if I could tell you 11/13
Title: If I could tell you
Chapter: 11/13
Rating: M
Characters: Puck, Rachel, OC
Word Count: 5600
Summary: Puck and Rachel get another chance when unexpected events bring her to his doorstep years after graduation.
*****
He gets it, he knows what she's talking about when she's standing in the stairwell looking up at him with those wide eyes and a tiny catch in her voice. Sure, he's been telling himself for weeks that he has to go slow with her but there's a fine line between doing the mature, responsible thing and just being plain shit-scared. Because, you know, she's Rachel and he's wanted her since he was fifteen years old, hell, longer than that if that stupid bat mitzvah party meant anything. Even thought he had her once or twice until she walked away or he did.
But right now, with her naked and curled up on his chest and his palm sliding up and down her back with long, lazy strokes, he's just calling himself a moron. Missing a week, even two, of this is practically criminal.
So what about missing nine years?
Fuck.
It sort of makes sense that he's thinking about it again, even though he did his best not to for a long-ass time. 'What if' has never been kind to him.
(But what if? What if she had gone with him that night?)
*****
It's none of his business. Maybe he's gotten mixed up with it (with her) more than he should've over the years, but he's finally figured that out at least.
Not the golden couple and the on-again, off-again crap that they've been doing for the last three fucking years. So what if they're on a break this week; Finn is one soppy ballad from being back in and everyone knows it. Engagement, his ass. More like they've somehow got it stuck in their heads that there's only one life-preserver between the two of them and they're on the goddamned Titanic.
Not NYADA and the absolute stupidity of applying to just one damn school. Shit, he didn't apply anywhere and even he knows better than that. He supposes that's what you get when the guidance counselor is only interested in sanitizing shit and writing up new and interesting ways to communicate the dangers of jock itch, but where the hell were her daddies during this whole thing? You'd think they'd have some kind of musical number worked up for this.
And forget about this gap-year bullshit she's spouting to the Gleeks, Schue, anyone who will listen. Not that they are, no one's asking. They're all so full of their own plans that they can't even tell that her smile is about as fake as Ben-Israel's little black book.
You know what, maybe he will end up dead or in jail, but if he does, he can guarantee that it won't be in this hell hole. He just needs to get the hell out of Lima and get to work on forgetting all the shit that he can't change: his dad, Shelby and Beth, the fuck-up he made of his friendship with Finn.
Rachel.
That's when the little voice in the back of his head kicks in: so if it's none of your business, genius, what the hell are you doing knocking on her door?
Shut up. Just because.
She answers the door and he'd say that it's a lucky break if he hadn't happened to see her fathers leave. (After sitting in his parked truck halfway down the block for forty-five minutes, but who's keeping track.)
"Noah," she says, all surprised, running a hand through her hair to smooth it down and tugging at the tee-shirt that's not really covering her ass in those yoga-pants. "What are you doing here? I assumed you'd be at Santana's party by now."
"Not in the mood," he says shortly. He's not all that interested in another night spent with Hudson and the other Nude Erections, not to mention most of the rest of the senior class, all celebrating graduation by getting fucked up in San's Lima Heights McMansion while her parents are in Barcelona for their anniversary. (Adjacent, his ass. The only thing Santana's place is adjacent to is the West Lima Golf and Country club.)
"Would you, um, like to come in?" she asks, her tongue darting out to wet her upper lip and he wonders, not for the first time, if she knows how fucking sexy that is. She can't, right? But seriously, how could you miss it? He's still staring at her mouth when she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Noah? I can offer you refreshments if you'd like."
"No thanks," he says. Her face falls a little and he feels bad but inside probably means sitting at her kitchen table with cookies and milk for all he knows and then she'll probably pull out the board games. (No lie, the Berries have got a closet full of them and do family game night every week which he knows about because Finn is always pissing and moaning about losing at Scrabble.) And then chances are he'll never get it said. "Can you come out and talk for a few minutes?"
She looks at him closely and whatever she finds in his face seems to satisfy her. "All right, just give me a moment." She slips back into the house and is back again in a minute with a light sweater because now that the sun's been set for a couple of hours, it's starting to cool down and she hates being chilly. (She was always all over him when they were dating; claimed she liked the body heat.)
"Do you want to sit down?" she asks, gesturing to the porch swing.
"Nah, I'm okay here, " he says, leaning against the railing. "You go ahead." Instead, to his surprise, she perches on the rail next to him, close enough to his so that her sweater brushes against his arm in a few places and he can smell her green-apple shampoo and fuck, he's sort of forgotten what he was going to say.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" she asks at last, her feet swinging back and forth.
