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waltzmatildahTitle: If you're lost, you can look and you will find me...
Pairing/Character(s): Puck (also Tina, Kurt, Mercedes, Rachel)
Rating: R for potty mouthed words only.
Word Count: 3230
Spoilers: If you've seen 'Sectionals' then you're good to go.
Summary: Finn's beat down on Puck following the baby daddy revelation is a little more serious that it first seemed. The original Glee kids pick up the pieces when no one else will.
A/N: My first venture beyond the safe walls of Grey's Anatomy fanfic. Constructive criticism is actively encouraged.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
The morning after the night before.
Well, it had been more like afternoon really, but the sentiment remains the same. Puck can still feel Finn's fist pounding into his face, chest, stomach. In the end it didn't really matter, it all hurt just the same.
Doesn't mean he didn't deserve it though. All of it.
And more... maybe.
He gets a headache in math class. A real one, and the trip to the nurse's office is more than a little disconcerting. There is a pounding behind his right eye that makes walking in a straight line a little more difficult than it should be, and he misjudges a doorframe, slamming one shoulder into the bright woodwork. It jars his ribs and greys his vision in and out, out and in. By the time he gets to where he's going he's using that same shoulder against the wall to keep him upright.
The nurse takes one look at him and offers to call his mom, or 911. He rebuts with an I'm fine that he absolutely does not mean and insists he just needs some sleep.
That it looks worse than it really is and can he please, please just get some sleep?
Getting his body into a position resembling horizontal is an exercise in restraint (not to swear or... you know, like... burst into tears) but once he's down the lights are out almost immediately.
He's woken by the nurse five minutes before he's meant to be in the music room for rehearsals and it takes him four and a half of those to remember where the hell he is and why he feels like an entire back line used him as a dance mat.
Oh.
Finn.
And Quinn.
And the baby that's really his.
Shit.
~ ~ ~
There's a week until sectionals and apparently Miss Pillsbury is going to be their new Mr. Schue. The sight of his face shocks her, he can see it in the way that she keeps sneaking glances at him, eyes wide and blinking.
Kurt had squealed when he walked in, started ranting to Mercedes, Tina, Artie, whoever would listen, that he'll have to call on his big guns to hide that but also, that he never shied away from a challenge.
Puck wonders, vaguely, if Kurt talking about him and big guns in the same sentence is something he should be worried about.
He hasn't looked in a mirror yet so he can only imagine the damage but at least his left eye is starting to open up a little more and it's enough for him to be able to detect that Quinn is in the room but Finn is most definitely not.
He thinks someone (Rachel) takes pity on him, because they rehearse on stools and decide to give the choreography a miss to concentrate on the vocals. Then Mercedes helps him out even further by insisting that she needs to practice 'I'm Telling You I'm A Superfreak' (or whatever the fuck it is), but he doesn't complain because it gives him more time to sit silently and stare at Quinn and maybe, kind of, get her to look at him, too.
She doesn't.
He (pretends he) doesn't care.
They're half way into a run through of 'Don't Stop Believing', and Quinn still hasn't so much as asked if he's okay, and he's really struggling to breathe now, let alone sing, when he realises that if he doesn't get the hell out of there he's going to vomit on his shoes (or maybe Kurt's because at least that would be fucking hilarious).
He struggles to his feet and offers a wide, fake everything's peachy grin to Miss Pillsbury who looks like she's about to freak the fuck out, and he realises that maybe he's not hiding the sudden nausea as completely as he'd hoped. But he has his back to everyone else (Quinn) so he just heads to the door calmly and waits til it's closed behind him before lurching his way across the hall and into the bathroom (he's pretty sure they don't even drop a note).
~ ~ ~
He's locked in a stall, sitting on his ass on the cold floor and trying to get a grip when he hears the door open. He can make out a pair of familiar shoes from where he's positioned, they pause at the sink and Puck can imagine their owner doing a solid once over in the mirror above the basin.
“Puckerman.”
(The are you still alive in here is implied but understood).
“Lee'me alone, freak...” he grinds out but the jibe is totally lost in the fact that his voice sounds about as manly as Mercedes' does when she's pitching a diva inspired shit-fit.
“Puck, please don't make me call you Noah, because I will you know... I'll totally call you Noah...”
He'll give the losers one thing, they sure are persistent (and sometime, the more of a jerk you are to them, the more determined they seem to hang around).
He grits his teeth and bounces the back of his head lightly against the wall behind him. The sound echoes in his head and (almost) drowns out the marching band that has taken up position behind his eyeballs. He pushes the heel of his hand into the centre of his chest, tries to push away the ache that's got him thinking he might truly be about to die.
For real.
“Puck?”
There's outright concern in the voice now, no attempt made to veil it in any way. Puck closes his eyes and chooses to ignore the fact that it's Kurt (and not Quinn, or Mike or even Rachel) that's come to make sure he's okay.
