if I could tell you 9/?
Title: If I could tell you
Chapter: 9/?
Rating: M
Characters: Puck, Rachel, OC
Word Count: 6000
Summary: Puck and Rachel get another chance when unexpected events bring her to his doorstep years after graduation.
*****
Puck stays in the shower as long as he can, long enough to feel half-drowned and almost lightheaded with all the steam swirling around the small room. Shit. He can't hide in his damn bathroom all day and besides, there's probably not enough hot water in the world for him to feel better about this situation. Finally, he gives up trying and cranks the water off, wrapping a towel around his hips and stepping out. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glance of himself in the mirror and pauses to stare at the blurred outlines of his own indistinct reflection. Suddenly, it hits him: he's done this before.
Him and Jen? Wherever they were headed before (before Rachel, even if he doesn't want to admit it), this is just a repeat of that bullshit where he's with someone for the wrong reasons. Hell, he spent most of high school thinking that being with someone was going to be some kind of magic short-cut to whatever it was he thought he needed. Quinn, Santana, even Shelby (fuck, especially Shelby) and truth be told, they'd gone ahead and done the same thing right back to him.
But he's not some stupid, desperate kid from Lima any more, he hasn't been for years and there's no way he's going to back to that same old shit again. Maybe it's unfair or misguided or maybe he's just being an asshole because nothing about this is her fault, but he needs to break up with Jen.
Fuck. How the hell is he going to do that?
No really, he's asking.
This is kind of strange for a grown-ass man to be saying, but he's never really broken up with anyone before. High school speaks for itself and after that his relationships either didn't last long enough to merit the term or just drifted apart when shit came up. (It's not like he was looking for something long-term anyway.) The most he's ever done along that line is avoid someone's phone calls and he's sure as hell not going to to do that here. He's been with Jen for well over a year now, so the least he can do is not be a fuck about it.
But then just telling her flat out seems crazy-hard too. What's he going to say? Obviously reputation and credit score are out and 'I'll never be able to think of you as anything other that the person who knocked me up and ruined my life' isn't going to work either.
'It's just bad timing'?
'You deserve better'?
'I don't want to waste your time while I figure out what the hell this woman that I've never been able to forget actually means to me now that she's across town and single'?
Scratch that last one. There's no real need to bring Rachel's name into it.
He needs to do this shit for himself: it's not all about Rachel, even if he can't stop dreaming about her. And yeah, he recognizes exactly how fucked up it is to be dreaming about her in that particular way. Not the blow job. No need to go into too much detail but that's definitely not the first time his subconscious has suggested that he wants her lips around his cock. Hell, his conscious is fully aware of that. No, what really gives him the shakes, even now, is the rest of it. The two of them together. Her pregnant with his kid and happy about it.
(He can't. He just can't. That kind of thing doesn't happen for him.)
He looks down and he's gripping the edge of the vanity so hard, his fingers are cramping and he lets go just to make sure he can. From the other side of the door, Jen is calling his name, telling him he needs to hurry up for that brunch thing she'd slipped past him while he was still reeling from his orgasm.
He kind of hates it when she does that.
Never mind. It gives him a little more time to figure shit out because he's not enough of an asshole to dump her an hour before she has to go be all social with the partners at her firm.
Sure. A little more time, a few days at the most, is all he needs.
*****
So, that thing where he's waiting? Three hours in and it's seeming like less and less of a good idea because Jen decides that she wants to fucking stop off at Rachel's place. Really? 'Cause last time he checked, they were all years out of high school and yet here they are. And okay, maybe she has a point, but if Jen should be angry with anyone, it's him. Instead, she's being kind of a fake bitch to Rachel (what, you think he's not going to recognize that? Quinn lived in his goddamn house for three months). As if that wasn't enough he's almost surprised that she hasn't literally tried to piss all over him yet because that's how hard the woman's trying to mark her territory. (He has the distinct memory of laughing his ass off when it was Santana and Mercedes circling each other sophomore year. God, he was a dick sometimes, but karma can still fuck right off any time now.)
And sure, Rachel is more than holding her own but hell, what does it say about him when he doesn't put a stop to it before it can even start, doesn't head Jen off with some stupid excuse (please bitch, he's got a million), doesn't mail the damn book back if he has to?
It's just that he wants to see Rachel. He wants to see Connor. He wants to tease her about the bunny slippers and read the truck book and take the two of them to the playground like he'd promised. He wants to slide his hand along the soft skin of at the small her back and press her close and see if she'll gasp and arch against him like she did years and years ago on her front porch.
He's not going to, of course. No, he's the idiot who's going to go socialize with the lawyers.
And then he swears, that kiss, it was meant to be the chaste kind of kiss you give out to your maiden aunt in the receiving line at a family wedding. (Does it mean anything that the closest thing that he has to a maiden aunt is Ma's second cousin from Reno who usually has one too many G&T's and ends up squeezing his ass?) Only instead of going for her cheek, he somehow hones in on her mouth and even that brief touch is enough to shake him completely. Damn, she's good at keeping him on his toes.
It's probably best that he stays away from Rachel until this whole thing is straightened out. And then he'll be single and she'll be single and fuck, he doesn't know, they can be single together for a while. Or something.
Oh please. Like he's got it all figured out.
*****
He could call her though, right? (Loophole!)
*****
"Hey Rach."
"Noah! I didn't expect...How was your brunch?"
"It was okay. They like to talk music." Fuck, do they ever. As far as he can tell at least half of the people Jen works with think that they could have been the next big thing if they hadn't gone to law school. "I'm at the studio now."
"Really? It's getting late. Connor's been in bed for for a few hours, now. Getting ready for your big day tomorrow?" she asks.
"Yeah, Josh ended up needing something, but he's out on a burrito run so I'm taking a break. How'd your day go?"
He settles back into his chair, smiling slightly, as Rachel tells him about the neighborhood playground and how she met a young couple with a two-year-old daughter who actually live on the second floor of her apartment building at the slides and how Connor tried to give names to all the dogs he met in the park.
