V-DAY EXCHANGE FIC! We Become the Things We Do, for andbless_mybaby (2/2)
Title: We Become the Things We Do (2/2)
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Puck/Rachel
Warnings: Future!fic; spoilers for all aired episodes.
Word count: ~9900
Recipient: andbless_mybaby
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy, et all.
Summary: A few years into their relationship, Puck and Rachel face a crisis.
A/N: This fic supposes that Puck is a year older than Rachel (i.e., if she's a sophomore in current time on the show, Puck is a junior). The title of this fic, and some references in it, are lifted from the song “Blinded (When I See You)” by Third Eye Blind, which was given as a prompt. Many thanks to my wonderful betas!
Part 1
She knows that life is not like a movie. As she walks towards the double doors of the Planned Parenthood Clinic, she knows there won't be a girl standing out front with a protest sign. Nobody will tell her about her baby's fingernails, and she won't have an epiphany that she can't do this because of something so trivial.
The tears leaking from her eyes aren’t going to help convince the doctor that she's thought this through, however, and that she's fine with her decision. She is though. Totally fine with it. It's the right thing. It's the best thing. She knows that. She's only six weeks along. It's not even a baby yet, anyway.
She just needs to put on her Best Actress face and get on with it.
As she pulls the door open, she swipes at the irritating moisture with the cuff of her sweatshirt. She absolutely does not think about Noah as she walks up to the counter. "I'm Rachel Berry. I believe you have me scheduled for a procedure today?"
*
Sometimes she thought about how the fact that she'd fallen in love with the guy who had called her names throughout grade school, and then mightily abused her with high fructose corn syrup and ice during some of their high school years could send the wrong message. If she were starring in an after school special, it would not have wrapped up that way.
But when she listened to Noah sing, and when he kissed her, and every time he looked at her with a deceptively sweet expression that was totally sincere, she wanted to tell the critics in her head that they just didn't understand.
People changed. Noah Puckerman had changed, not super-dramatically, but enough. He'd grown to appreciate her. He'd also fallen in love with her, and that had changed everything.
They'd been living in New York for almost three months-in separate residences, much to Noah's irritation-when she was in his small apartment alone. She'd let herself in, because they had keys to each other's places even if they didn't live together, to start dinner. It was nothing fancy, just spaghetti, because that went far on a small budget, but Rachel had also found some asparagus on sale at the grocery store, so they were having something healthy as well.
She wasn't sure if melted butter on top would be enough incentive to get Noah to eat vegetables, but she had to try. She had promised his mother, after all, that she'd take care of him. She pulled open the one drawer in his tiny kitchen, forgetting until it was all but hanging from one of its back corners that he didn't have any large utensils, and that he kept his socks and underwear there instead of any kitchen-related items.
She shook her head, amusement at his strange need to store his underclothes in a place that they did not belong warring with slight annoyance that the drawer didn't seem to want to go back into its slot. After a momentary shove and jiggle, the stupid thing fell completely out, and, if not for her quick reflexes, would have landed right on one of her bare feet.
Uttering a curse word to the empty apartment, she turned back to the stove and quickly twisted the heat dial down under the burner. Then she picked up the drawer and fitted it back onto the track, sliding it in quite easily now that she was using both hands. Before she could pick up the socks and boxer briefs that decorated the small patch of linoleum, her cell phone rang.
"Rachel Berry," she said, holding the phone to her ear as she knelt down to pick up white socks and black underwear.
"Yeah, I know, that's why I called," he replied with faint sarcasm.
"Noah!" Rachel said. "I'm sorry, I didn't check the screen to see who was calling. I'm having a little trouble navigating around your kitchen."
"You're at my place?" he asked.
"Yes, remember? I told you I'd cook dinner for us tonight and then we can go to the club early, before your set, so we can listen to the other performers."
"Oh, yeah, yeah, I remember," he said. "Sorry, babe, I just thought it was gonna be later. Don't you usually have class until-“
"I blew it off, for you. Aren't you proud?" Rachel tossed rolled up sock pairs into the drawer and smiled as she heard him chuckle softly.
"I'll make a truant of you yet, Berry," he said.
And I'll make a scholar of you, she thought, finding it humorous that he didn't even notice his own usage of a word like 'truant.'
"Well, I'm on my way home, then, dear," he added in an exaggerated tone. "Should I pick anything up?"
Giggling, she said, "A bottle of wine would be fantastic."
"Any wine I can afford you'll think tastes like shit," he lamented. "How about wine coolers?"
"That works."
"You're so easy, Berry," his voice dropped a little, sending fingers of delight through her without even trying.
"Only for you," she replied, feeling a little sappy, but unable to help herself.
"You got that right. See you in 20. Love you, babe."
"I love you, too," she said before disconnecting the call. As she set her phone on the counter, she noticed one pair of socks that had flown further out than the others. It had landed on the carpet that was just beyond the tile, and differentiated between the kitchen and the living room/bedroom. She bent down to snag it and felt something hard tucked up on the bottom side. Flipping the socks over, she gasped when she saw the square-shaped lump.
A ring box, distinctive and obvious to any girl who had ever dreamed of being proposed to, was secured under the elastic band. As she opened it-it never occurred to her not to-tears sprang to her eyes. It was simply breathtaking, likely the most beautiful piece of jewelry she'd ever seen, and considering her parentage, she'd seen a lot of jewelry in her nearly 19 years. Her first thought was that it must have cost Noah a fortune because there were three large diamonds set in what had to be in-laid platinum. The center round-cut stone was at least two carats, possibly larger, and the two on either side of it were at least one carat themselves. Between the three stones were ribbons of smaller stones set into tiny, carved roses, the vines reaching down either side of the ring, and tapering off as it circled down into the bottom.