Instead of responding, he pulls the slightly crumpled paper out of his back pocket and hands it to her.
She takes it, smoothing it out and tilting it towards the porch light so she can read it. "It's a ticket. An open-ended bus ticket to Los Angeles, passenger name, Noah Puckerman. You're going to Los Angeles? When were you...? I'm just....You're leaving?"
Something about the shock all over his face rubs him the wrong way and he knows he sounds bitter the second he opens his mouth, but he can't seem to stop himself.
"Yeah I am, Rachel. I'm getting the hell out of here. Surprised? You thought I was just going to sit around Lima and clean pools for people who are too rich to do their own damn dirty work? Or maybe sit around getting stoned on the loading dock at Sheets 'n Things for the rest of my life?"
"No! I didn't!" she replies indignantly, "I didn't think any such thing!" She balls her hands up into fists and hops off the rail, facing him squarely and he's actually hard-pressed not to flinch back. "I absolutely hate it when you talk like this! How can you possibly expect anyone to have faith in your talents and abilities when you're always the first to denigrate them! If I was surprised, it was because you haven't breathed one single word of this to me. Or...or to anyone!"
Fuck. He didn't realize. "I just thought....God, I seriously need to get out of this town," he says awkwardly. "Anyway, sorry."
She unclenches her hands and takes a tiny step closer. "Noah, I understand what this place can do to your self-confidence," she says softly, reaching out to smooth an non-existent wrinkle on his shirt and then gripping the fabric. "You just need to believe in yourself."
Maybe it's her hand fisted in his shirt or maybe it's just because she's telling him exactly what he's been wanting to say to her for the last three months, or even longer, but suddenly it's all spilling out at once, the words almost tripping over each other as he tries to force them out, like if he says it fast enough, she'll have to agree.
"Come with me. Come to California. I know it's not exactly what you wanted but there's all kinds of shit available there for someone with talent. There's a music scene and television, movies. And I don't know, palm trees, sunshine, the beach, all that crappy vegan shit you like, everything. Shit, Rach, imagine looking out your window and seeing the ocean."
"I...but New York...," she says, looking up at him with a dazed expression and is it crazy that his heart leaps up in his chest when that's the first thing that comes into her head instead of Finn?
He takes a deep breath and lets go of California almost without regret. "Okay, New York then. I'll...I'll cash in my ticket and we can go to New York. I've got almost nine thousand dollars saved up, just about every penny I've made in the last two years. We'll find a two-bedroom, maybe in Brooklyn or something, no strings attached, I promise. And you can wait tables until you get your big break and I'll buy a bike and be one of those insane messenger guys and we can sing at open-mics and hell, in the subway if they'll let us. We could rock the hell out of that shit!"
"I can't go to New York with you like that! I haven't even considered...there's so many things that could go wrong! This isn't how I'm supposed to do it!" she almost wails and there's something that looks a hell of a lot like panic in her eyes.
"Rach, I know you're scared," he says, moving to grip her wrist, his thumb rubbing circles on the soft skin of the underside.
"I'm not...," she frowns, but he cuts her off.
"You are and I get it. Look, I know NYADA was a wash-out and Kurt and Finn bailed on New York and you don't think you can do it on your own. But fuck, just listen to your own advice for a minute. You've got this."
"It's just a year," she says, her eyes pleading. "I'm going to re-apply."
"You say that now, but Rach, things happen. You gotta...you gotta take a chance sometimes. You know as well as I do what it's going to be like if you stay here. The people around here, hell, they might have forgiven you for going off and being amazing, they might have bragged about you, even made up lies about what good friends they were with you back when, but this? You stay here and they're never going to let you forget it even for a minute."
It's harsh and it kind of make him feel like shit to say it, especially when she flinches, but she doesn't deny it, only closes her eyes for a moment.
"I'd have Finn," she says in a voice so low he has to strain to hear if, even if she's only a foot away.
He groans. "Tell me this isn't about that. Tell me you're not staying here to be someone's girlfriend."
She shakes her head. "You know I'm not. I'm just...look, a gap year isn't the end of the world, you know."
She's lying. "Don't!" he snaps and then catching himself with an effort adds, "not with me, okay?"
She bites her lip and his grip involuntarily tightens on her wrist, but she's not trying to pull away. "Why are you doing this?" she asks.
Why is he doing this? It's not even like he really thinks it's going to work, it's more like unfinished business: he made a promise to God to help her out and it may not look like it but he takes that kind of thing seriously. And then there's the other piece. The part of him that wonders if this ache, this choked-up feeling, the way he's always thinking about her, means what he thinks it means.
(Shit, he knows it does. He's been half in love with her for years.)
