’s the deal, in case it wasn’t already completely obvious, Puck changed. He grew up – a lot – after high school. So he didn’t think that one (great, awesome, really hot) kiss meant that he would come home that evening and Rachel would just fall into bed with him. Hell, he wouldn’t have thought that even in high school – not with Rachel, anyway. But he brought home dinner as promised from one of the vegan-friendly restaurants she had shown him during that first weekend he was in the city, and when they’d finished eating she asked if he wanted to watch a movie. He agreed, but instead of leading him to the couch, where they spent most of their weekend, Rachel disappeared into her bedroom.
“Coming, Noah?”
He must have spaced out, because he was still hovering over the trashcan where he had just dropped their take-out containers when her voice floated down the hall and grabbed his attention.
“On my way.” Puck stepped into the guest room along the way to kick off his shoes and shed his button-down, tossing it onto the dresser instead of putting it away. “Sorry,” he started on his way into the room, “I got … distracted.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled up at him from her spot on the bed, propped up by a stack of pillows resting against the headboard. “Hey,” her brow furrowed, “go change. Get comfortable.”
Puck really looked at her outfit for the first time since coming home. Rachel looked plenty comfortable in the cotton shorts and slightly oversized t-shirt she had probably put on straight from her shower that morning. One of the things she had told him about herself was that, since Monday was often her only day off, she tried to not even leave the apartment if it wasn’t necessary. He kinda loved that grown-up Rachel was so comfortable just being herself – no make-up, simple clothes, no fancy hair – with him.
“Just hurry!” Her voice carried across the hall, “I figure we’ve got just enough time for the movie before you fall asleep on me!”
Puck chuckled under his breath at her demand as he slid off his jeans and stepped into a pair of basketball shorts. He considered shedding his t-shirt – she did tell him to get comfortable – but decided not to push his luck.
Rachel figured right. Literally and almost scarily so. Less than five minutes after the movie ended, as she was flipping through the channels absent-mindedly, Rachel felt his first snore before she actually heard it. Puck’s head rested on her stomach, his arms wrapped around her waist as he used her as his own personal pillow. She gently nudged him onto an actual pillow and slid down into the bed, turning into him when, instead of releasing her, he wrapped his arms a little tighter around her in his sleep.
~.~
On day 11, Puck woke not to his alarm, but to Rachel calling his name and rubbing her fingers gently over his scalp. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she grinned down at him from her seat on the edge of the bed when his eyes focused on her. “I hope you don’t mind, I let you sleep in about 10 extra minutes. But I’ve already started the coffee. And some oatmeal. I even got maple syrup the other day. And I turned on the bathroom heater a little while ago.”
“’S cool,” he mumbled hoarsely, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He reached for her wrist when she nodded and rose off the bed. “I mean,” he started when she turned back toward him, “thanks. I just … you don’t gotta do all that, ya know. Take care ‘a me, I mean. You’re doin’ enough by givin’ me a bed to sleep in.” He chuckled. “’Specially when it’s yours.”
Rachel only shrugged. “I wanted to do it. All of it.” She bent, one hand on either side of his waist, to kiss his forehead.
Puck lifted a hand to run through her hair as Rachel pressed her lips to his forehead, and when she started to pull away, he used that same hand to pull her back until her lips met his own. He tugged gently on her bottom lip and slid his hand around to her cheek before letting her go. “I’m glad.” He just hoped her idea of ‘all of it’ was the same as his.
Apparently, day 11 was also the day that Puck officially moved out of the guest bedroom and into the master. Rachel was already gone when he got home from work, as usual, but she left him a note on the hall table, also as usual. However, unlike her usual, “Dinner’s in the oven,” or, “Didn’t cook today, sorry,” (‘cause her whole him fending for himself food-wise thing lasted like, a day before she just started doubling everything she made, usually leaving him tips on how to make it ‘carnivore-friendly’) or even the simple, “Have a wonderful evening!” that she left when she had nothing in particular to tell him, her note that day informed him that she had spent her morning doing laundry, including all the clothes in his hamper and the bedding from the guest bed. She went on to explain that all of his clothes had been neatly put away in the closet and dresser in the guest room, except his pajamas (he assumed she meant the basketball shorts and t-shirt he’d worn the night before, since he didn’t own actual pajamas, and he’d spent every night in the guest room in just his underwear), which were folded and waiting for him in ‘his’ bathroom. Finally, the note ended by saying that the bedding was still in the dryer but that he shouldn’t worry about it because she’d take care of it later.