She stared at it for long minutes before she came back to herself and remembered that Noah was on his way home from work. This was obviously something he intended to give to her, not have her find from snooping through his things.
She tucked the ring away without trying it on-she wanted the first time she wore it to be when he put it on her finger-and began to dream up extravagant proposal scenarios. When and where was he planning to do it? Her birthday was in a few weeks, and that was the most likely time.
She knew they were young, and her fathers would most definitely not approve, but she really didn't care. Noah had bought her a ring!
She would marry Noah Puckerman. But her stage name would have to remain Rachel Berry, for obvious reasons.
*
Because she met him at the door as soon as he came in and gave him the blowjob of his lifetime, they were late leaving for the club. He wheezily pronounced her awesomeness as he leaned against the door gasping for air with one hand still clenched in her hair.
He wanted to know what had gotten into her, but she just smiled demurely and stripped her clothes off so that when he recovered, he would make love to her. They ate cold spaghetti an hour and a half later, but tossed the asparagus out since it had boiled down to mushy disgustingness, and then ran like mad to the subway, hoping to only be fashionably late.
The club where Noah performed was a fairly new gig for him, something he'd only played two previous weekends. It was in downtown Manhattan, and admittedly Rachel felt a little uncomfortable as they got deeper into the city. He just tucked her tighter against his side, whispering in her ear that he would protect her; then his tongue laved her earlobe, and Rachel felt her panties grow damp. She wondered if she would wake up some day and not want him so much that she was almost willing to scandalize everyone in the subway car with them by straddling his lap.
"I'm so excited to watch you perform tonight," she said, trying to pull her mind out of his pants. She hadn't been able to go the previous times, so she was excited for herself, and a little nervous for him.
"Mmm-hmmm," he mumbled, his lips rubbing up and down the column of her neck just below her ear. "I was hella excited to see you perform tonight," he murmured salaciously in her ear and then one of his hands snaked down, flicking her nipple through her shirt. Rachel tugged her jacket more closely around her, lightly smacking his hand away. "I'll be hard all night, knowing you didn't put your bra back on," he said lowly, his lips pressed right over her ear.
Completely aroused again, Rachel turned her head and captured his lips with hers. They kissed deeply, her tongue stroking just as urgently as his. She imagined how happy they would be once they were engaged and living together, and when his hand snuck back under her jacket and inside her low cut v-neck to strum her nipple some more, she didn't protest.
A few minutes later, she was climaxing as quietly as she could, the sounds swallowed up in Noah's mouth as his callused fingertips played her like she was his favorite chord on the guitar.
"Hey, get a room!" a voice called out. Noah lifted his head, raised his free hand and gave some guy the bird as Rachel inhaled heavily through her nose and tried to not moan wantonly as she rode the wave out.
"God, I love the week before your period," he breathed against her cheek a moment later. "You're so fucking horny, it's like I'm king of the world."
Rachel started laughing, caught by surprise at his take on the situation. She wanted to tell him that it was more than her standard horniness, but she couldn't ruin the surprise. "I'm so in love with you," she blurted instead, kissing his mouth sloppily.
He grinned, slow and wide. Kissing the end of her nose, he murmured, "Back atcha, babe."
*
An hour later, she listened as he sung his set of seven songs: an eclectic blend of covers-band like Radiohead and Seether, and oldies from The Steve Miller Band and Neil Diamond that he interspersed with a few of his own songs, stories about small town kids coming to the big city to follow their dreams, and poignant tales of boys too young to be someone's father who said goodbye on the day they wanted to say hello, and of course, just straight up love songs about a girl with dark, bedroom eyes and the voice of an angel.
Rachel sat in that club, cataloging her love for him, and admiring how beautiful he was with his hair grown out, the natural curl he'd tamed with a mohawk for the majority of high school giving way to the pleas of a girlfriend who wanted something to hold on to when his head was between her thighs. She noticed that there were many women in the audience, and they were all hanging on his every move, cheering and catcalling, a few even getting embarrassingly loud when he sang, Some people call me the space cowboy, yeah, some call me the gangster of love.
It was a very good thing that they would be engaged soon, because these women needed to know he was taken.
*
"Please, have a seat in the waiting area, Ms. Berry. I see you've already filled out the necessary paper work when you met with Dr. Stone last week." The receptionist points to the empty chairs behind Rachel, and gives her a pained smile.
"Yes," Rachel confirms. "I made my appointment early today because she recommended I do it as early in the day as possible. Was that not right? Is she very busy right now? Because I can come back later, if that's better."
"Oh, no, no, this is the best time, that's correct. But Dr. Stone always has her staff meeting right now, so she doesn't actually consult with clients until 8:30. Which is when your appointment is. You're about 45 minutes early, dear." Again, the woman gives her a smile that is neither sincere nor very comforting.
Rachel does an about-face and heads for the empty chairs. She wonders why no one else is there. It's not like this is just a place to get an abortion. There are all kinds of services here, birth control being the most popular, she guesses, and it seems like in a city that never sleeps there would always be people here. Like, all the time. Constantly. The room should be filled up with persons in various stages of pre-emptive parenthood.
When Noah had pointed out to her that they'd had sex without a condom, she wishes she'd thought to come here the very next day to get the Morning After Pill. That would have been much simpler. Of course, she'd assumed her birth control would be enough; a truly foolish idea, obviously, since they'd had sex at least three times that day without any condoms. And Noah's sperm must be, like, super strength. Even through her nervousness that thought makes her smile. He would agree, no doubt.
Oh, Noah.
He'd been so happy. He'd loved doing it "naked," and honestly Rachel had never thought about it much, but there had been this greater sense of intimacy between them that day. He'd been desperate to make her stay, and she'd been desperate for a reason to. Sometimes she wondered if loving him was enough of one. She'd begun to question where they were really headed, and if it was possible that they could actually make it together. They weren't on the same path, even if they kept forcing their lives into the same space. College had introduced her to new things and people, and his playing at different bars all over New York City was definitely changing him.