"Noah?"
She's so damn close, standing almost between his legs, one hand resting lightly on his hip as she looks up at him.
She wants to know? Fuck it.
His mouth is on hers before he ever realizes it and the immediate spark isn't even a surprise any more, not when every time they do this is so damn good. She bites back a whimper when he runs his tongue along the seam of her lip and the sound makes him dizzy, mostly because ninety percent of the blood in his body is rushing directly down to his dick but also because she's kissing him back just as wildly, opening her mouth for him and sliding her tongue alongside his. He tugs her closer by her shirt and then buries his hands in her hair and she tilts her head just so and damn, he's never going to get enough of this.
A car turns onto her street, momentarily catching the two of them in the sweep of headlights, outlined starkly against the house and she tears herself away, gasping and bringing her fingertips up to her kiss-swollen lips. He fights back the contrary urges to follow her, pull her back into his arms and do the whole thing over again or else just cut his losses and take the hell off without another word.
"Noah, I can't...," she starts and that's it, his answer, and he doesn't wait to find out what she means, whether it's him or the kiss or getting out of Lima. He starts down her porch steps, hands dug deep into his pockets, turning with a sigh when he hits the bottom step. One more try, then he's done, no looking back, no second-guessing himself.
"Rach, I'm out of here on Tuesday. The bus leaves at 6:00 A.M. and I'm going to be on it. But everything I said to you, California, New York, whatever, I fucking meant every word of it. So, if you change your mind, you've got my number."
*****
He waits around the bus terminal until the last possible minute on Tuesday morning, right up until the driver climbs in behind the wheel and says kindly, 'time to go, son.' When they cross over the Lima city line, his eyes are closed, but he can still see her face.
Weirdly though, at the same time he's thinking about Schue with his stupid assignments of the week and his endless whiteboard shtick. The teacher probably would tell him that at least he can leave without any regrets. That even if he did get the ever-loving crap kicked out of him, he tried, he put himself out there and that's the important thing.
Fine, point taken, but right now he just feels like shit.
*****
She rolls on her side and props herself up on one elbow, letting the sheet fall away and he loves that she doesn't feel the need to cover up in front of him almost as much as he likes looking at (and touching and kissing) her. Honestly, this pretty much makes up most of his bucket list.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks.
"You," he answers and then adds, "Like all the time. Always have."
Her cheeks turn pink and she smiles this absolutely blinding smile, sliding her hand along his bicep. "Always?" she asks and then maybe because she's always had the trick of reading him (it used to drive him crazy when he was trying to slack off in Glee) she continues, "Do you ever think about it? Graduation night, I mean?"
See? Totally psychic.
"Sometimes," he admits.
"I thought about you, you know," she says in a low voice, and her hair falls down into her face so he can't see her eyes. "That night and oh, lots of times through the years, how you were, whether you were doing well. I asked Aviva about you more than once. And I wondered how my life would have been different if I had gone with you. But...," her voice falls away and she traces smalls patterns with her fingertip on his skin.
"But what?" he prompts, pulling her closer because he can.
"I can't regret it, not entirely. Not when I got Connor out of all of it. And besides, back then, I wasn't good for anyone, not for Finn, not for you, especially not for myself. I spent my entire childhood rushing headlong into adulthood and the closer I got, the more I panicked and it took me years to straighten that out in my head."
And yeah, he guesses that makes sense. It's not like he was in a better space himself, hell, he spent the second semester of senior year self-medicating with as much pot as he could get his hands on. (Sandy Ryerson never could resist a sob story.) Schue was right, regrets are pointless. But he's got to ask all the same. "What about now?" he asks, pushing her hair behind her ear.
She looks up with this adorably hopeful look all over her face. "Now? Now I'm sort of hoping for all of it."
That's good enough for him, and he rolls her underneath him and starts kissing that spot behind her ear that makes her squirm. She hooks one leg around his thigh and ass, pulling him closer and he grins against her skin.
"I think we can work with that," he tells her.
*****
He's like ten minutes from leaving work and already starting to think about the fastest way to get across town because Rachel's making that kale and cheese thing again (who knew leafy green vegetables could be so fucking delicious) when Josh shows up with the bad news.
"She's on a retreat?" Puck asks incredulously as he stares at his assistant. "How the hell is our best back-up singer on a retreat? When is she coming back? Production starts in two weeks and I need her hippy-dippy ass here."
Josh shrugs. "Sounded like she might be gone for a couple months, but I'm not sure. All I know is that she's at an organic farm somewhere south of Portland and unreachable by phone. Her roommate said something about about not disturbing the cosmic balance. Or maybe it was karmic balance. I didn't quite catch the whole thing."