*****
"So how was your first visit to your school? Met your boss, yet?" he asks, the phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder while he picks his way through his sweet and sour pork. Total guilty pleasure and thank god the place next to the studio delivers until midnight because it looks like it's going to be another long one.
"She seems very nice! And my new office is neat as a pin and the last teacher left meticulous lesson plans. Best of all, Connor really seems to like his preschool teacher. She won his heart by bringing out the race track for him to play with while we talked. But never mind that! I called because I want to know how your meeting went!"
"Good. Really good, I think, but it's hard to tell," he says scrubbing his hand over his scalp. "Jared's...Jared, I guess. Kid's barely twenty and he's got a ton of talent, but damn, he's stubborn when he wants something."
"He should hold on to that," she says quietly and he recognizes that note in her voice.
"Rach...."
Before he can say anything else, she continues on brightly, "So is there another Ukrainian Children's Choir in your future?"
He lets it drop.
"No, but if you know of a good zither player, let me know."
*****
"Is this a bad time?" he asks when she answers the phone after four rings, slightly breathless.
"Noooo, he's almost asleep. I'm just getting him a drink and settling him down with his song. Can I call you back in five minutes?"
"Can I listen in?" he says without thinking.
"Noah," she says and he wonders if she's biting her lip.
"Come on," he coaxes. "I've barely heard you sing since you got here. That can't be right."
He manages to sweet-talk her into it, and she sings a simple, plaintive song about a freight-train and the Blue Ridge Mountains. It's not the same voice he remembers from high-school. This voice is sadder, richer, more like he remembers Shelby's voice being in some ways. But she's still got that pull, that magic that communicates every emotion she's got like it's slapped on a billboard in Times Square and it makes him want to say shit, to lay himself bare in a way he hasn't done in years, not with anyone.
Instead he takes it apart in his head in the way he knows how to do now. If he had her in the studio would he change the key? Up the tempo? No, but maybe add a background vocalist or an acoustic guitar on the chorus to act as a counterpoint.
(Self defense or cowardice? He uncomfortably sure it's one of the two.)
"You sound good, Rachel," he says when she picks up the phone again, Connor sound asleep in his bed. What he hopes his voice tells her is that he means amazing.
*****
"What happened with Shelby and Beth?" she asks in a voice so low, it's almost a whisper. "Do you ever get to see her? Beth, I mean."
So all right, he's not over it exactly, but it doesn't eat away at him the way it used to, probably because he doesn't let it. And that works because he doesn't talk about it. He doesn't keep her school pictures out, he's not crying in his beer over it, he doesn't react when his mother invariably brings her up every year. (She wants to atone for something from high school, she should feel guilty about shaving the 'hawk. Now that was a travesty.) Still, there's something easy about sharing secrets in the middle of the night with Rachel Berry, even when she's across town probably safely tucked into her own bed. (He hasn't asked. Too much temptation.)
"Sometimes. Not as much as I'd like," he says, throwing an arm over the empty pillow next to him and pressing the phone a little closer to his ear with the other.
He gets the pictures regularly and sometimes phone calls, but it's hard to keep up because, well, because Shelby is kind of a flake. It took him years to realize it, but the disappearing trick she pulled senior year wasn't all him. Turns out, it's kind of her thing. (Maybe if he'd been talking to Rachel then, she could have clued him in on that, since she'd already been on the receiving end of that more than once.) Shelby moves around a lot and there's always a new job or a new relationship that's going to be just perfect, right up until the point that it isn't. There was a six-month stretch about three years ago when she was directing community theater in Marin and he got to see Beth every week, even coached her youth soccer team. When Shelby moved them both to Taos at the end of the season it was...shit, it was fucking hard.
"It's way better than nothing though," he tells Rachel. "Beth is starting to use e-mail and Shelby says she'll give her a cell phone for her next birthday. And you know, she knows who I am, knows that I love her and I think she gets it. Why we gave her up. She's kind of amazing. Really smart and athletic--she's the top scorer on her team. And god, is she outspoken. I don't even know where that comes from but I swear sometimes she reminds me of you more than anything else." Rachel's been quiet for a while and now he's starting to worry. "I'm probably talking too much," he says apologetically.
"No," she assures him. "I'm happy for you, I truly am. Maybe at one point it was hard for me to think about Beth but that was a long time ago. Before I saw the two of you together. Before I had Connor."
"What about you?" he asks. "Has Shelby been in touch?" He's not going to be surprised if she has been, Shelby's asked him if he still talks to Rachel more than once.
"Oh, she checks in from time to time," Rachel says with a voice that's light, but brittle. "Usually when I'm least expecting her. And always promising that things are always going to be different this time around."
His stomach sinks. "What happened?"
"Not very much, really. She came to town a few months after Dad died to tell Daddy how sorry she was and was appalled to find me in Lima instead of in New York as she'd imagined. So naturally, she made all kinds of plans to rescue me which of course came to nothing. Exactly what I was expecting."
"Shit...Rachel."
She sighs. "It's...not all right. But I've made my peace with it. With Shelby too. She even sent an absolutely hideous but very expensive crystal vase for a house-warming present two years ago."
"You left it behind for Finn, huh?" he asks and it makes her giggle, like he intended.
"Rach?"
"Yes?"
"For what it's worth, I don't think you need rescuing."
"No?" she asks wryly. "What would you call it when someone turns up on your doorstep with twenty-seven dollars and a station wagon on its last legs?"
"You'd have figured something out," he says and when she makes a sound like a snort, he continues. "No, you would have. You got a job, you got an apartment, you moved across country. You would have made it work."
"Maybe," she says noncommittally and then firmly changing the subject, "How are things going at the studio? Has everything calmed down yet?"
He laughs. "Well, I made it home before midnight for the first time this week, so on the whole, I'd say yeah."
"And how's Jen?" she asks casually. Too casually?
"I haven't seen much of her," he says. "But we're having lunch down on the waterfront tomorrow." Someplace quiet where they can talk, but not too quiet, so she doesn't kill him, chop him up and throw the pieces to the sea lions at Fisherman's Wharf. Or at least not without a lot of trouble.
"Oh. Well, that's good."
