Glee Fic: proxy rules
I knew these feelings were going to happen sooner or later. March, whatever. But here we are. For smc_27. Who’s just perfect.
PROXY RULES
you can always buy another packet of gold stars. rachel, puck, and what’s behind the scenes.
glee. | spoilers for on my way | 3,027 words | pg | puck/rachel.
-
Quinn is in the hospital.
Daddy tells her that the guilt complex has got to take a time-out. He means well, Daddy. Papa tells him to leave her alone.
She takes her wedding dress off and shoves it into her closet.
Rachel believes in omens. Rachel believes in a lot of things.
She sits on the front of her porch with her phone. It’s turned off. The sweater around her shoulders isn’t warm enough.
She catalogues the year.
Finn and her are fine.
There is Jesse, but that decides to not be important. Jesse leaves, left, and it’s better that way because he’s a mess and he said to her: “Rachel, I’m pretty fucked up,” and that was as graceless of an apology as she was going to get.
Finn and her are fine.
Summer, uneventful. There are friends, good friends. Then the school year came back and it was Mercedes, it was her mom, it was mostly her mom, and then everything felt heavy and full of nerves. Rachel believes in things, a lot of things, and there is supposed to be a place for all of her great things. Daddy and Papa love her voice. They love a pragmatist too.
Finn and her are fine, of course. Kurt and her fight and makeup and fight and grow and makeup and love each other dearly. It’s their thing. She does not talk about her mom. She does not talk about her mom and Puck. She won’t.
Everything else is a place: Finn and her are fine, he wants to be with her, he loves her, she loves him - it’s good to have a place.
You’ll do big things, Quinn said.
“You’re a fucking moron.” A jacket drops around her shoulders. The collar scuffs at her throat. “Christ, Rachel. What the hell?”
She blinks.
Puck shuffles and sits next to her. His legs are too long and they stretch out. He came around back, she thinks. The neighborhood is a weird little map; they are five houses and a fence apart. Once summer, they were even secret friends.
Her mouth twists. “Papa,” she guesses.
“Dad numero dos,” he says with a shrug. He pulls at the scarf around his throat and drapes it around her neck. “Moron,” he mutters.
“It’s too quiet inside.”
She should ask: why are you here but she can’t. She ignores Finn’s calls better. Kurt is at the hospital. That will come too.
“Figures,” he agrees. Then he shifts closer. “I haven’t been around yet,” he admits. “Ma’s been keeping me updated. It’s enough for now or whatever. I said I’d watch the kid sister.”
“Hannah,” she admonishes. Her voice is absent. That’s a habit.
He makes a sound. “Yeah, the kid.”
This is different. She thinks about growing up a lot. She worries about growing up a lot. She talks to Kurt and her Daddy mostly; someone has to pretend to be the pragmatist, she supposes. But it’s been a year; it’s been more than just a year.
Puck does not say this is her fault. But he doesn’t say it isn’t either. That’s kind of nice, she thinks.
“I shouldn’t have texted her,” she murmurs.
“Probably.”
Rachel sighs. Her hands brush against her face. Puck’s jacket starts to slip off of her shoulders.
“I’m pretty selfish,” she says too, and out loud, it sounds a little sad, a little angry, and the taste in her mouth is sharp. She rolls her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“Not gonna do this with you,” he tells her. Then he sighs and stretches back. “Because sure, yeah, the reality is of it that you should have probably chilled the fuck out, Finn should have done the same, and Quinn, well shit, it’s a stupid thing to do - but shit, we’re all stupidly in a rush anyway.”
She’s quiet. Her lips purse and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hands then slip into Puck’s jacket, slipping through the sleeves. Her fingers curl into the cuffs.
“I didn’t want to regret it,” she says.
He snorts. “Sounds like you.”
She lets her mouth turn. Then she looks at him. His eyes are dark and he stares at her under his lashes. When he leans forward, his elbows dig into his knees.
“I’m not making an excuse.”
“Didn’t say anything.” He shrugs.
“Didn’t have to,” she shoots back, and her knees turn, leaning lightly against his. “Finn has always been a constant.” She says it and it tastes tired. “And I think … we’re both guilty of it,” her voice slows. “It’s the kind of thing that - well, I don’t know.”
“It shouldn’t be easy,” he murmurs, it’s the first time he says it, and her gaze never waivers from his.