"Well, hell," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe away the headache that is already starting to form. "That is not good news."
"No, it definitely is not," Josh agrees. "How many singers do you think we went through on the first album?"
Shit, he doesn't even know. It seemed like an endless stream of demo tapes that Jared Lofts nixed, auditions that went nowhere and studio sessions that ended badly. Bliss Somerset might smell like patchouli and dress like it's still the Summer of Love, but she has the voice of an angel and he knows he was lucky to find her the first time. That said, if she's going to be off milking goats or harvesting artisan greens or whatever the hell you do on an organic farm, she's not going to be much use to him. Frankly, the prospect of starting over is kind of horrifying.
"He did specifically ask for her, you know," Josh says gloomily. "And don't forget, he's got female vocals penned in for at least three tracks."
Puck winces. "I'll let him know. That'll be fun."
"Riiiight," Josh snorts. "Look, I can start pulling together a list of possibles. I'm pretty sure I remember who he refused to work with last time."
"That part shouldn't be hard considering that he turned down ninety percent of the people we usually work with. But yeah, go ahead and then we'll see who's available and have them come in for demos next week."
"All right, boss. You be sure to enjoy that phone-call."
Phone-call. That reminds him, he's got to call Rach because...hold on. Rachel.
"Thanks. You're a real friend, jackass," he says automatically, thinking rapidly. "Hey, listen. I've...um...I've got a name to add to the list."
Shit, he's never done anything like this. He works really hard to make sure that his personal life and his work life have as few points of contact as possible. But in this case....
Josh perks up. "Oh yeah? Someone new? Who has she worked with?"
"No one you know, but trust me, she's got the chops."
"With you vouching for her? I'm sure she does. You think Jared will like her, though?"
That's the million dollar question, isn't it? "He'd be crazy not to, but who knows?"
"So what's her name?" Josh asks, pen in hand.
It's a struggle to say it casually. "Rachel Berry."
*****
On the day she's scheduled to come in he brings her to the cafe around the corner because of course she's early and unless she's changed, she's got this pre-performance routine: lukewarm herbal tea and honey and a series of discreet vocal exercises. (He's absurdly gratified to find out he's exactly right.)
"Noah, what in the world am I doing here?" she asks in between deep, cleansing breaths.
"Hydrating?" he suggests.
"I mean it!" she exclaims, sipping her tea and sort of sloshing it around in the back of her throat in a way that should be gross, but just isn't.
If Jared actually likes her? "Saving my ass, that's what."
"I sincerely doubt that," she says with a furrow on her brow that he has this insane urge to smooth out. "Noah, this isn't because...," she trails off, looking around but no one is anywhere near their little table.
He leans in, lets his voice go low in a way he knows she likes. "Because? You mean because I broke you last night?"
She rolls her eyes at him. "You hardly broke me."
"After the third orgasm, you could barely speak for twenty minutes, so I'm pretty sure I did," he smirks. Hey, all in the service of preserving her vocal cords, right?
"Gloating is never gentlemanly behavior," she says primly. "And besides, I returned the favor."
Why yes, she did. More than once. Mmmmm. Where's an empty supply closet when you need it?
"Are you avoiding my question?" she continues and he's starting to realize that she's actually worried about this.
"Are you really asking me that question, Rachel?" he asks. "Baby, you know how seriously I take my job. Do you actually think I'd recommend you for something I didn't think you could do?"
"No, of course not. But it's been so long since I sang in any sort of performance context and I can't help being nervous."
Here's the thing about Rachel. She's in a good place right now, but he knows that while she likes teaching, even the kids in third period, even Avery Powell and her scorn for scales, she doesn't love it. So he'll push a little bit, mostly because that's the kind of guy he is.
"Rach, the thing you've got to realize is that Jared has more talent than almost anyone I know, but he's kind of a fucktard. If he wants to work with you, you'll know it. If he doesn't, you'll know that too." He'll leave out the part where it's his ass on the line if the new album never comes out because she in no way needs that pressure on top of her nerves. "So, you know, why not? It's gotta be worth a shot, right? You want to decide not to audition, that's okay too, but just remember that no one can belt it on the fly like you can."
That's enough. He can open a door, but it's up to her to step through.
"Well, of course I'm going to audition," she says, looking at him like he's stupid. "I just wanted to make sure...I don't want to disappoint you."
Her 'again' is unspoken, but he hears it loud and clear.
He stares at her for a minute and the word 'crazy' is floating through her head, but he knows she'd probably kick him under the table with those pointy little shoes if he lets it out. That shit hurts.