Not much enthusiasm there. Is he reading too much into this? Should he...? No, probably not, not on the same day. Only now he's thinking about it. Don't say it. Just wait a little longer until things settle down and then ask.
"What are you guys doing tomorrow night? I could bring over a movie and some take-out."
Classy, Puckerman, classy.
"We'd like that!"
And he's not imagining this, the happy lilt in her voice when she says it. It feels good to be the person who put it there.
They set a time and say good night (crap, it's almost 1:00 A.M.) and he tosses and turns for a while he thinks about Rachel, wondering if he'll dream about her again tonight. That line of thought makes it way less likely that he's going to be sleeping any time soon and his hand drifts low across his stomach and then down to where he's already half-hard. Gripping his length firmly, he pulls up and then slides back down, thumb brushing over the head, wiping away the fluid gathering there. And then he moves methodically at first, and then faster and it's all about the images fluttering behind his eyelids.
Her dark hair spread out on his pillowcase and her nipples pebbling under his fingers and his mouth as he slides between her legs. Sheathing himself in her an inch at a time, warm and wet and tight, and coaxing jagged gasps and moans out of her with each infinitesimal thrust. Her legs wrapped around him, urging him on with her heels, while her arms pull him closer, grip his biceps, scrape gently at the nape of his neck.
He grinds out her name as he spills into his hand, just imagining the sensation of her letting go all around him.
He's asleep about three minutes later. (And yes, he does dream about her.)
*****
He ends up going with, "I don't think this relationship is going to work out."
It doesn't go over very well and the entire restaurant is aware of this from the moment she opens her mouth and starts laying into his morals, character and hygienic habits. (All he's going to say about that is she sure as hell wasn't complaining about him going commando when he had her up against the bathroom stall in that nightclub last year.) She calls him every name she can think of, which is fine because he probably deserves a few of them and also because she's got a long way to go before she reaches Senorita Loca's standards. Santana always had a way with words.
He's less amused when she starts in on Rachel. Some of it is just stupid. Seriously, Gold-digger? What the fuck? Does Jen think he's hiding some kind of trust fund underneath the mattress along with the porn? (Yeah, he might need to get rid of that.) And he shuts her down damn quick when she starts in on the single mom stuff. First of all, Rachel's a fantastic mom. And second, maybe Jen should think about the fact that Miriam Puckerman didn't do too bad a job with the material she had at hand either. He turned out okay and Sarah's at the top of her class at the University of Chicago for fuck's sake.
Wait, he did tell Jen that Ma raised the two of them on her own, didn't he? Huh. Maybe not.
"Look," he finally says impatiently. "I get it, I'm a asshole, but you gotta know it wasn't going to happen anyway. Fuck, Jen, don't you want to be crazy about someone? Don't you want that person to be the first one you want to call when you get good news or something makes you laugh. Or listen when you've had a shitty day? Shouldn't you like every part of them, even the crap that makes you want to light yourself on fire sometimes?"
"And that's not me?" she asks, her voice wavering a little. "I can't believe you're saying this! We worked! You know we did!"
He shrugs. "We were fine for a while because we were decent in bed together and we both liked what was on the surface. Face it, we didn't really go any deeper than that."
"Of course we didn't," she almost shrieks. "You're so guarded you never gave me an opportunity to get anywhere with you! We dated for three months before I learned your first name and that was by accident! But I notice she uses it just fine! And since we're back to the subject of Rachel, let me assure you that you're an idiot if you think anything has changed for the two of you since high school." And with that parting shot, she throws her drink into his face and storms off.
He can almost hear Rachel clucking 'overdone' disapprovingly in his ear (his girl knows how to make an exit), and it makes him grin.
"So does this mean you don't want to be friends?" he hollers to her retreating back as he mops his face with a napkin.
The rude gesture she sends his way is answer enough.
(Still, he does kind of wonder what she meant by that high-school garbage.)
*****
His good mood lasts all the way back to his car. He yanks a clean t-shirt out of his workout bag and peels off the wet one, throwing a wink at the traffic cop who lets out a whistle. He got a couple more hours of work ahead of him, but his mind's already on tonight. Will Connor go for Thai food? He's gotta be up for it, right? This is Rachel's kid; he was probably eating tofu in the womb or something ridiculous like that. Still, he should call to check.
His phone is still on the charger and a small thrill runs through his system when Rachel's name comes up on the display. Two voice-mails from about three hours ago.
In the first, her voice is hesitant with that throbby quality she gets when she's upset about something.
"Noah, it's me. Rachel. I had a strange interaction with...um...I was wondering if you had mentioned anything about...you know what, never mind. I think I understand. I'll call you later."
Later turns out to be about ten minutes after the first call and this time her voice is bright and cheerful and false as hell.
"Hi Noah, it's Rachel again. Sorry to be clogging up your voice-mail like this. I promise I'll be quick. Unfortunately Connor and I can't do dinner tonight, something came up. And all those inservice meetings for the start of the school year are coming up so I'm not sure when we'll be able to reschedule."
What the hell is going on?
"Um. I...I want to thank you again for all your help over the last few weeks."
Fuck that. He doesn't want her thanks...he wants her.
"Bye, Noah."
Confused, but you know, not freaked out or anything, he leaves her a short message asking her what's going on. She texts him a half-hour later with some vague excuse about writing lesson plans, which is total bullshit since he knows she's way ahead on that front. She also tells him to enjoy his 'fun weekend.' He shoots something back immediately telling her that he's got no idea what the hell she's talking about, but she doesn't reply to that or to the next three messages he sends.
Work basically sucks but at least he doesn't have anything scheduled so he can just shut his damn door and pretend he's not checking his phone every five minutes. He pretends to do shit for a few hours and then since he's not really in the mood to go sit in his empty apartment he heads to the gym and pushes himself through a grueling run followed by a set of sprints that Coach Beiste would probably think twice about. It's a relief to not worry about anything but where his next breath is coming from for a while.
By the time he's showered and out of there, it's dark and when he pulls into a parking spot halfway down the block from her place, he's not really surprised to find himself there. The edge of anger he's starting to feel now that the endorphins are wearing off does sort of shock him though. Shit, she's not obligated to have dinner with him or anything and he sure as hell doesn't need her to be grateful to him. But whatever is going on with her isn't about that. She's upset about something and she's pushing him away because of it and that does piss him off.