She suspected things she didn't want to put a voice to, things that scared her, like drugs and women; temptations that a reformed bad boy from Lima, Ohio would find alluring. She also kept hoping he'd pull out the ring she'd found in his drawer so many months earlier, but he never did.
At first, she'd thought he was waiting for her birthday, or Christmas. But then Valentine's Day had also passed and he still hadn't asked her, so she began to worry about it all the time. She finally approached Aaron, her co-star in the Gershwin Revival they were doing as part of her musical theater class, and asked him what he thought it meant if a guy had bought a ring, a very long time ago, but had not yet given it to the girl for whom it was purchased.
"Having second thoughts, I'd guess," Aaron said nonchalantly as he hummed out a tune on the piano. Rachel had chewed on her bottom lip while contemplating this theory, and then two days later, Noah had come to her with a very serious face, and he'd actually cried a little while he told her about a girl he'd messed around with at the club.
Rachel had almost broken up with him right then, but he was truly penitent in a way she'd never seen before, and she'd assumed Aaron was right about the second thoughts. It was apparent he'd even acted out on those fears, but he'd also begged-or at least asked very sincerely-that she forgive him, and promised that he'd never do anything like that ever again. So she had, and things had been okay, though different, after that, almost like they couldn't quite get their footing back.
Most of all, there was still no proposal. Every time she couldn't go see one of his performances, she worried there was some woman tossing her panties literally on the stage, and/or stripping them off behind it after the show was over.
One day she'd gone into his apartment while he was at work and checked to see that the ring was still in his sock drawer. It was, of course, just as bright and shiny and beautiful as it had been when she first found it.
Now, as she sits in the waiting room, cursing her own inability to arrive just a few minutes before the designated time, she places a hand over her still-flat stomach. She has loved Noah Puckerman since she was 16 years old. She has always assumed that someday they would get married, and have children. Despite this, she can think of a lot of reasons why terminating this pregnancy is wise. She has her career to think about, after all, and it would be seriously derailed by an infant. College would be so much more difficult though not impossible to complete with a baby. Most likely, she would have move back in with her fathers.
Or, she and Noah would get married. That's her biggest fear, really. So she had made sure he didn't think the appropriate thing to do was run and get that ring and finally ask her under these circumstances. She hadn't even asked his opinion about the whole thing. That had to have hurt him very much, but she knew if she handled it that way then it was over on her terms, not because of whatever reason he would never fully communicate when he finally ended things. Because he most definitely would, eventually. Their lives were diverging, and she would not let him hold it together because of an accidental pregnancy.
It couldn't be like that. She knows what he's like, and what he'll do. And those were not the right reasons to do any of it. She shakes her head and snatches her hand away from her own body. Is she justifying herself to herself? What the hell is she thinking?
She tips her head back so that the new tears forming in her eyes cannot run down her cheeks, and blinks rapidly to hold them back. Why is it that whenever she hears swear words in her head, they only come in the form of one voice?
*
"I'm pregnant," she said, and then quickly before he could respond, she inserted, "and I'm going to have an abortion."
He staggered back from her, as if she'd punched him in the stomach, and took in one sharp breath, his face blank with shock.
At first. Then it had turned red, the anger visibly changing his appearance. Rachel felt afraid, but she stood unwavering in front of him. She had to be strong, and get through this, making sure he understood there was no need for heroic measures.
The longer he was silent, the more devastation she could read in his expression, and her own tears couldn't be stopped. She tried to control it, but it was a losing battle from the start. When he tried to argue with her, she shut him down. When he didn't reach for her, she walked out the door.
When he didn't come after her, she started running.
*
She checks her watch for the fifth time since she's been there, but it's only 8:15. There are still 15 minutes to endure before Dr. Stone will call her name. And then she will do something irreversible. But right. Necessary.
The only realistic option open to her, really.
She palms her cell phone, which sits in her left side hoodie pocket. It's April, spring has sprung, but it's still chilly in the mornings. The sweatshirt she'd grabbed on the way out of her apartment is, of course, one of Noah's.
It swallows her whole, warm and much too big. It smells like him, so she can close her eyes and imagine that she will see him again, just later today, or tomorrow. And he won't hate her. He'll smile, and his teeth will gleam in that big, bad wolf way he has about him and then his arm will circle her neck and pull her against his chest. He'll murmur, "Hey, Berry," into her temple, and she'll know that everything is fine.
She remembers wondering why Quinn hadn't had an abortion when she turned up pregnant, not by her boyfriend, and over time she'd come to realize the other girl’s religious upbringing had been the big deciding factor. Rachel had been raised much more liberally, and it had been impressed upon her for as long as she could remember that it was her body, and her decision. What nobody had told her, though, was that loving the man who had impregnated you made everything different. It made the reasons why you might make that choice infinitely more complicated, but also, bottomlined the simplicity of it.
To keep Noah's child was to keep Noah, in part, forever. And about 85% of her really wants to do that because she's been afraid losing him since, well, the beginning. It has increased over the last several months, though, progressing into a sickness of debate inside her. Leave him first, or wait for him to do it? Do the unthinkable, or wait for the humiliation?
Wasn't it ironic that she could hold on to him, or let him go either by having a baby or not having one? He was the only reason she would have a child at 19, and he was the only reason she could not ethically make that choice. It made her want to throw up in a precursor to the morning sickness she hadn't yet felt.
She should have at least called her fathers and told them what she was doing. Of course, they would have wanted to come up from Lima to be with her, but she just didn't think she could handle that. The sympathetic support of anyone would break her, would make her not just unable to do what she needed to do, but it might cripple her in every other way. Her functionality as a human being hung in the precarious balance.