She watches the change in how he looks at her. Rachel knows, knows it’s been awhile since it’s just been Puck and her, Puck and her talking. She doesn’t like that it’s an accident, or incidental, or one of those things that are attached to stigmas of guilt and regret and all things heavy-set. Her mother’s name remains unspoken.
She looks away.
Rachel feels her hands tremble. Her fingers curl slightly. You’ll do big things, Quinn had said. Finn and her are fine.
“No,” she says finally.
“No?”
“It shouldn’t be easy,” she tells him. Her eyes burn. “None of it, really. Isn’t that supposed to make us stronger?”
“That’s bullshit.” He clears his throat. His knee knocks into hers. “Say it, Berry. I’m right here, you know?”
“Are you?” she counters. Her lashes are wet and then the sensation crawls against her cheeks. She almost reaches up. Then she says: “Do you really want to do this now?”
“Full circle, right?”
She whirls around. She pushes at his arm and then stands, stumbling. He catches her. His hand curls around her forearm tightly. His smile is grim.
It’s the first time she sees how sharp his eyes are. His mouth fits into a line too. It’s hard and his other hand curls into her hip as he stands, slowly and into her space.
“I run pretty fucking fast,” he says quietly.
She swallows. “I know.”
“And.” The hand on her hip moves to her face. His fingers touch her jaw. “And I can take the hits. I’m built for that shit, baby.”
She chokes on a sob. It rolls against her tongue and her eyes squeeze shut.
Emotions are her thing. Channel is her thing. Her mind is all over the place and all she can think about is Quinn and a hospital bed, ignoring Finn’s calls, and the wedding dress in the back of her closet, not at all what she pictured herself wanting. It’s heavy and it’s hard and the entire year rolls back over in her mind, settling over her shoulders and pressing.
Puck does not let go. He doesn’t touch her beyond the way he holds her, hovering in her space and with a grip over her arms.
So she says it first. “I want to hate you, Noah,” she finishes.
Puck takes her to the hospital. Santana is coming out. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she walks past them. Her keys are in a fist.
"C'mon," Puck says, and his hand is on her shoulder, leading Rachel to the doors. They probably won't see Quinn. Quinn has a summer until Yale.
But the hospital is all white walls. It smells exactly how she remembers. She was a freshman and Daddy's heart problems became a fresh thing. Then there was Kurt's dad's scare. There is a curl of cigarettes and starch. A passing doctor tosses his coat onto his arm and Rachel reaches up to press her fingers into her nose.
“It’s fine.”
Her throat feels tight. “Stop,” she says.
“C’mon.”
He leads her down the hall. Her ears are ringing and her clothes feel like they’re sagging into her shoulders. They have to turn, and then turn again, and it’s all strange and surreal.
She spots Quinn’s mother down the hall.
She stands against the wall. Her father is a few feet away from her. He is big and hunched. His eyes are set on the floor and when Rachel stops, she catches his shoulders trembling. Puck stays close to her, his hand on her back.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly.
“Probably.” He says. Quinn’s mother looks up and meets her gaze in the hallway. Her mouth twists and waivers. “But it’s the right thing, you know?”
“Is it?” her teeth press into her lip, “I don’t think she’d want this.”
Her voice catches. She doesn’t say. I know. Because she doesn’t.
“The driver’s down the hall,” Puck says.
Rachel’s eyes widen. She freezes and he drops an arm around her shoulder. He gives the awkward wave to Quinn’s mother. It’s a show of some kind of privacy.
When they turn another corner, Rachel leans against the wall.
“Wait.” Her fingers fist into the fabric of his shirt. “What?”
“I heard,” he tells her. “Dude’s gotta repair some ribs and needs to be in observation for a few more. The cops talked her parents and they walked passed me and Santana.” He rubs his eyes. “We heard.”
“Is this - ” her voice is high when she speaks, “Are you trying to telling me in your weird way that it’s all just a messed string of events? Noah.”
He laughs. His fingers curl against the back of her neck.
“Something like that - you know me. It’s all about actions.”
“I know,” she says and she thinks about her mother. Her hand opens over his chest. She pushes first.
He steps back. She steps back further. Her arms curl around her waist and she says nothing about the way his jacket still sits on her shoulders or how she hasn’t taken the scarf off. Her head is starting to swim: Quinn and weddings, weddings, unanswered phone calls. She feels tired.