Whatever. He'll take it out on her door buzzer. He stabs it twice vengefully and Rachel's cautious voice sounds over the intercom.
"Yes?"
"Rachel, it's me."
"Noah?"
She's surprised? This showing up unexpectedly late at night is practically their thing now.
"Yeah. You gonna let me in?"
"Noah it's late...Connor's already in bed...."
"I'm not here to see Connor, I'm here to see you. And I know it's late, but as I recall you showed up kinda late at my place a couple weeks ago."
Completely unfair, but there are advantages to being a dick sometimes.
She mumbles something he can't quite make out and after enough of a pause to make him start to sweat it, she buzzes him in.
He takes the stairs two at a time and when he gets to her floor she's leaning against the door-frame of her apartment. She's simply dressed faded blue jeans (did she even own jeans in high school?) and a white tee-shirt, her dark hair brushing against her shoulders. She looks gorgeous and with her arms crossed against her chest she also looks kind of mad.
It's fucking hot.
"Was there something you wanted?" she asks.
Heh. Too easy.
He steps past her into the apartment. "Thought I'd be neighborly and stop by. You know, borrow your sports section, steal your cable, ask for a cup of sugar, something like that."
"Is that an innuendo?" she asks, wrinkling her nose as she follows him in, closing the door behind them both.
Hell no, he's got way better stuff, but that suspicious little frown is cute. Shit. Focus.
"Or maybe I just showed up to try and figure out what has you so upset," he continues. He narrows his eyes, observing her closely. "Or not upset...pissed off. You're angry about something."
"How did you...!" she bursts out and then catching herself continues coolly, "And if I am?"
"Damned if I know," he says. "Can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong."
She's looking down now, worrying at the hem of her shirt and even if there was any part of him that was still angry, it would be gone now, when he reads the uncertainty in her face.
"After Jen's visit this morning...," she says.
"Wait. Hold on. Jen was here?" he interrupts.
Rachel nods. "Yes, she stopped by before she met you for lunch and frankly Noah, her visit wasn't all that pleasant. True, most of what she said was ridiculous, but a few of her barbs were quite hurtful. I understand that she's your girlfriend and I certainly don't want to put you in an awkward position or make you feel like you have to choose in any way...."
Rachel. He chooses Rachel.
"...But at one point during her and I'm sorry if this seems exaggerated but I can assure you it's accurate, her rant, I felt like I had to tell her that she was no longer welcome in my home." She moves to the refrigerator and pours herself a glass of filtered water and he watches her as she sips, scrubbing his hand along the back of his neck, letting out an irritated breath.
"Rach, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I should've dealt with this last weekend, I just...."
Now she interrupts him. "You don't need to apologize to me on her behalf, Noah. She's a grown woman who is responsible for her own actions. But I was...," she stops, swallows, and starts again. "I was disappointed that you chose to share so many details about my life with her. I realize I never asked you to keep what I'd told you in confidence and maybe it was wrong of me to expect you to do so considering your relationship with Jen, but I was taken aback and yes, angry with you. And between that and Jen's obvious and unwarranted jealousy, not to mention the fact that she told me about the spa-weekend trip the two of you have planned, I thought that cancelling our dinner was for the best."
And he's trying, he's really trying to respond, but his head is reeling.
"I didn't say shit about your past," he says at last. "I mean I said we went to high school together and she knows that Finn did too, but that's it."
"Noah, she knew names, dates, the custody agreement, everything. She even knew about us."
"Us?" he repeats stupidly and when their eyes meet, it's like he can feel it all the way down to his toes.
"The slushies, our week together sophomore year and that time before Sectionals junior year. Other things, too," she says quietly.
"I didn't have anything to do with that, Rachel, I swear."
"Then how?" she asks, spreading her arms wide.
He closes his eyes briefly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "All right Jen's got this researcher, Sandi I think her name is, who works for her. She could have put Sandi on this. I mean the names and dates are part of public record. And as for the rest of it, I don't know, maybe this woman interviewed people. Hell a ten-minute conversation with Jacob Ben-Israel and she'd have enough inside information to write a book on you."
"But why in the world would she do that?" Rachel asks in frustration.
"You said it before. She's jealous of you. And I know it must have been shitty, but you don't have to worry about Jen any more, we're finished."
"You're...breaking up with her?" Rachel asks in disbelief. "Why? I thought you two...Jen said...."
"I already did break up with her, at lunch today. And what exactly did Jen say?"
"She said that you'd been planning something all week. She thought you were going to propose! Poor girl."
Typical Rachel. Poor Jen, his ass. They weren't anywhere near that point and she knew it. Still, he doesn't want to talk about Jen any more.
"The only thing I was planning this week was how to do it," he says carefully. "That shit is not as easy as it looks." He takes a step closer and meets her eyes. "And maybe I was thinking about tonight too."
"Our dinner?" she asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and dropping her gaze so all he can see is the sweep of lashes against her cheek.
"Yeah. I like spending time with you guys. But also remember last week? I said I wanted to talk to you about something."
"So talk," she commands breathlessly and when she looks up at him again her eyes are so dark, he almost groans.
Taking the water glass she's still holding, he places it gently on the counter-top behind her, effectively boxing her in. He's close. Close enough hear her sharp inhale as he does it, close enough to smell her shampoo, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin against his own, even though they're not touching.
Not yet anyway.
"Turns out I kind of suck at talking," he confesses, leaning towards her, giving her plenty of time to say something or to push him away if she wants to.
But she doesn't want to, instead she turns her face up to him and meets him halfway as their lips meet carefully, tentatively exploring, a series of tiny kisses traded back and forth. And then his hand comes up to cup her jaw and her hand moves to his forearm, squeezing. She's pressing closer and making that tiny noise that he remembers (fuck, does he remember) and she opens her mouth for him and he's just lost. The heated slide of tongues, the softness of her skin at the small of her back when he pulls her closer, the jolt he gets when she nips his bottom lip, it's intoxicating, like he could drown in her and not even care.