Life with a trapped Noah, or no life with him whatsoever.
Her friend Wendy was supposed to pick her up when the appointment was over; she hadn't even told her what she was doing, just that she'd need a ride home. Wendy said she'd be available all day. Rachel was just supposed to call her when she’s ready.
Hi, I'm baby-free. Come get me, please!
She wipes at stray tears on her cheeks as the bell jingles over the door and someone else finally walks in. She thinks she's dreaming when she sees him come out from behind the huge, potted tree that blocks her view of the entrance. It's entirely possible that she's fallen to sleep; God knows she hadn't gotten much of it last night. She rubs her fingers over her cheekbones and squeezes her eyes tightly shut only to open them and see that it's really him.
She stands up as he moves closer, and she hisses, "What are you doing here?"
He shoves his hands deeply into his jeans pockets and stares at her, his eyes moving over the sweatshirt she's engulfed in and then down to her feet before slowly coming back up to her face. "I went to your place first, but you weren't there, so I guessed where else you might be," he answers, his voice mellow but hoarse, like he'd sung his heart out the night before.
She just looks at him, wondering what in the world he's going to say. When one of his hands moves out of his pocket, she swears she can see his hand curved around something in his palm. She has the horrifying thought that he's finally going to do it, he's going to propose to her in the waiting room of the Planned Parenthood building, and she just freaks out.
Throwing her arms wide, she gesticulates madly. "No! No, Noah. You cannot do this. I won't let you do this! That's not a solution, and you proposing to me is not going to change my mind!"
She knows her voice has reached a very high decibel because the non-helpful receptionist stands up and Rachel sees her, just past Noah's right shoulder, looking truly concerned. His hands go up, both palms completely empty, and his expression changes from timidity to incredulity. "Whoa, chillax, Berry. I'm not here to propose!" He looks over his shoulder as though he's become aware of their small audience. He steps closer to her, and when he reaches for her, she throws her arms up and sidesteps him. "What the fuck, Rachel?" he says sharply; their eyes meet, and Rachel feels gutted. She didn't want to have a confrontation, ever, and she really doesn't want to have one, here, of all places.
So she just turns away from him, because there's no place to go, she can't leave, and there must be like 12 more minutes until Dr. Stone's going to call her name. "Go away," she says, her voice cracking.
"Ray. Chel." He says each syllable emphatically, and she can feel him hovering right behind her, but he doesn't touch her. "I'm already here. You can send me away if you want, but I'm here. I'm doing my job. I'm supporting you. I don't like this idea, at all, but I couldn't fucking sleep last night. I just laid there thinking about putting a baby inside you, and someone taking it out, and me not being here just seemed so goddamned wrong. I-“ his voice cracks now, and Rachel wraps her arms around her middle, holding her own sobs inside.
There is this horribly long pause, and then he pleads, "Please...let me stay," and his voice is so quiet and penetrating, Rachel can't stop herself from turning around to face him.
He hasn't shaved, and his hair sticks out in an unruly mess from under the edges of his baseball cap. He looks as tired as she feels, and the only thing she wants is to fling herself into his arms. She wants it to be disbelief that assaults her at his arrival, but instead it's like being smacked with the "duh" stick. This is why she'd chosen him in the beginning, anyway. Because he wouldn't just walk away, it wasn't in him to do that. "If I do this," she asks tremulously, "do you think we'll survive it?"
He grimaces as though he's in some sort of physical pain, and shakes his head. He gestures vaguely like it's the entire room's fault he doesn't have a better answer. "Fuck, I don't know!” He folds his arms defensively over his chest, mirroring her body language, and says softly, “All I do know is this is where I should be right now."
Rachel drops his gaze to study her own fingers. She doesn't know either, but she figures with Noah's history, her plan was a pretty shitty one to begin with. The question of the millennia hovers behind her lips, and she sees that ring in his sock drawer for the thousandth time in her mind's eye.
"Why did you think I was gonna propose?" he asks, moving a step closer to her. His hand reaches out and snags one of hers, and she watches his much larger fingers weave in between her own smaller ones.
She shrugs. "I just know, you know. That you would have done anything to make things better with Quinn. I know, once upon a time, you offered to marry her, too."
She glances up just as he rolls his lips inside his mouth and squints at her as though he doesn't quite recognize her. "Rach, come on. You can't compare apples to fucking oranges. If we got married, it wouldn't be the same as me trying every trick I could think of to please Quinn's parents or get her to agree to keep the baby."
Rachel is instantly offended and snaps back, "So you wouldn't use every 'trick' to try to get me to keep this baby?"
He mutters a curse low under his breath and his hand tightens around hers, pulling her infinitesimally closer. "I'm saying, Crazy Horse, that if we got married, it would be because we love each other not because we're having a baby. Which we're not, are we? Because, you've made up your mind, without even asking me what I want. But, I love you, and I'm here. You've put up with my shit, so I'm putting up with yours," he pauses. She can tell he's weighing his words, something Noah Puckerman rarely does. "But I can't promise you what happens on the other side, Rach. Nobody can promise that. Nobody knows."
All the insecurities she's nurtured for months are at war with what she really wants. Forgiving Noah for his mistakes has been much harder than she originally anticipated, and it's possible she never completely had. But how can she not when he stands before her now with no expectations or demands? He holds no promises either, but the fact that he doesn't falsely guarantee something he can't seems to buoy her up.
It's been all the unspoken uncertainty that has scared her the most.
"Rachel?" Both of their heads jerk towards the sound of her name. "We're ready for you now." Dr. Stone stands expectantly in an open doorway, the one that leads to the exam rooms.
His hand squeezes hers, and they look at one another again. Then Rachel makes the choice that changes both of their lives forever.