Guilt is guilt. She is good at guilt. She is good at guilt that kind of stands alone in her head; it’s taking on the visages of others. It’s that kind of shame, really; she’s used to it, and it’s weird, how it’s the same sort of thing that drives her to drive herself that hard.
But Puck is close, so close, too close, and she cannot be comfortable.
“Let’s go,” she tells him.
She turns and doesn’t wait for him to follow.
He buys her a sprite. Diet. It sweats into her fingers, cold and wet.
“I didn’t do it to be a shithead.”
She chokes.
“I’m sure that’s a lot of stupid stuff you want to say to me. I’m sure you want to yell at me. Actually, honestly? I kinda want you to fucking yell at me. It would make sense. You’re supposed to do that. That’s what you do.”
Her fingers press against her nose. She shakes her head and leans back into her seat.
They parked in the school lot. There is a gas station two blocks down. Everybody goes for stupid things, slushies and cigarettes and ten packs of soda that end up being weird science experiments on the football field because what else is there to do.
It’s romantic, high school. Then it’s not. She gets that. She tries and thinks if she’s always known that.
“I already told you,” she finally says. Then quietly: “Don’t make me say it again.”
“You need to deal with shit.”
“Stop.”
His hand pushes at her arm. She smacks it away. She thinks about Finn. Then she stops.
“I deal with things.”
Puck snorts. “You deal better with other people’s things.”
“This is true,” she murmurs, and her fingers snap the bottle cap off. The soda fizzes. Her thumb licks the edge. It sounds so composed coming out of her mouth. “But why are we talking about this now?” she asks him.
He sighs. It’s like he’s been caught. Puck is just as bad as she is. She turns and watches him drop his head back. There is his neck and his throat and she knows about the small sliver of a scar behind his ear. But she cannot remember why.
His hands face the steering wheel. The truck seems so small now.
“I didn’t think about it being your mom,” he says.
“She’s not my mom,” she counters, voice terse. Her teeth pick at her lip. “She’s Shelby.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her lashes lower when he meets her gaze. “Because I’m sure you really don’t, Noah. My birth mother is not your dad.”
He makes a fist over the wheel. Part of her almost feels vindicated. She remembers how the hospital sign glowed over Puck’s truck though. She blinks and realizes she’s watching the gas station sign.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“Whatever.”
She shakes her head. “That was crass,” she swallows.
“Feel better?” He throws it back and she flushes. Rachel feels her phone buzz at her hip.
“You know I don’t,” she says.
“What else then?”
He reaches forward and grabs the bottle. He caps it and tosses it to the back. She doesn’t have an answer for him.
Then it’s simple; Puck kicks open his door, slams it shut, and marches around to her side. He opens her door. He doesn’t offer his hand, but his eyes turn low and heavy and she cannot avoid another sigh from leaving her mouth.
Her seatbelt opens first. Then she slides out of the truck.
She doesn’t ask if she should follow.
“This is a terrible idea, Noah.”
There is a cluster of trees behind the station. It opens and circles back to the school, peeking into the row of field hockey fields and the school’s track. He takes her to the edge and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
She shrugs out of his jacket. Her fists curl around the collar and she thrusts it forward.
“Fuck it,” he answers.
“Noah.”
“There’s no one around, B. Quinn would tell me.”
She flushes. Her fingers drag against her face.
Her phone is in his truck. The cold air sags against the back of her neck. This is too much. Her wedding dress is still in her closet and she’s sure, by now, her parents are reading riot acts of excuses to Finn. She sees Quinn’s mother in her head.
“Yeah,” she agrees. Her fists curl and she drags his jacket to her eyes. They burn. “She would. Santana would too. Actually, Santana would kill you.”
She doesn’t want to be angry. She knows it goes beyond that. Shelby is Shelby and it’s a chapter of her life that’s not quite a chapter, but it connects her to both Quinn and Puck in such a painful way.
“Did you really think you were going to be happy?” she asks then. “With her? Playing house.”
“Kind of like your wedding,” he says, and he’s not trying to be careless. She looks up and Puck is serious, even too serious. His feet shuffle and steps back into her space. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess. No, I know. She’s a living, breathing reminder of the fact that I could do things right.”
“Beth.”
Puck nods again. “Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I gotta a lot of baggage, you know? And she came back, it was weird and easy and Quinn’s crisis was pretty fucked up too. Nothing fit the way it should have and then there was Beth - there she was.”