Fucking finally.
Chapter 10
Chapter: 9/?
Rating: M
Characters: Puck, Rachel, OC
Word Count: 6000
Summary: Puck and Rachel get another chance when unexpected events bring her to his doorstep years after graduation.
*****
Puck stays in the shower as long as he can, long enough to feel half-drowned and almost lightheaded with all the steam swirling around the small room. Shit. He can't hide in his damn bathroom all day and besides, there's probably not enough hot water in the world for him to feel better about this situation. Finally, he gives up trying and cranks the water off, wrapping a towel around his hips and stepping out. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glance of himself in the mirror and pauses to stare at the blurred outlines of his own indistinct reflection. Suddenly, it hits him: he's done this before.
Him and Jen? Wherever they were headed before (before Rachel, even if he doesn't want to admit it), this is just a repeat of that bullshit where he's with someone for the wrong reasons. Hell, he spent most of high school thinking that being with someone was going to be some kind of magic short-cut to whatever it was he thought he needed. Quinn, Santana, even Shelby (fuck, especially Shelby) and truth be told, they'd gone ahead and done the same thing right back to him.
But he's not some stupid, desperate kid from Lima any more, he hasn't been for years and there's no way he's going to back to that same old shit again. Maybe it's unfair or misguided or maybe he's just being an asshole because nothing about this is her fault, but he needs to break up with Jen.
Fuck. How the hell is he going to do that?
No really, he's asking.
This is kind of strange for a grown-ass man to be saying, but he's never really broken up with anyone before. High school speaks for itself and after that his relationships either didn't last long enough to merit the term or just drifted apart when shit came up. (It's not like he was looking for something long-term anyway.) The most he's ever done along that line is avoid someone's phone calls and he's sure as hell not going to to do that here. He's been with Jen for well over a year now, so the least he can do is not be a fuck about it.
But then just telling her flat out seems crazy-hard too. What's he going to say? Obviously reputation and credit score are out and 'I'll never be able to think of you as anything other that the person who knocked me up and ruined my life' isn't going to work either.
'It's just bad timing'?
'You deserve better'?
'I don't want to waste your time while I figure out what the hell this woman that I've never been able to forget actually means to me now that she's across town and single'?
Scratch that last one. There's no real need to bring Rachel's name into it.
He needs to do this shit for himself: it's not all about Rachel, even if he can't stop dreaming about her. And yeah, he recognizes exactly how fucked up it is to be dreaming about her in that particular way. Not the blow job. No need to go into too much detail but that's definitely not the first time his subconscious has suggested that he wants her lips around his cock. Hell, his conscious is fully aware of that. No, what really gives him the shakes, even now, is the rest of it. The two of them together. Her pregnant with his kid and happy about it.
(He can't. He just can't. That kind of thing doesn't happen for him.)
He looks down and he's gripping the edge of the vanity so hard, his fingers are cramping and he lets go just to make sure he can. From the other side of the door, Jen is calling his name, telling him he needs to hurry up for that brunch thing she'd slipped past him while he was still reeling from his orgasm.
He kind of hates it when she does that.
Never mind. It gives him a little more time to figure shit out because he's not enough of an asshole to dump her an hour before she has to go be all social with the partners at her firm.
Sure. A little more time, a few days at the most, is all he needs.
*****
So, that thing where he's waiting? Three hours in and it's seeming like less and less of a good idea because Jen decides that she wants to fucking stop off at Rachel's place. Really? 'Cause last time he checked, they were all years out of high school and yet here they are. And okay, maybe she has a point, but if Jen should be angry with anyone, it's him. Instead, she's being kind of a fake bitch to Rachel (what, you think he's not going to recognize that? Quinn lived in his goddamn house for three months). As if that wasn't enough he's almost surprised that she hasn't literally tried to piss all over him yet because that's how hard the woman's trying to mark her territory. (He has the distinct memory of laughing his ass off when it was Santana and Mercedes circling each other sophomore year. God, he was a dick sometimes, but karma can still fuck right off any time now.)
And sure, Rachel is more than holding her own but hell, what does it say about him when he doesn't put a stop to it before it can even start, doesn't head Jen off with some stupid excuse (please bitch, he's got a million), doesn't mail the damn book back if he has to?
It's just that he wants to see Rachel. He wants to see Connor. He wants to tease her about the bunny slippers and read the truck book and take the two of them to the playground like he'd promised. He wants to slide his hand along the soft skin of at the small her back and press her close and see if she'll gasp and arch against him like she did years and years ago on her front porch.
He's not going to, of course. No, he's the idiot who's going to go socialize with the lawyers.
And then he swears, that kiss, it was meant to be the chaste kind of kiss you give out to your maiden aunt in the receiving line at a family wedding. (Does it mean anything that the closest thing that he has to a maiden aunt is Ma's second cousin from Reno who usually has one too many G&T's and ends up squeezing his ass?) Only instead of going for her cheek, he somehow hones in on her mouth and even that brief touch is enough to shake him completely. Damn, she's good at keeping him on his toes.
It's probably best that he stays away from Rachel until this whole thing is straightened out. And then he'll be single and she'll be single and fuck, he doesn't know, they can be single together for a while. Or something.
Oh please. Like he's got it all figured out.
*****
He could call her though, right? (Loophole!)
*****
"Hey Rach."
"Noah! I didn't expect...How was your brunch?"
"It was okay. They like to talk music." Fuck, do they ever. As far as he can tell at least half of the people Jen works with think that they could have been the next big thing if they hadn't gone to law school. "I'm at the studio now."
"Really? It's getting late. Connor's been in bed for for a few hours, now. Getting ready for your big day tomorrow?" she asks.
"Yeah, Josh ended up needing something, but he's out on a burrito run so I'm taking a break. How'd your day go?"
He settles back into his chair, smiling slightly, as Rachel tells him about the neighborhood playground and how she met a young couple with a two-year-old daughter who actually live on the second floor of her apartment building at the slides and how Connor tried to give names to all the dogs he met in the park.
*****
"So how was your first visit to your school? Met your boss, yet?" he asks, the phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder while he picks his way through his sweet and sour pork. Total guilty pleasure and thank god the place next to the studio delivers until midnight because it looks like it's going to be another long one.