~fin~
Prompt: Puck/Rachel, after high school; song: "Blinded (When I See You)" by Third Eye Blind; preference: less sap, more angst!
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Puck/Rachel
Warnings: Future!fic; spoilers for all aired episodes.
Word count: ~9900
Recipient: andbless_mybaby
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy, et all.
Summary: A few years into their relationship, Puck and Rachel face a crisis.
A/N: This fic supposes that Puck is a year older than Rachel (i.e., if she's a sophomore in current time on the show, Puck is a junior). The title of this fic, and some references in it, are lifted from the song “Blinded (When I See You)” by Third Eye Blind, which was given as a prompt. Many thanks to my wonderful betas!
Part 1
She knows that life is not like a movie. As she walks towards the double doors of the Planned Parenthood Clinic, she knows there won't be a girl standing out front with a protest sign. Nobody will tell her about her baby's fingernails, and she won't have an epiphany that she can't do this because of something so trivial.
The tears leaking from her eyes aren’t going to help convince the doctor that she's thought this through, however, and that she's fine with her decision. She is though. Totally fine with it. It's the right thing. It's the best thing. She knows that. She's only six weeks along. It's not even a baby yet, anyway.
She just needs to put on her Best Actress face and get on with it.
As she pulls the door open, she swipes at the irritating moisture with the cuff of her sweatshirt. She absolutely does not think about Noah as she walks up to the counter. "I'm Rachel Berry. I believe you have me scheduled for a procedure today?"
*
Sometimes she thought about how the fact that she'd fallen in love with the guy who had called her names throughout grade school, and then mightily abused her with high fructose corn syrup and ice during some of their high school years could send the wrong message. If she were starring in an after school special, it would not have wrapped up that way.
But when she listened to Noah sing, and when he kissed her, and every time he looked at her with a deceptively sweet expression that was totally sincere, she wanted to tell the critics in her head that they just didn't understand.
People changed. Noah Puckerman had changed, not super-dramatically, but enough. He'd grown to appreciate her. He'd also fallen in love with her, and that had changed everything.
They'd been living in New York for almost three months-in separate residences, much to Noah's irritation-when she was in his small apartment alone. She'd let herself in, because they had keys to each other's places even if they didn't live together, to start dinner. It was nothing fancy, just spaghetti, because that went far on a small budget, but Rachel had also found some asparagus on sale at the grocery store, so they were having something healthy as well.
She wasn't sure if melted butter on top would be enough incentive to get Noah to eat vegetables, but she had to try. She had promised his mother, after all, that she'd take care of him. She pulled open the one drawer in his tiny kitchen, forgetting until it was all but hanging from one of its back corners that he didn't have any large utensils, and that he kept his socks and underwear there instead of any kitchen-related items.
She shook her head, amusement at his strange need to store his underclothes in a place that they did not belong warring with slight annoyance that the drawer didn't seem to want to go back into its slot. After a momentary shove and jiggle, the stupid thing fell completely out, and, if not for her quick reflexes, would have landed right on one of her bare feet.
Uttering a curse word to the empty apartment, she turned back to the stove and quickly twisted the heat dial down under the burner. Then she picked up the drawer and fitted it back onto the track, sliding it in quite easily now that she was using both hands. Before she could pick up the socks and boxer briefs that decorated the small patch of linoleum, her cell phone rang.
"Rachel Berry," she said, holding the phone to her ear as she knelt down to pick up white socks and black underwear.
"Yeah, I know, that's why I called," he replied with faint sarcasm.
"Noah!" Rachel said. "I'm sorry, I didn't check the screen to see who was calling. I'm having a little trouble navigating around your kitchen."
"You're at my place?" he asked.
"Yes, remember? I told you I'd cook dinner for us tonight and then we can go to the club early, before your set, so we can listen to the other performers."
"Oh, yeah, yeah, I remember," he said. "Sorry, babe, I just thought it was gonna be later. Don't you usually have class until-“
"I blew it off, for you. Aren't you proud?" Rachel tossed rolled up sock pairs into the drawer and smiled as she heard him chuckle softly.
"I'll make a truant of you yet, Berry," he said.
And I'll make a scholar of you, she thought, finding it humorous that he didn't even notice his own usage of a word like 'truant.'
"Well, I'm on my way home, then, dear," he added in an exaggerated tone. "Should I pick anything up?"
Giggling, she said, "A bottle of wine would be fantastic."
"Any wine I can afford you'll think tastes like shit," he lamented. "How about wine coolers?"
"That works."
"You're so easy, Berry," his voice dropped a little, sending fingers of delight through her without even trying.
"Only for you," she replied, feeling a little sappy, but unable to help herself.
"You got that right. See you in 20. Love you, babe."
"I love you, too," she said before disconnecting the call. As she set her phone on the counter, she noticed one pair of socks that had flown further out than the others. It had landed on the carpet that was just beyond the tile, and differentiated between the kitchen and the living room/bedroom. She bent down to snag it and felt something hard tucked up on the bottom side. Flipping the socks over, she gasped when she saw the square-shaped lump.
A ring box, distinctive and obvious to any girl who had ever dreamed of being proposed to, was secured under the elastic band. As she opened it-it never occurred to her not to-tears sprang to her eyes. It was simply breathtaking, likely the most beautiful piece of jewelry she'd ever seen, and considering her parentage, she'd seen a lot of jewelry in her nearly 19 years. Her first thought was that it must have cost Noah a fortune because there were three large diamonds set in what had to be in-laid platinum. The center round-cut stone was at least two carats, possibly larger, and the two on either side of it were at least one carat themselves. Between the three stones were ribbons of smaller stones set into tiny, carved roses, the vines reaching down either side of the ring, and tapering off as it circled down into the bottom.
She stared at it for long minutes before she came back to herself and remembered that Noah was on his way home from work. This was obviously something he intended to give to her, not have her find from snooping through his things.