Rachel swallows and then slides her arms back into his jacket. The back covers her sweater and t-shirt and she buries her nose against the collar. It’s all Puck, that heavy warmth and his stupid scarf digging back into her throat too.
“I used my kid, B. I wasn’t any better.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You were.” She nuzzles the leather again. “Shelby - ” and it’s hard not to keep the bitterness out, or the taste that lands back into her mouth. “Shelby,” she starts again. “Knows how to take advantage of the situation, good intentions or not, mostly not. Jesse used to say it’s what made her her, and I just - for me, it was just easier not to see her … and then …”
She pauses. These are the things that she hasn’t been able to say. She cannot look at him either.
“She’s not a horrible person, Rachel.”
And no, no she’s not. Rachel knows this is a problem. She can never think of Shelby as a terrible person. She knows that selfishness is selfishness. But at the same time, you learn that there is give and take and that you cannot forget that people are people. It’s experience now. Shelby does not know other people.
Her smile is still wistful. “I never said she was.”
They are quiet then. Puck steps forward, abruptly. His heels dig into the dirt and he throws an arm around her shoulder. He doesn’t hug her. It’s more like he half-heartedly pulls her into him, dropping his arm into a hook around her neck and shoulder.
She thinks about her wedding dress.
“I’m not getting married,” she says quietly.
“I know,” he nods. His mouth touches her hair.
“I’m probably going to be angry with you for a while, Noah,” she continues. Her fingers stretch and sink into his shirt. They catch at the collar and his skin is cold. “I need to.”
“I figured.”
His lips move to her forehead. Then they slide over her nose.
“I know you,” he says simply, and his mouth presses over the corner of her mouth. “You shouldn’t hold this shit in though.”
Her mouth relaxes. The jacket pulls at her arms. She feels her body sag too and suddenly, it feels like finally.
“Quinn’s going to be okay - Finn too, seriously.” He laughs and his breath is hot and lazy. “Isn’t this the time where stuff happens and we’re supposed to figure it out?”
His cheek moves to rest again hers. She feels him swallow.
“Yeah.” Her fingers curl against his shirt again.
But he’s still the one that actually says it.
“You’re going to be okay.”
The wedding dress stays in her closet.
She forgets about the plastic cover. It stays on her chair by her desk.
Puck’s jacket is at the door.
PROXY RULES
you can always buy another packet of gold stars. rachel, puck, and what’s behind the scenes.
glee. | spoilers for on my way | 3,027 words | pg | puck/rachel.
-
Quinn is in the hospital.
Daddy tells her that the guilt complex has got to take a time-out. He means well, Daddy. Papa tells him to leave her alone.
She takes her wedding dress off and shoves it into her closet.
Rachel believes in omens. Rachel believes in a lot of things.
She sits on the front of her porch with her phone. It’s turned off. The sweater around her shoulders isn’t warm enough.
She catalogues the year.
Finn and her are fine.
There is Jesse, but that decides to not be important. Jesse leaves, left, and it’s better that way because he’s a mess and he said to her: “Rachel, I’m pretty fucked up,” and that was as graceless of an apology as she was going to get.
Finn and her are fine.
Summer, uneventful. There are friends, good friends. Then the school year came back and it was Mercedes, it was her mom, it was mostly her mom, and then everything felt heavy and full of nerves. Rachel believes in things, a lot of things, and there is supposed to be a place for all of her great things. Daddy and Papa love her voice. They love a pragmatist too.
Finn and her are fine, of course. Kurt and her fight and makeup and fight and grow and makeup and love each other dearly. It’s their thing. She does not talk about her mom. She does not talk about her mom and Puck. She won’t.
Everything else is a place: Finn and her are fine, he wants to be with her, he loves her, she loves him - it’s good to have a place.
You’ll do big things, Quinn said.
“You’re a fucking moron.” A jacket drops around her shoulders. The collar scuffs at her throat. “Christ, Rachel. What the hell?”
She blinks.
Puck shuffles and sits next to her. His legs are too long and they stretch out. He came around back, she thinks. The neighborhood is a weird little map; they are five houses and a fence apart. Once summer, they were even secret friends.
Her mouth twists. “Papa,” she guesses.
“Dad numero dos,” he says with a shrug. He pulls at the scarf around his throat and drapes it around her neck. “Moron,” he mutters.
“It’s too quiet inside.”
She should ask: why are you here but she can’t. She ignores Finn’s calls better. Kurt is at the hospital. That will come too.