"She seems very nice! And my new office is neat as a pin and the last teacher left meticulous lesson plans. Best of all, Connor really seems to like his preschool teacher. She won his heart by bringing out the race track for him to play with while we talked. But never mind that! I called because I want to know how your meeting went!"
"Good. Really good, I think, but it's hard to tell," he says scrubbing his hand over his scalp. "Jared's...Jared, I guess. Kid's barely twenty and he's got a ton of talent, but damn, he's stubborn when he wants something."
"He should hold on to that," she says quietly and he recognizes that note in her voice.
"Rach...."
Before he can say anything else, she continues on brightly, "So is there another Ukrainian Children's Choir in your future?"
He lets it drop.
"No, but if you know of a good zither player, let me know."
*****
"Is this a bad time?" he asks when she answers the phone after four rings, slightly breathless.
"Noooo, he's almost asleep. I'm just getting him a drink and settling him down with his song. Can I call you back in five minutes?"
"Can I listen in?" he says without thinking.
"Noah," she says and he wonders if she's biting her lip.
"Come on," he coaxes. "I've barely heard you sing since you got here. That can't be right."
He manages to sweet-talk her into it, and she sings a simple, plaintive song about a freight-train and the Blue Ridge Mountains. It's not the same voice he remembers from high-school. This voice is sadder, richer, more like he remembers Shelby's voice being in some ways. But she's still got that pull, that magic that communicates every emotion she's got like it's slapped on a billboard in Times Square and it makes him want to say shit, to lay himself bare in a way he hasn't done in years, not with anyone.
Instead he takes it apart in his head in the way he knows how to do now. If he had her in the studio would he change the key? Up the tempo? No, but maybe add a background vocalist or an acoustic guitar on the chorus to act as a counterpoint.
(Self defense or cowardice? He uncomfortably sure it's one of the two.)
"You sound good, Rachel," he says when she picks up the phone again, Connor sound asleep in his bed. What he hopes his voice tells her is that he means amazing.
*****
"What happened with Shelby and Beth?" she asks in a voice so low, it's almost a whisper. "Do you ever get to see her? Beth, I mean."
So all right, he's not over it exactly, but it doesn't eat away at him the way it used to, probably because he doesn't let it. And that works because he doesn't talk about it. He doesn't keep her school pictures out, he's not crying in his beer over it, he doesn't react when his mother invariably brings her up every year. (She wants to atone for something from high school, she should feel guilty about shaving the 'hawk. Now that was a travesty.) Still, there's something easy about sharing secrets in the middle of the night with Rachel Berry, even when she's across town probably safely tucked into her own bed. (He hasn't asked. Too much temptation.)
"Sometimes. Not as much as I'd like," he says, throwing an arm over the empty pillow next to him and pressing the phone a little closer to his ear with the other.
He gets the pictures regularly and sometimes phone calls, but it's hard to keep up because, well, because Shelby is kind of a flake. It took him years to realize it, but the disappearing trick she pulled senior year wasn't all him. Turns out, it's kind of her thing. (Maybe if he'd been talking to Rachel then, she could have clued him in on that, since she'd already been on the receiving end of that more than once.) Shelby moves around a lot and there's always a new job or a new relationship that's going to be just perfect, right up until the point that it isn't. There was a six-month stretch about three years ago when she was directing community theater in Marin and he got to see Beth every week, even coached her youth soccer team. When Shelby moved them both to Taos at the end of the season it was...shit, it was fucking hard.
"It's way better than nothing though," he tells Rachel. "Beth is starting to use e-mail and Shelby says she'll give her a cell phone for her next birthday. And you know, she knows who I am, knows that I love her and I think she gets it. Why we gave her up. She's kind of amazing. Really smart and athletic--she's the top scorer on her team. And god, is she outspoken. I don't even know where that comes from but I swear sometimes she reminds me of you more than anything else." Rachel's been quiet for a while and now he's starting to worry. "I'm probably talking too much," he says apologetically.
"No," she assures him. "I'm happy for you, I truly am. Maybe at one point it was hard for me to think about Beth but that was a long time ago. Before I saw the two of you together. Before I had Connor."
"What about you?" he asks. "Has Shelby been in touch?" He's not going to be surprised if she has been, Shelby's asked him if he still talks to Rachel more than once.
"Oh, she checks in from time to time," Rachel says with a voice that's light, but brittle. "Usually when I'm least expecting her. And always promising that things are always going to be different this time around."
His stomach sinks. "What happened?"
"Not very much, really. She came to town a few months after Dad died to tell Daddy how sorry she was and was appalled to find me in Lima instead of in New York as she'd imagined. So naturally, she made all kinds of plans to rescue me which of course came to nothing. Exactly what I was expecting."
"Shit...Rachel."
She sighs. "It's...not all right. But I've made my peace with it. With Shelby too. She even sent an absolutely hideous but very expensive crystal vase for a house-warming present two years ago."
"You left it behind for Finn, huh?" he asks and it makes her giggle, like he intended.
"Rach?"
"Yes?"
"For what it's worth, I don't think you need rescuing."
"No?" she asks wryly. "What would you call it when someone turns up on your doorstep with twenty-seven dollars and a station wagon on its last legs?"
"You'd have figured something out," he says and when she makes a sound like a snort, he continues. "No, you would have. You got a job, you got an apartment, you moved across country. You would have made it work."
"Maybe," she says noncommittally and then firmly changing the subject, "How are things going at the studio? Has everything calmed down yet?"
He laughs. "Well, I made it home before midnight for the first time this week, so on the whole, I'd say yeah."
"And how's Jen?" she asks casually. Too casually?
"I haven't seen much of her," he says. "But we're having lunch down on the waterfront tomorrow." Someplace quiet where they can talk, but not too quiet, so she doesn't kill him, chop him up and throw the pieces to the sea lions at Fisherman's Wharf. Or at least not without a lot of trouble.
"Oh. Well, that's good."
Not much enthusiasm there. Is he reading too much into this? Should he...? No, probably not, not on the same day. Only now he's thinking about it. Don't say it. Just wait a little longer until things settle down and then ask.