She tucked the ring away without trying it on-she wanted the first time she wore it to be when he put it on her finger-and began to dream up extravagant proposal scenarios. When and where was he planning to do it? Her birthday was in a few weeks, and that was the most likely time.
She knew they were young, and her fathers would most definitely not approve, but she really didn't care. Noah had bought her a ring!
She would marry Noah Puckerman. But her stage name would have to remain Rachel Berry, for obvious reasons.
*
Because she met him at the door as soon as he came in and gave him the blowjob of his lifetime, they were late leaving for the club. He wheezily pronounced her awesomeness as he leaned against the door gasping for air with one hand still clenched in her hair.
He wanted to know what had gotten into her, but she just smiled demurely and stripped her clothes off so that when he recovered, he would make love to her. They ate cold spaghetti an hour and a half later, but tossed the asparagus out since it had boiled down to mushy disgustingness, and then ran like mad to the subway, hoping to only be fashionably late.
The club where Noah performed was a fairly new gig for him, something he'd only played two previous weekends. It was in downtown Manhattan, and admittedly Rachel felt a little uncomfortable as they got deeper into the city. He just tucked her tighter against his side, whispering in her ear that he would protect her; then his tongue laved her earlobe, and Rachel felt her panties grow damp. She wondered if she would wake up some day and not want him so much that she was almost willing to scandalize everyone in the subway car with them by straddling his lap.
"I'm so excited to watch you perform tonight," she said, trying to pull her mind out of his pants. She hadn't been able to go the previous times, so she was excited for herself, and a little nervous for him.
"Mmm-hmmm," he mumbled, his lips rubbing up and down the column of her neck just below her ear. "I was hella excited to see you perform tonight," he murmured salaciously in her ear and then one of his hands snaked down, flicking her nipple through her shirt. Rachel tugged her jacket more closely around her, lightly smacking his hand away. "I'll be hard all night, knowing you didn't put your bra back on," he said lowly, his lips pressed right over her ear.
Completely aroused again, Rachel turned her head and captured his lips with hers. They kissed deeply, her tongue stroking just as urgently as his. She imagined how happy they would be once they were engaged and living together, and when his hand snuck back under her jacket and inside her low cut v-neck to strum her nipple some more, she didn't protest.
A few minutes later, she was climaxing as quietly as she could, the sounds swallowed up in Noah's mouth as his callused fingertips played her like she was his favorite chord on the guitar.
"Hey, get a room!" a voice called out. Noah lifted his head, raised his free hand and gave some guy the bird as Rachel inhaled heavily through her nose and tried to not moan wantonly as she rode the wave out.
"God, I love the week before your period," he breathed against her cheek a moment later. "You're so fucking horny, it's like I'm king of the world."
Rachel started laughing, caught by surprise at his take on the situation. She wanted to tell him that it was more than her standard horniness, but she couldn't ruin the surprise. "I'm so in love with you," she blurted instead, kissing his mouth sloppily.
He grinned, slow and wide. Kissing the end of her nose, he murmured, "Back atcha, babe."
*
An hour later, she listened as he sung his set of seven songs: an eclectic blend of covers-band like Radiohead and Seether, and oldies from The Steve Miller Band and Neil Diamond that he interspersed with a few of his own songs, stories about small town kids coming to the big city to follow their dreams, and poignant tales of boys too young to be someone's father who said goodbye on the day they wanted to say hello, and of course, just straight up love songs about a girl with dark, bedroom eyes and the voice of an angel.
Rachel sat in that club, cataloging her love for him, and admiring how beautiful he was with his hair grown out, the natural curl he'd tamed with a mohawk for the majority of high school giving way to the pleas of a girlfriend who wanted something to hold on to when his head was between her thighs. She noticed that there were many women in the audience, and they were all hanging on his every move, cheering and catcalling, a few even getting embarrassingly loud when he sang, Some people call me the space cowboy, yeah, some call me the gangster of love.
It was a very good thing that they would be engaged soon, because these women needed to know he was taken.
*
"Please, have a seat in the waiting area, Ms. Berry. I see you've already filled out the necessary paper work when you met with Dr. Stone last week." The receptionist points to the empty chairs behind Rachel, and gives her a pained smile.
"Yes," Rachel confirms. "I made my appointment early today because she recommended I do it as early in the day as possible. Was that not right? Is she very busy right now? Because I can come back later, if that's better."
"Oh, no, no, this is the best time, that's correct. But Dr. Stone always has her staff meeting right now, so she doesn't actually consult with clients until 8:30. Which is when your appointment is. You're about 45 minutes early, dear." Again, the woman gives her a smile that is neither sincere nor very comforting.
Rachel does an about-face and heads for the empty chairs. She wonders why no one else is there. It's not like this is just a place to get an abortion. There are all kinds of services here, birth control being the most popular, she guesses, and it seems like in a city that never sleeps there would always be people here. Like, all the time. Constantly. The room should be filled up with persons in various stages of pre-emptive parenthood.
When Noah had pointed out to her that they'd had sex without a condom, she wishes she'd thought to come here the very next day to get the Morning After Pill. That would have been much simpler. Of course, she'd assumed her birth control would be enough; a truly foolish idea, obviously, since they'd had sex at least three times that day without any condoms. And Noah's sperm must be, like, super strength. Even through her nervousness that thought makes her smile. He would agree, no doubt.
Oh, Noah.
He'd been so happy. He'd loved doing it "naked," and honestly Rachel had never thought about it much, but there had been this greater sense of intimacy between them that day. He'd been desperate to make her stay, and she'd been desperate for a reason to. Sometimes she wondered if loving him was enough of one. She'd begun to question where they were really headed, and if it was possible that they could actually make it together. They weren't on the same path, even if they kept forcing their lives into the same space. College had introduced her to new things and people, and his playing at different bars all over New York City was definitely changing him.