“Figures,” he agrees. Then he shifts closer. “I haven’t been around yet,” he admits. “Ma’s been keeping me updated. It’s enough for now or whatever. I said I’d watch the kid sister.”
“Hannah,” she admonishes. Her voice is absent. That’s a habit.
He makes a sound. “Yeah, the kid.”
This is different. She thinks about growing up a lot. She worries about growing up a lot. She talks to Kurt and her Daddy mostly; someone has to pretend to be the pragmatist, she supposes. But it’s been a year; it’s been more than just a year.
Puck does not say this is her fault. But he doesn’t say it isn’t either. That’s kind of nice, she thinks.
“I shouldn’t have texted her,” she murmurs.
“Probably.”
Rachel sighs. Her hands brush against her face. Puck’s jacket starts to slip off of her shoulders.
“I’m pretty selfish,” she says too, and out loud, it sounds a little sad, a little angry, and the taste in her mouth is sharp. She rolls her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“Not gonna do this with you,” he tells her. Then he sighs and stretches back. “Because sure, yeah, the reality is of it that you should have probably chilled the fuck out, Finn should have done the same, and Quinn, well shit, it’s a stupid thing to do - but shit, we’re all stupidly in a rush anyway.”
She’s quiet. Her lips purse and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hands then slip into Puck’s jacket, slipping through the sleeves. Her fingers curl into the cuffs.
“I didn’t want to regret it,” she says.
He snorts. “Sounds like you.”
She lets her mouth turn. Then she looks at him. His eyes are dark and he stares at her under his lashes. When he leans forward, his elbows dig into his knees.
“I’m not making an excuse.”
“Didn’t say anything.” He shrugs.
“Didn’t have to,” she shoots back, and her knees turn, leaning lightly against his. “Finn has always been a constant.” She says it and it tastes tired. “And I think … we’re both guilty of it,” her voice slows. “It’s the kind of thing that - well, I don’t know.”
“It shouldn’t be easy,” he murmurs, it’s the first time he says it, and her gaze never waivers from his.
She watches the change in how he looks at her. Rachel knows, knows it’s been awhile since it’s just been Puck and her, Puck and her talking. She doesn’t like that it’s an accident, or incidental, or one of those things that are attached to stigmas of guilt and regret and all things heavy-set. Her mother’s name remains unspoken.
She looks away.
Rachel feels her hands tremble. Her fingers curl slightly. You’ll do big things, Quinn had said. Finn and her are fine.
“No,” she says finally.
“No?”
“It shouldn’t be easy,” she tells him. Her eyes burn. “None of it, really. Isn’t that supposed to make us stronger?”
“That’s bullshit.” He clears his throat. His knee knocks into hers. “Say it, Berry. I’m right here, you know?”
“Are you?” she counters. Her lashes are wet and then the sensation crawls against her cheeks. She almost reaches up. Then she says: “Do you really want to do this now?”
“Full circle, right?”
She whirls around. She pushes at his arm and then stands, stumbling. He catches her. His hand curls around her forearm tightly. His smile is grim.
It’s the first time she sees how sharp his eyes are. His mouth fits into a line too. It’s hard and his other hand curls into her hip as he stands, slowly and into her space.
“I run pretty fucking fast,” he says quietly.
She swallows. “I know.”
“And.” The hand on her hip moves to her face. His fingers touch her jaw. “And I can take the hits. I’m built for that shit, baby.”
She chokes on a sob. It rolls against her tongue and her eyes squeeze shut.
Emotions are her thing. Channel is her thing. Her mind is all over the place and all she can think about is Quinn and a hospital bed, ignoring Finn’s calls, and the wedding dress in the back of her closet, not at all what she pictured herself wanting. It’s heavy and it’s hard and the entire year rolls back over in her mind, settling over her shoulders and pressing.
Puck does not let go. He doesn’t touch her beyond the way he holds her, hovering in her space and with a grip over her arms.
So she says it first. “I want to hate you, Noah,” she finishes.
Puck takes her to the hospital. Santana is coming out. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she walks past them. Her keys are in a fist.
"C'mon," Puck says, and his hand is on her shoulder, leading Rachel to the doors. They probably won't see Quinn. Quinn has a summer until Yale.