"What are you guys doing tomorrow night? I could bring over a movie and some take-out."
Classy, Puckerman, classy.
"We'd like that!"
And he's not imagining this, the happy lilt in her voice when she says it. It feels good to be the person who put it there.
They set a time and say good night (crap, it's almost 1:00 A.M.) and he tosses and turns for a while he thinks about Rachel, wondering if he'll dream about her again tonight. That line of thought makes it way less likely that he's going to be sleeping any time soon and his hand drifts low across his stomach and then down to where he's already half-hard. Gripping his length firmly, he pulls up and then slides back down, thumb brushing over the head, wiping away the fluid gathering there. And then he moves methodically at first, and then faster and it's all about the images fluttering behind his eyelids.
Her dark hair spread out on his pillowcase and her nipples pebbling under his fingers and his mouth as he slides between her legs. Sheathing himself in her an inch at a time, warm and wet and tight, and coaxing jagged gasps and moans out of her with each infinitesimal thrust. Her legs wrapped around him, urging him on with her heels, while her arms pull him closer, grip his biceps, scrape gently at the nape of his neck.
He grinds out her name as he spills into his hand, just imagining the sensation of her letting go all around him.
He's asleep about three minutes later. (And yes, he does dream about her.)
*****
He ends up going with, "I don't think this relationship is going to work out."
It doesn't go over very well and the entire restaurant is aware of this from the moment she opens her mouth and starts laying into his morals, character and hygienic habits. (All he's going to say about that is she sure as hell wasn't complaining about him going commando when he had her up against the bathroom stall in that nightclub last year.) She calls him every name she can think of, which is fine because he probably deserves a few of them and also because she's got a long way to go before she reaches Senorita Loca's standards. Santana always had a way with words.
He's less amused when she starts in on Rachel. Some of it is just stupid. Seriously, Gold-digger? What the fuck? Does Jen think he's hiding some kind of trust fund underneath the mattress along with the porn? (Yeah, he might need to get rid of that.) And he shuts her down damn quick when she starts in on the single mom stuff. First of all, Rachel's a fantastic mom. And second, maybe Jen should think about the fact that Miriam Puckerman didn't do too bad a job with the material she had at hand either. He turned out okay and Sarah's at the top of her class at the University of Chicago for fuck's sake.
Wait, he did tell Jen that Ma raised the two of them on her own, didn't he? Huh. Maybe not.
"Look," he finally says impatiently. "I get it, I'm a asshole, but you gotta know it wasn't going to happen anyway. Fuck, Jen, don't you want to be crazy about someone? Don't you want that person to be the first one you want to call when you get good news or something makes you laugh. Or listen when you've had a shitty day? Shouldn't you like every part of them, even the crap that makes you want to light yourself on fire sometimes?"
"And that's not me?" she asks, her voice wavering a little. "I can't believe you're saying this! We worked! You know we did!"
He shrugs. "We were fine for a while because we were decent in bed together and we both liked what was on the surface. Face it, we didn't really go any deeper than that."
"Of course we didn't," she almost shrieks. "You're so guarded you never gave me an opportunity to get anywhere with you! We dated for three months before I learned your first name and that was by accident! But I notice she uses it just fine! And since we're back to the subject of Rachel, let me assure you that you're an idiot if you think anything has changed for the two of you since high school." And with that parting shot, she throws her drink into his face and storms off.
He can almost hear Rachel clucking 'overdone' disapprovingly in his ear (his girl knows how to make an exit), and it makes him grin.
"So does this mean you don't want to be friends?" he hollers to her retreating back as he mops his face with a napkin.
The rude gesture she sends his way is answer enough.
(Still, he does kind of wonder what she meant by that high-school garbage.)
*****
His good mood lasts all the way back to his car. He yanks a clean t-shirt out of his workout bag and peels off the wet one, throwing a wink at the traffic cop who lets out a whistle. He got a couple more hours of work ahead of him, but his mind's already on tonight. Will Connor go for Thai food? He's gotta be up for it, right? This is Rachel's kid; he was probably eating tofu in the womb or something ridiculous like that. Still, he should call to check.
His phone is still on the charger and a small thrill runs through his system when Rachel's name comes up on the display. Two voice-mails from about three hours ago.
In the first, her voice is hesitant with that throbby quality she gets when she's upset about something.
"Noah, it's me. Rachel. I had a strange interaction with...um...I was wondering if you had mentioned anything about...you know what, never mind. I think I understand. I'll call you later."
Later turns out to be about ten minutes after the first call and this time her voice is bright and cheerful and false as hell.
"Hi Noah, it's Rachel again. Sorry to be clogging up your voice-mail like this. I promise I'll be quick. Unfortunately Connor and I can't do dinner tonight, something came up. And all those inservice meetings for the start of the school year are coming up so I'm not sure when we'll be able to reschedule."
What the hell is going on?
"Um. I...I want to thank you again for all your help over the last few weeks."
Fuck that. He doesn't want her thanks...he wants her.
"Bye, Noah."
Confused, but you know, not freaked out or anything, he leaves her a short message asking her what's going on. She texts him a half-hour later with some vague excuse about writing lesson plans, which is total bullshit since he knows she's way ahead on that front. She also tells him to enjoy his 'fun weekend.' He shoots something back immediately telling her that he's got no idea what the hell she's talking about, but she doesn't reply to that or to the next three messages he sends.
Work basically sucks but at least he doesn't have anything scheduled so he can just shut his damn door and pretend he's not checking his phone every five minutes. He pretends to do shit for a few hours and then since he's not really in the mood to go sit in his empty apartment he heads to the gym and pushes himself through a grueling run followed by a set of sprints that Coach Beiste would probably think twice about. It's a relief to not worry about anything but where his next breath is coming from for a while.
By the time he's showered and out of there, it's dark and when he pulls into a parking spot halfway down the block from her place, he's not really surprised to find himself there. The edge of anger he's starting to feel now that the endorphins are wearing off does sort of shock him though. Shit, she's not obligated to have dinner with him or anything and he sure as hell doesn't need her to be grateful to him. But whatever is going on with her isn't about that. She's upset about something and she's pushing him away because of it and that does piss him off.