She suspected things she didn't want to put a voice to, things that scared her, like drugs and women; temptations that a reformed bad boy from Lima, Ohio would find alluring. She also kept hoping he'd pull out the ring she'd found in his drawer so many months earlier, but he never did.
At first, she'd thought he was waiting for her birthday, or Christmas. But then Valentine's Day had also passed and he still hadn't asked her, so she began to worry about it all the time. She finally approached Aaron, her co-star in the Gershwin Revival they were doing as part of her musical theater class, and asked him what he thought it meant if a guy had bought a ring, a very long time ago, but had not yet given it to the girl for whom it was purchased.
"Having second thoughts, I'd guess," Aaron said nonchalantly as he hummed out a tune on the piano. Rachel had chewed on her bottom lip while contemplating this theory, and then two days later, Noah had come to her with a very serious face, and he'd actually cried a little while he told her about a girl he'd messed around with at the club.
Rachel had almost broken up with him right then, but he was truly penitent in a way she'd never seen before, and she'd assumed Aaron was right about the second thoughts. It was apparent he'd even acted out on those fears, but he'd also begged-or at least asked very sincerely-that she forgive him, and promised that he'd never do anything like that ever again. So she had, and things had been okay, though different, after that, almost like they couldn't quite get their footing back.
Most of all, there was still no proposal. Every time she couldn't go see one of his performances, she worried there was some woman tossing her panties literally on the stage, and/or stripping them off behind it after the show was over.
One day she'd gone into his apartment while he was at work and checked to see that the ring was still in his sock drawer. It was, of course, just as bright and shiny and beautiful as it had been when she first found it.
Now, as she sits in the waiting room, cursing her own inability to arrive just a few minutes before the designated time, she places a hand over her still-flat stomach. She has loved Noah Puckerman since she was 16 years old. She has always assumed that someday they would get married, and have children. Despite this, she can think of a lot of reasons why terminating this pregnancy is wise. She has her career to think about, after all, and it would be seriously derailed by an infant. College would be so much more difficult though not impossible to complete with a baby. Most likely, she would have move back in with her fathers.
Or, she and Noah would get married. That's her biggest fear, really. So she had made sure he didn't think the appropriate thing to do was run and get that ring and finally ask her under these circumstances. She hadn't even asked his opinion about the whole thing. That had to have hurt him very much, but she knew if she handled it that way then it was over on her terms, not because of whatever reason he would never fully communicate when he finally ended things. Because he most definitely would, eventually. Their lives were diverging, and she would not let him hold it together because of an accidental pregnancy.
It couldn't be like that. She knows what he's like, and what he'll do. And those were not the right reasons to do any of it. She shakes her head and snatches her hand away from her own body. Is she justifying herself to herself? What the hell is she thinking?
She tips her head back so that the new tears forming in her eyes cannot run down her cheeks, and blinks rapidly to hold them back. Why is it that whenever she hears swear words in her head, they only come in the form of one voice?
*
"I'm pregnant," she said, and then quickly before he could respond, she inserted, "and I'm going to have an abortion."
He staggered back from her, as if she'd punched him in the stomach, and took in one sharp breath, his face blank with shock.
At first. Then it had turned red, the anger visibly changing his appearance. Rachel felt afraid, but she stood unwavering in front of him. She had to be strong, and get through this, making sure he understood there was no need for heroic measures.
The longer he was silent, the more devastation she could read in his expression, and her own tears couldn't be stopped. She tried to control it, but it was a losing battle from the start. When he tried to argue with her, she shut him down. When he didn't reach for her, she walked out the door.
When he didn't come after her, she started running.
*
She checks her watch for the fifth time since she's been there, but it's only 8:15. There are still 15 minutes to endure before Dr. Stone will call her name. And then she will do something irreversible. But right. Necessary.
The only realistic option open to her, really.
She palms her cell phone, which sits in her left side hoodie pocket. It's April, spring has sprung, but it's still chilly in the mornings. The sweatshirt she'd grabbed on the way out of her apartment is, of course, one of Noah's.
It swallows her whole, warm and much too big. It smells like him, so she can close her eyes and imagine that she will see him again, just later today, or tomorrow. And he won't hate her. He'll smile, and his teeth will gleam in that big, bad wolf way he has about him and then his arm will circle her neck and pull her against his chest. He'll murmur, "Hey, Berry," into her temple, and she'll know that everything is fine.
She remembers wondering why Quinn hadn't had an abortion when she turned up pregnant, not by her boyfriend, and over time she'd come to realize the other girl’s religious upbringing had been the big deciding factor. Rachel had been raised much more liberally, and it had been impressed upon her for as long as she could remember that it was her body, and her decision. What nobody had told her, though, was that loving the man who had impregnated you made everything different. It made the reasons why you might make that choice infinitely more complicated, but also, bottomlined the simplicity of it.
To keep Noah's child was to keep Noah, in part, forever. And about 85% of her really wants to do that because she's been afraid losing him since, well, the beginning. It has increased over the last several months, though, progressing into a sickness of debate inside her. Leave him first, or wait for him to do it? Do the unthinkable, or wait for the humiliation?
Wasn't it ironic that she could hold on to him, or let him go either by having a baby or not having one? He was the only reason she would have a child at 19, and he was the only reason she could not ethically make that choice. It made her want to throw up in a precursor to the morning sickness she hadn't yet felt.
She should have at least called her fathers and told them what she was doing. Of course, they would have wanted to come up from Lima to be with her, but she just didn't think she could handle that. The sympathetic support of anyone would break her, would make her not just unable to do what she needed to do, but it might cripple her in every other way. Her functionality as a human being hung in the precarious balance.
Life with a trapped Noah, or no life with him whatsoever.