But the hospital is all white walls. It smells exactly how she remembers. She was a freshman and Daddy's heart problems became a fresh thing. Then there was Kurt's dad's scare. There is a curl of cigarettes and starch. A passing doctor tosses his coat onto his arm and Rachel reaches up to press her fingers into her nose.
“It’s fine.”
Her throat feels tight. “Stop,” she says.
“C’mon.”
He leads her down the hall. Her ears are ringing and her clothes feel like they’re sagging into her shoulders. They have to turn, and then turn again, and it’s all strange and surreal.
She spots Quinn’s mother down the hall.
She stands against the wall. Her father is a few feet away from her. He is big and hunched. His eyes are set on the floor and when Rachel stops, she catches his shoulders trembling. Puck stays close to her, his hand on her back.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly.
“Probably.” He says. Quinn’s mother looks up and meets her gaze in the hallway. Her mouth twists and waivers. “But it’s the right thing, you know?”
“Is it?” her teeth press into her lip, “I don’t think she’d want this.”
Her voice catches. She doesn’t say. I know. Because she doesn’t.
“The driver’s down the hall,” Puck says.
Rachel’s eyes widen. She freezes and he drops an arm around her shoulder. He gives the awkward wave to Quinn’s mother. It’s a show of some kind of privacy.
When they turn another corner, Rachel leans against the wall.
“Wait.” Her fingers fist into the fabric of his shirt. “What?”
“I heard,” he tells her. “Dude’s gotta repair some ribs and needs to be in observation for a few more. The cops talked her parents and they walked passed me and Santana.” He rubs his eyes. “We heard.”
“Is this - ” her voice is high when she speaks, “Are you trying to telling me in your weird way that it’s all just a messed string of events? Noah.”
He laughs. His fingers curl against the back of her neck.
“Something like that - you know me. It’s all about actions.”
“I know,” she says and she thinks about her mother. Her hand opens over his chest. She pushes first.
He steps back. She steps back further. Her arms curl around her waist and she says nothing about the way his jacket still sits on her shoulders or how she hasn’t taken the scarf off. Her head is starting to swim: Quinn and weddings, weddings, unanswered phone calls. She feels tired.
Guilt is guilt. She is good at guilt. She is good at guilt that kind of stands alone in her head; it’s taking on the visages of others. It’s that kind of shame, really; she’s used to it, and it’s weird, how it’s the same sort of thing that drives her to drive herself that hard.
But Puck is close, so close, too close, and she cannot be comfortable.
“Let’s go,” she tells him.
She turns and doesn’t wait for him to follow.
He buys her a sprite. Diet. It sweats into her fingers, cold and wet.
“I didn’t do it to be a shithead.”
She chokes.
“I’m sure that’s a lot of stupid stuff you want to say to me. I’m sure you want to yell at me. Actually, honestly? I kinda want you to fucking yell at me. It would make sense. You’re supposed to do that. That’s what you do.”
Her fingers press against her nose. She shakes her head and leans back into her seat.
They parked in the school lot. There is a gas station two blocks down. Everybody goes for stupid things, slushies and cigarettes and ten packs of soda that end up being weird science experiments on the football field because what else is there to do.
It’s romantic, high school. Then it’s not. She gets that. She tries and thinks if she’s always known that.
“I already told you,” she finally says. Then quietly: “Don’t make me say it again.”
“You need to deal with shit.”
“Stop.”
His hand pushes at her arm. She smacks it away. She thinks about Finn. Then she stops.
“I deal with things.”
Puck snorts. “You deal better with other people’s things.”
“This is true,” she murmurs, and her fingers snap the bottle cap off. The soda fizzes. Her thumb licks the edge. It sounds so composed coming out of her mouth. “But why are we talking about this now?” she asks him.
He sighs. It’s like he’s been caught. Puck is just as bad as she is. She turns and watches him drop his head back. There is his neck and his throat and she knows about the small sliver of a scar behind his ear. But she cannot remember why.
His hands face the steering wheel. The truck seems so small now.
“I didn’t think about it being your mom,” he says.
“She’s not my mom,” she counters, voice terse. Her teeth pick at her lip. “She’s Shelby.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her lashes lower when he meets her gaze. “Because I’m sure you really don’t, Noah. My birth mother is not your dad.”
He makes a fist over the wheel. Part of her almost feels vindicated. She remembers how the hospital sign glowed over Puck’s truck though. She blinks and realizes she’s watching the gas station sign.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“Whatever.”
She shakes her head. “That was crass,” she swallows.