When he opens his eyes again he's horrified to discover that the graffiti on the wall opposite him (a caricature of Rachel Berry with some kind of trophy stuck up her... anyway, yeah, not his best work) has blurred into a salt-water haze. He swipes the back of his hand viciously across his face and doesn't even care that it sends shots of white hot agony all the way to his toe nails.
He hears scrambling then, in the stall beside his (and if Kurt is about to take a dump or something he thinks he'll probably use his teeth to slit his own wrists).
But he hears the lid of the toilet come down with a clatter and suddenly there are fingertips creeping over the top of the stall and they're followed by a perfectly coiffed head of hair and eyes that (despite the make up) he's actually kind of glad to see.
Because now that he's down on the floor he's not entirely convinced that he's gonna be able to get back up again.
“Wha'tha fuck you doin' up there?” he slurs as his eyes continue a slow blink they've suddenly developed where his lids kind of fall down without him even trying and then it takes them seconds (sometimes more) to work their way back up to (mostly) open.
“You don't honestly think I'm going to subject these pants to the bathroom floor do you? Just because you choose to nestle amongst the-”
“Hummel...”
“Hmmm?”
“If I'm dead and you're an angel in heaven, where the fuck's the path straight to hell...”
“Oh, honey... I'm no angel, and as far as hell is concerned, you can rest assured... you're already well on your way down that paved path.”
~ ~ ~
Tina takes them both home because everyone who's leaving (Quinn) has already left and the ones that are staying have (more important) things to do.
He's in the front passenger seat because that's where they put him, and his eyes are closed and his head is against the window before they even get his seat belt around him. They drive off to the sound of Tina and Kurt harmonising softly to a tune he can't even begin to decipher and he finally starts to think that maybe he will be able to breathe again.
Eventually.
They drop Kurt off first and he has to spend three solid minutes convincing the two of them that it's fine and that he'll totally be able to get out of the car and into his own house without Tina having to carry him (even though his fingers are crossed under his left thigh because he's not entirely sure that it's true).
They're at his driveway before it hits him but when it does it's like all the air in his body has been set alight. He goes rigid and despite the fact that his brain lurches into overdrive he can't actually think of a single thing.
“Puck?”
“My mom...”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn't see her last night, she doesn't know, she... I haven't told her yet and... my face...” He brings his fingertips to his lips, runs them softly over the scabbed abrasions, as though confirming for himself that they are in fact still there.
Tina offers a quiet oh, and while what he really wants from her are answers and options and plausible excuses, he knows there's nothing really more than that to say (besides jerk and you deserve it and yeah, maybe there's actually plenty).
He straightens in his seat and something in his chest grates against something else and the whole world goes white. Somebody screams (and it sure as shit isn't Tina).
~ ~ ~
When his vision returns they're moving again and Tina's fingers are laced with his, one finger trailing idle loops over and around and under his thumb. Her phone is open in her lap, she's talking loudly, too loudly, but he can't make out the words over the thrumming of his own heart beat and he almost hopes that she's plotting his demise because... holy mother fucking fuck.
The car barely slows to a stop at the end of Kurt's driveway before he's clambering back in without so much as glance in Puck's direction, and it takes about eight seconds before he and Tina are back to harmonising along with the radio. Puck makes a mental note to compliment them later because, they're really, really fucking good. For now though, he just closes his eyes and leans back against the window and clings to the perfectly pitched notes like they're his saving grace.
It's not until they're walking up an unfamiliar front path that he thinks to ask where the hell he's being taken. Tina just twists her fingers back through his and tells him not to worry, which... yeah. Nothing at all to worry about here.
Turns out Mercedes' mom is a nurse (a real one, not like Mrs. Schuester. Psycho nutjob) and when he protests that he doesn't need a nurse, Tina gives him this look that clearly says whatever and reassures him that's Mrs Jones knows what she's doing and is pretty damn cool to boot.
Mercedes opens the front door before they even have a chance to ring the bell. There's a somewhat overgrown rat in a pink coat at her feet that lets loose a blood curdling series of high pitched yips before she reaches down and slings it under one arm. Puck, barely conscious as he is, can't help but to think that the sight only reinforces what they already know.
When Mrs Jones asks him if he's taken anything for the pain yet, he nods a yes before expanding; three beers and a wine cooler last night.
When she just sighs and puts her hand on his arm, he thinks Tina might have been right about the cool part. When her fingers press at a purple spot right at the bottom of his rib cage he (passes out) thinks it's suddenly a great time for a nap.
~ ~ ~
Rachel comes to see him two days before sectionals. He tells himself that she's only there to make sure he's still planning to attend, nothing more, nothing less, but as he's following her up the stairs to his bedroom, one arm wrapped around his ribs, she turns suddenly and looks down at him with a soft, sad smile, as though to reassure herself that he's not too far behind. He's only two step back, but it feels like miles (and mountain ranges and oceans) of ground that he'll never make up.
“At least your face doesn't look quite so much like you're channeling Riff Raff.”
Puck knows without asking that she's just made some obscure musical theatre reference, he doesn't even bother to seek clarification.