Her friend Wendy was supposed to pick her up when the appointment was over; she hadn't even told her what she was doing, just that she'd need a ride home. Wendy said she'd be available all day. Rachel was just supposed to call her when she’s ready.
Hi, I'm baby-free. Come get me, please!
She wipes at stray tears on her cheeks as the bell jingles over the door and someone else finally walks in. She thinks she's dreaming when she sees him come out from behind the huge, potted tree that blocks her view of the entrance. It's entirely possible that she's fallen to sleep; God knows she hadn't gotten much of it last night. She rubs her fingers over her cheekbones and squeezes her eyes tightly shut only to open them and see that it's really him.
She stands up as he moves closer, and she hisses, "What are you doing here?"
He shoves his hands deeply into his jeans pockets and stares at her, his eyes moving over the sweatshirt she's engulfed in and then down to her feet before slowly coming back up to her face. "I went to your place first, but you weren't there, so I guessed where else you might be," he answers, his voice mellow but hoarse, like he'd sung his heart out the night before.
She just looks at him, wondering what in the world he's going to say. When one of his hands moves out of his pocket, she swears she can see his hand curved around something in his palm. She has the horrifying thought that he's finally going to do it, he's going to propose to her in the waiting room of the Planned Parenthood building, and she just freaks out.
Throwing her arms wide, she gesticulates madly. "No! No, Noah. You cannot do this. I won't let you do this! That's not a solution, and you proposing to me is not going to change my mind!"
She knows her voice has reached a very high decibel because the non-helpful receptionist stands up and Rachel sees her, just past Noah's right shoulder, looking truly concerned. His hands go up, both palms completely empty, and his expression changes from timidity to incredulity. "Whoa, chillax, Berry. I'm not here to propose!" He looks over his shoulder as though he's become aware of their small audience. He steps closer to her, and when he reaches for her, she throws her arms up and sidesteps him. "What the fuck, Rachel?" he says sharply; their eyes meet, and Rachel feels gutted. She didn't want to have a confrontation, ever, and she really doesn't want to have one, here, of all places.
So she just turns away from him, because there's no place to go, she can't leave, and there must be like 12 more minutes until Dr. Stone's going to call her name. "Go away," she says, her voice cracking.
"Ray. Chel." He says each syllable emphatically, and she can feel him hovering right behind her, but he doesn't touch her. "I'm already here. You can send me away if you want, but I'm here. I'm doing my job. I'm supporting you. I don't like this idea, at all, but I couldn't fucking sleep last night. I just laid there thinking about putting a baby inside you, and someone taking it out, and me not being here just seemed so goddamned wrong. I-“ his voice cracks now, and Rachel wraps her arms around her middle, holding her own sobs inside.
There is this horribly long pause, and then he pleads, "Please...let me stay," and his voice is so quiet and penetrating, Rachel can't stop herself from turning around to face him.
He hasn't shaved, and his hair sticks out in an unruly mess from under the edges of his baseball cap. He looks as tired as she feels, and the only thing she wants is to fling herself into his arms. She wants it to be disbelief that assaults her at his arrival, but instead it's like being smacked with the "duh" stick. This is why she'd chosen him in the beginning, anyway. Because he wouldn't just walk away, it wasn't in him to do that. "If I do this," she asks tremulously, "do you think we'll survive it?"
He grimaces as though he's in some sort of physical pain, and shakes his head. He gestures vaguely like it's the entire room's fault he doesn't have a better answer. "Fuck, I don't know!” He folds his arms defensively over his chest, mirroring her body language, and says softly, “All I do know is this is where I should be right now."
Rachel drops his gaze to study her own fingers. She doesn't know either, but she figures with Noah's history, her plan was a pretty shitty one to begin with. The question of the millennia hovers behind her lips, and she sees that ring in his sock drawer for the thousandth time in her mind's eye.
"Why did you think I was gonna propose?" he asks, moving a step closer to her. His hand reaches out and snags one of hers, and she watches his much larger fingers weave in between her own smaller ones.
She shrugs. "I just know, you know. That you would have done anything to make things better with Quinn. I know, once upon a time, you offered to marry her, too."
She glances up just as he rolls his lips inside his mouth and squints at her as though he doesn't quite recognize her. "Rach, come on. You can't compare apples to fucking oranges. If we got married, it wouldn't be the same as me trying every trick I could think of to please Quinn's parents or get her to agree to keep the baby."
Rachel is instantly offended and snaps back, "So you wouldn't use every 'trick' to try to get me to keep this baby?"
He mutters a curse low under his breath and his hand tightens around hers, pulling her infinitesimally closer. "I'm saying, Crazy Horse, that if we got married, it would be because we love each other not because we're having a baby. Which we're not, are we? Because, you've made up your mind, without even asking me what I want. But, I love you, and I'm here. You've put up with my shit, so I'm putting up with yours," he pauses. She can tell he's weighing his words, something Noah Puckerman rarely does. "But I can't promise you what happens on the other side, Rach. Nobody can promise that. Nobody knows."
All the insecurities she's nurtured for months are at war with what she really wants. Forgiving Noah for his mistakes has been much harder than she originally anticipated, and it's possible she never completely had. But how can she not when he stands before her now with no expectations or demands? He holds no promises either, but the fact that he doesn't falsely guarantee something he can't seems to buoy her up.
It's been all the unspoken uncertainty that has scared her the most.
"Rachel?" Both of their heads jerk towards the sound of her name. "We're ready for you now." Dr. Stone stands expectantly in an open doorway, the one that leads to the exam rooms.
His hand squeezes hers, and they look at one another again. Then Rachel makes the choice that changes both of their lives forever.
~fin~
Prompt: Puck/Rachel, after high school; song: "Blinded (When I See You)" by Third Eye Blind; preference: less sap, more angst!