A quick survey of the apartment showed him that everything the note had said was true. And he was left to assume, based on the fact that she hadn’t replaced the bedding in the guest room, that she didn’t mean for him to sleep in there. He wanted that to be enough for him to feel comfortable going straight to Rachel’s room when the time came that he would normally be going to bed, but it wasn’t. He’d been burned by assumptions – even what should be really solid ones (when the good little Christian girl gives you her virginity, it means something; when that same girl gets pregnant after just that one time, she’ll finally let you in; when another girl comes along eight years later and knows the whole fucked up story and then says she’s pregnant, surely to God she must really be) too many times. So he got comfortable watching a How I Met Your Mother marathon on Nick at Nite, nodding off until Rachel came in just after 11 with a gentle tug on his hand and a soft, “Come on, Noah, let’s go to bed.”
~.~
On night 24, Puck and Rachel laid in bed, Rachel on her stomach, feet cutting casually through the air behind her and her Kindle resting on the pillow in front of her, and Puck on his back, one hand behind his head and the other tangled in Rachel’s hair, television remote resting on his bare stomach. Puck loved Mondays because, while he and Rachel had slept together every night since that first time she invited him in for a movie, Mondays were generally the only nights they actually got to go to bed together. Even a badass (hell, probably especially a badass) preferred going to sleep with a beautiful woman wrapped in his arms.
“Rach,” he started, not entirely confident about what he was getting ready to say, but positive that it needed to be said, preferably before he got in too deep to dig himself out if her response wasn’t what he needed it to be (although, honestly, it was probably already too late for that). He waited for her hum, although she didn’t lift her head from her book, to continue. “Are you sure about this? Us, I mean. Are you positive you want all this?”
“Are you not?”
Puck had expected the question, or some form of it. Seriously, even if she was way more secure and way less high-maintenance than her high school self, those words out of the mouth of the guy you were sharing a bed with were pretty much a guaranteed way to set any girl off. What he hadn’t expected was the calm way she asked it, or the fact that she didn’t even look up from her Kindle until she had, apparently, finished her page.
“I mean,” Rachel continued when Puck didn’t answer right away, “I know I never exactly asked, more or less just telling you what to do – or where to sleep. I just figured, based on what I’ve always known of you, that you would speak up if you wanted something different.”
“No, this is definitely what I want.” Puck let his fingers slide through her hair then slid that same hand under her chest to pull her to him, waiting until she had settled almost fully on top of him to continue. “I just … It’s fast, Rach. And I don’t want you to think it’s too fast, or that you’ve made a mistake.”
“I’m not that girl anymore, Noah,” she lifted a hand and traced his jaw with her fingertips, watching the movement for a few seconds before she continued. “I’m not high school Rachel Berry who thinks everything has to be perfect for her all the time, laid out exactly according to her plan. I’m more confident now, authentically so, not the kind of superficial confidence that makes me feel like I have to throw myself in everyone’s face. And I’m more than willing to work for what I want,” she shifted and ran the back of her hand over his cheek and down his neck until it rested in the crook of his shoulder, “but I refuse to play games. I won’t say that I’ve fixed every negative thing about myself from when we were younger; I’m still loud, sometimes demanding, and often overly ambitious, but I know I’ve grown. So,” she smiled sheepishly and curled her hand around his neck to tickle the hairs at the back with her fingertips, “are you still sure that this is what you want, even with the reminder that I’m still as high maintenance as ever, but yet not exactly the girl you remembered, and possibly hoped to reconnect with?”
“Let me make this clear, Rach,” she watched him with wide eyes as Puck rolled his own and lifted a hand from her back to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re not the problem here. I know I want you, but I don’t want you to wake up one day and look at me and think, ‘what the hell am I doin’ with this asshole who used to slushie me on a regular basis and generally made my high school life miserable.’”
Rachel pushed herself up with one hand, using the one still wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him forward and kiss him softly. “Oh Noah,” she breathed against his lips before lowering herself back onto his chest, folding her hands and dropping her chin onto them. “When are you going to get it?” She smiled almost sadly up at his confused expression. “You’re not that boy. You haven’t been for years. You are a strong, mature, responsible, good man. You take care of your family – don’t think I don’t know about the money you send your mom every week. You stuck around Lima for years longer than you wanted to because you needed to be sure about what you were doing instead of jumping into something headfirst. And you’ve been here with me for over three weeks, and every second of that time you’ve only reinforced how much I love being with you and how wonderful you make me feel.” Puck wrapped his arms tighter around her and craned his neck down to kiss the top of her head. “So Noah, we’ve both changed – grown – over the past 10 years. But over the past three weeks, I’ve been happier than any other time I can remember. And that’s because of you. Because you’re mine.”
~.~