"Not gonna happen," he says finally. "No matter what."
"Okay," she says with a rush of breath. "It's almost time. Are you coming with me?"
He shakes his head. "Josh is running the demo sessions." He's sorely tempted to sit in on this one, of course, but things being what they are, it's probably best not to.
"Good," she says crisply. "I want to be judged on my talent, not because of who my boyfriend is." (It's stupid how much he likes the sound of the word 'boyfriend' coming from Rachel's lips.) "I'll take a kiss for luck though."
He delivers and then goes for a little discrete ass-grab while he's at it, since that's also the kind of guy he is.
*****
"How'd she do?" he asks Josh casually, after waiting as long as he possibly can. Which turns out to be like forty-five minutes after Rachel leaves the building.
"Huh? Who?" Josh asks, looking up from the sound board absently.
"Rachel," he says, trying really, really hard not to grit his teeth.
Josh's eyes brighten. "Oh yeah! Damn, that's a hell of a voice. Very professional too. I think Jerry's got a full-blown crush on her."
"Jerry? The accompanist? Wouldn't be the first time," he mumbles. He's totally convinced that Brad carried a torch for Rachel for years. Why the hell else was the dude always sitting around waiting to play something? He waves off Josh's inquiring look. "You send the demo over to Jared?"
"Yeah along with the other three. Think we'll hear back soon?"
Fuck, he hopes so.
*****
He catches the phone call as he steps into his apartment later that week and sighs when he checks the display. Ma. Again. And sure, he loves his mother, but they've never felt the need to live in each other's pocket. She visits once a year and he calls her every week and never forgets to send her flowers on Mother's Day or her birthday and they're both pretty good with that. So this new thing where she's calling him every other day is a little freaky and quickly moving straight into annoying. He thinks longingly about the ignore button, but it's not worth the guilt trip...not yet, anyway.
"Yeah Ma?"
"Is that how you answer the phone, Noah? What if this had been your boss calling?"
Is it worth trying to explain the concept of caller ID again? No, probably not and anyway, she's still talking.
"I was speaking with Rabbi Wiseman after the Temple capital fund meeting and he sends his best."
Sure he did. After the Chanukah candle incident of 2011 (otherwise known as the reason why Temple Beth Israel-Shaare Zedek needs a capital fund in the first place) he's going to take that one with a grain of salt.
"Would you believe that the Bergers are having another baby? You know that's their third in four years. And the Leiberman boy is finally home from college. Such a pity your sister never liked him."
Is she planning on giving him an update on everyone in the entire community? (Revenge for the ATM? You tell him.)
"Ma, I'd talk but I'm kinda in a hurry. Rachel and Connor are coming over and I need time to throw all my dirty laundry in the closet." Actually that's a lie because he keeps things neat but it's totally worth it just her hear her lose her shit over it. Today for some reason she's not taking the bait.
"You've been seeing a lot of Rachel, then?" she asks.
"You know I have," he says with a grunt. "I haven't exactly been hiding it." You know what? Maybe he should be making time for this conversation, because it's obviously overdue. "So what gives, Ma? First you don't say shit about Rachel's divorce and don't bother telling me that you didn't know anything, because I'm not buying it. And then you're giving out all these cryptic pronouncements like it's your job suddenly when you ought to be throwing a damn party. I figured you'd be happy, no, over the moon that Rachel and I are together."
She pauses so long he almost figures he dropped the call. Reticence is not her thing.
"I've known Rachel for a very long time, ever since she moved to Lima with her fathers. I watched her grow into a lovely young woman and at the same time I saw you on a path that was certainly bumpier but nonetheless produced a young man that I'm very proud to call my son. To tell the truth, it has often crossed my mind that you were the better man for Rachel. Carole and I even had words about it once if you can imagine that."
Imagine it? He'd pay good cash money to see it--from a safe distance of course: say, Columbus or thereabouts.
"But I watched Finn Hudson over the years too, right here in this house for much of it and somehow he's always seemed like a boy to me. Sweet and well-meaning at times, but quick to pick up a new toy and quick to discard it. The thing you need to consider Noah, is that he may be a boy, but he's not a bad one and sooner or later he's going to reappear in his son's life and in Rachel's too. And I wonder what will happen then."
"Finn is Connor's dad," he says stiffly. "He's always going to be in their lives."
"But to what extent? A thousand miles might make a thing seem insubstantial, but I assure you, it can be very real. Are you going to be able to accept that?"
"Ma...," he starts.
"I just don't want you to get hurt, Noah."
"Ma, I gotta go. Really."
"I just want you to think about it."
Well shit, he's not going to be able to do much else now, is he?
Chapter 12