“Feel better?” He throws it back and she flushes. Rachel feels her phone buzz at her hip.
“You know I don’t,” she says.
“What else then?”
He reaches forward and grabs the bottle. He caps it and tosses it to the back. She doesn’t have an answer for him.
Then it’s simple; Puck kicks open his door, slams it shut, and marches around to her side. He opens her door. He doesn’t offer his hand, but his eyes turn low and heavy and she cannot avoid another sigh from leaving her mouth.
Her seatbelt opens first. Then she slides out of the truck.
She doesn’t ask if she should follow.
“This is a terrible idea, Noah.”
There is a cluster of trees behind the station. It opens and circles back to the school, peeking into the row of field hockey fields and the school’s track. He takes her to the edge and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
She shrugs out of his jacket. Her fists curl around the collar and she thrusts it forward.
“Fuck it,” he answers.
“Noah.”
“There’s no one around, B. Quinn would tell me.”
She flushes. Her fingers drag against her face.
Her phone is in his truck. The cold air sags against the back of her neck. This is too much. Her wedding dress is still in her closet and she’s sure, by now, her parents are reading riot acts of excuses to Finn. She sees Quinn’s mother in her head.
“Yeah,” she agrees. Her fists curl and she drags his jacket to her eyes. They burn. “She would. Santana would too. Actually, Santana would kill you.”
She doesn’t want to be angry. She knows it goes beyond that. Shelby is Shelby and it’s a chapter of her life that’s not quite a chapter, but it connects her to both Quinn and Puck in such a painful way.
“Did you really think you were going to be happy?” she asks then. “With her? Playing house.”
“Kind of like your wedding,” he says, and he’s not trying to be careless. She looks up and Puck is serious, even too serious. His feet shuffle and steps back into her space. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess. No, I know. She’s a living, breathing reminder of the fact that I could do things right.”
“Beth.”
Puck nods again. “Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I gotta a lot of baggage, you know? And she came back, it was weird and easy and Quinn’s crisis was pretty fucked up too. Nothing fit the way it should have and then there was Beth - there she was.”
Rachel swallows and then slides her arms back into his jacket. The back covers her sweater and t-shirt and she buries her nose against the collar. It’s all Puck, that heavy warmth and his stupid scarf digging back into her throat too.
“I used my kid, B. I wasn’t any better.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You were.” She nuzzles the leather again. “Shelby - ” and it’s hard not to keep the bitterness out, or the taste that lands back into her mouth. “Shelby,” she starts again. “Knows how to take advantage of the situation, good intentions or not, mostly not. Jesse used to say it’s what made her her, and I just - for me, it was just easier not to see her … and then …”
She pauses. These are the things that she hasn’t been able to say. She cannot look at him either.
“She’s not a horrible person, Rachel.”
And no, no she’s not. Rachel knows this is a problem. She can never think of Shelby as a terrible person. She knows that selfishness is selfishness. But at the same time, you learn that there is give and take and that you cannot forget that people are people. It’s experience now. Shelby does not know other people.
Her smile is still wistful. “I never said she was.”
They are quiet then. Puck steps forward, abruptly. His heels dig into the dirt and he throws an arm around her shoulder. He doesn’t hug her. It’s more like he half-heartedly pulls her into him, dropping his arm into a hook around her neck and shoulder.
She thinks about her wedding dress.
“I’m not getting married,” she says quietly.
“I know,” he nods. His mouth touches her hair.
“I’m probably going to be angry with you for a while, Noah,” she continues. Her fingers stretch and sink into his shirt. They catch at the collar and his skin is cold. “I need to.”
“I figured.”
His lips move to her forehead. Then they slide over her nose.
“I know you,” he says simply, and his mouth presses over the corner of her mouth. “You shouldn’t hold this shit in though.”
Her mouth relaxes. The jacket pulls at her arms. She feels her body sag too and suddenly, it feels like finally.
“Quinn’s going to be okay - Finn too, seriously.” He laughs and his breath is hot and lazy. “Isn’t this the time where stuff happens and we’re supposed to figure it out?”
His cheek moves to rest again hers. She feels him swallow.
“Yeah.” Her fingers curl against his shirt again.
But he’s still the one that actually says it.
“You’re going to be okay.”
The wedding dress stays in her closet.
She forgets about the plastic cover. It stays on her chair by her desk.
Puck’s jacket is at the door.