Whatever. He'll take it out on her door buzzer. He stabs it twice vengefully and Rachel's cautious voice sounds over the intercom.
"Yes?"
"Rachel, it's me."
"Noah?"
She's surprised? This showing up unexpectedly late at night is practically their thing now.
"Yeah. You gonna let me in?"
"Noah it's late...Connor's already in bed...."
"I'm not here to see Connor, I'm here to see you. And I know it's late, but as I recall you showed up kinda late at my place a couple weeks ago."
Completely unfair, but there are advantages to being a dick sometimes.
She mumbles something he can't quite make out and after enough of a pause to make him start to sweat it, she buzzes him in.
He takes the stairs two at a time and when he gets to her floor she's leaning against the door-frame of her apartment. She's simply dressed faded blue jeans (did she even own jeans in high school?) and a white tee-shirt, her dark hair brushing against her shoulders. She looks gorgeous and with her arms crossed against her chest she also looks kind of mad.
It's fucking hot.
"Was there something you wanted?" she asks.
Heh. Too easy.
He steps past her into the apartment. "Thought I'd be neighborly and stop by. You know, borrow your sports section, steal your cable, ask for a cup of sugar, something like that."
"Is that an innuendo?" she asks, wrinkling her nose as she follows him in, closing the door behind them both.
Hell no, he's got way better stuff, but that suspicious little frown is cute. Shit. Focus.
"Or maybe I just showed up to try and figure out what has you so upset," he continues. He narrows his eyes, observing her closely. "Or not upset...pissed off. You're angry about something."
"How did you...!" she bursts out and then catching herself continues coolly, "And if I am?"
"Damned if I know," he says. "Can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong."
She's looking down now, worrying at the hem of her shirt and even if there was any part of him that was still angry, it would be gone now, when he reads the uncertainty in her face.
"After Jen's visit this morning...," she says.
"Wait. Hold on. Jen was here?" he interrupts.
Rachel nods. "Yes, she stopped by before she met you for lunch and frankly Noah, her visit wasn't all that pleasant. True, most of what she said was ridiculous, but a few of her barbs were quite hurtful. I understand that she's your girlfriend and I certainly don't want to put you in an awkward position or make you feel like you have to choose in any way...."
Rachel. He chooses Rachel.
"...But at one point during her and I'm sorry if this seems exaggerated but I can assure you it's accurate, her rant, I felt like I had to tell her that she was no longer welcome in my home." She moves to the refrigerator and pours herself a glass of filtered water and he watches her as she sips, scrubbing his hand along the back of his neck, letting out an irritated breath.
"Rach, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I should've dealt with this last weekend, I just...."
Now she interrupts him. "You don't need to apologize to me on her behalf, Noah. She's a grown woman who is responsible for her own actions. But I was...," she stops, swallows, and starts again. "I was disappointed that you chose to share so many details about my life with her. I realize I never asked you to keep what I'd told you in confidence and maybe it was wrong of me to expect you to do so considering your relationship with Jen, but I was taken aback and yes, angry with you. And between that and Jen's obvious and unwarranted jealousy, not to mention the fact that she told me about the spa-weekend trip the two of you have planned, I thought that cancelling our dinner was for the best."
And he's trying, he's really trying to respond, but his head is reeling.
"I didn't say shit about your past," he says at last. "I mean I said we went to high school together and she knows that Finn did too, but that's it."
"Noah, she knew names, dates, the custody agreement, everything. She even knew about us."
"Us?" he repeats stupidly and when their eyes meet, it's like he can feel it all the way down to his toes.
"The slushies, our week together sophomore year and that time before Sectionals junior year. Other things, too," she says quietly.
"I didn't have anything to do with that, Rachel, I swear."
"Then how?" she asks, spreading her arms wide.
He closes his eyes briefly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "All right Jen's got this researcher, Sandi I think her name is, who works for her. She could have put Sandi on this. I mean the names and dates are part of public record. And as for the rest of it, I don't know, maybe this woman interviewed people. Hell a ten-minute conversation with Jacob Ben-Israel and she'd have enough inside information to write a book on you."
"But why in the world would she do that?" Rachel asks in frustration.
"You said it before. She's jealous of you. And I know it must have been shitty, but you don't have to worry about Jen any more, we're finished."
"You're...breaking up with her?" Rachel asks in disbelief. "Why? I thought you two...Jen said...."
"I already did break up with her, at lunch today. And what exactly did Jen say?"
"She said that you'd been planning something all week. She thought you were going to propose! Poor girl."
Typical Rachel. Poor Jen, his ass. They weren't anywhere near that point and she knew it. Still, he doesn't want to talk about Jen any more.
"The only thing I was planning this week was how to do it," he says carefully. "That shit is not as easy as it looks." He takes a step closer and meets her eyes. "And maybe I was thinking about tonight too."
"Our dinner?" she asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and dropping her gaze so all he can see is the sweep of lashes against her cheek.
"Yeah. I like spending time with you guys. But also remember last week? I said I wanted to talk to you about something."
"So talk," she commands breathlessly and when she looks up at him again her eyes are so dark, he almost groans.
Taking the water glass she's still holding, he places it gently on the counter-top behind her, effectively boxing her in. He's close. Close enough hear her sharp inhale as he does it, close enough to smell her shampoo, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin against his own, even though they're not touching.
Not yet anyway.
"Turns out I kind of suck at talking," he confesses, leaning towards her, giving her plenty of time to say something or to push him away if she wants to.
But she doesn't want to, instead she turns her face up to him and meets him halfway as their lips meet carefully, tentatively exploring, a series of tiny kisses traded back and forth. And then his hand comes up to cup her jaw and her hand moves to his forearm, squeezing. She's pressing closer and making that tiny noise that he remembers (fuck, does he remember) and she opens her mouth for him and he's just lost. The heated slide of tongues, the softness of her skin at the small of her back when he pulls her closer, the jolt he gets when she nips his bottom lip, it's intoxicating, like he could drown in her and not even care.
Fucking finally.
Chapter 10