She sits on his bed and smooths the cover with the palm of her hand, like she's nervous and not really sure what she's doing here. His guitar is lying across his pillow, he's taken to playing it that way because it hurts too damn much to hold it in any position that resembles the conventional. He eases down beside it and strums his fingertips across the strings.
Bouncing his fingers over the frets, he works up the courage to ask the second most important question he's been wanting an answer to all week.
“Is Finn still mad at me?”
(Does Quinn still think I'm a loser? is the first most important...)
Rachel is silent, Rachel is never silent. She picks at an invisible spot on her skirt and watches his reflection in the mirror above his desk.
“Have you talked to him?”
She nods, slowly, brings her eyes up to meet his.
“Did he say anything-”
She shakes her head, side to side and drops her gaze back to the invisible spot, “He's not coming to sectionals. Jacob Ben Israel has been recruited to fill his spot.”
Puck snorts before Rachel's look ices his veins, “If someone had managed to keep it in his pants, this wouldn't be an issue...”
It's a fair point, he can offer no retaliation to it.
“We decided, democratically, that you would take Finn's place as the male lead in 'Don't Stop Believing'.”
“You what?”
“It was put to the vote. You won. Personally, I was in favour of Artie but, apparently-”
“Rachel, I can barely walk, let alone dance.”
“Which is why you need to lead. You'll be too obvious just standing propped at the back, if you're propped front and centre it'll be like we planned it all along.”
~ ~ ~
When the Jane Adam's girls sing Mercedes' solo he chalks it up to an unfortunate coincidence.
When they perform 'Proud Mary' in wheelchairs (like, seriously?), his heart sinks.
When the freaky deaf kids mutilate 'Don't Stop Believing', his teammates have a melt down.
When Rachel begs him (hands, knees, tears, the works) to do the solo, he has a melt down.
When Finn turns up and Rachel gets this look on her face, like all is suddenly right with the world, and Quinn smiles for the first time since they boarded the bus that morning, Puck quickly agrees.
He's sick and tired of being the only villain in this story.
He rolls a bottle of painkillers around in the palm of his hand, before taking a deep breath and tapping out half a dozen. He justifies it by reconciling that he didn't take any this morning and he just won't take any more tonight. After all, the labelling does specify no more than six in twenty four hours.
After “True Colors” he totally (did not) google Cyndi Lauper, and while “I Drove All Night” is kind of hot, and the 'fun' in “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” is totally (in his expert opinion) a euphemism for lesbian sex, which is also... kind of hot, he's pretty sure he has the chord progression for “Time After Time” just about perfected.
Plus, Rob Thomas sang it once and he didn't sound gay at all.
(It totally doesn't matter that he knows Quinn loves Avril Lavigne's version to bits)
He enters the auditorium through the audience and with his eyes clamped closed.
Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you.
Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new...
The plan is for everyone to follow him out. They'll walk behind him down the aisle and they'll all climb to the stage together. They're un-choreographed and this is a last ditch attempt to make it all appear just a little more planned.
About half way there, he realises that they're not behind him. There are about thirty seven million eyes glued to him, he can feel every one, and his voice catches a little in his throat because, they're not fucking there.
Then you say, go slow...
I fall behind.
The second hand unwinds.
But when the sound of the chorus erupts in front of him, he realises they're not coming because they're already there.
If you're lost, you can look and you will find me,
time after time.
If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting,
time after time.
As he gets to the edge of the audience he wants so bad to look at Quinn, but that's pathetic and corny and a hundred other things that he can't bring himself to name, so he looks at Kurt and Tina and Mercedes and Rachel and when he sings it to them, they know he means it and they knows it's thank you and and they know it's sorry and they know it's a hundred other things that he can't bring himself to name.
~ ~ ~
When it's announced that they're the winners Finn kisses Quinn. It makes him feel like someone's just stabbed him in the face.
They're all onstage, Mercedes and Kurt are doing some weirdass celebratory routine that it appears they've not only choreographed but rehearsed, Tina is in Artie's lap and they're racing so wildly across the stage that Puck is almost certain they're gonna fly off and into the unsuspecting front row crowd. Mike and Matt are towards the back, grinning stupidly and making body builder poses at each other, Brittany and Santana are kissing and Rachel... wait. What? Brittany and Santana are kissing?
But suddenly there's a trophy is his arms, bigger and heavier than his sister and the weight of it blows his mind. He can't bend to place it at his feet because he can't bend at all, and he can't scream for someone to take it the hell away because he has absolutely no air in his lungs, but suddenly Rachel is there and she's talking (he can't hear her) and the weight is gone and she's shoving a chair underneath him and it's all just in time.
She runs a hand down the side of his face, impossibly soft, “Hey, you okay?”
Her thumb props his chin up and she tilts his head so he's looking straight at her when he nods out an unconvincing yeah.
“If you fall, I will catch you...” She says it so quietly that it's almost swallowed up in the cacophony of other noises that surround them. He swallows thickly, and when her lips softly cover his, quickly, fleetingly, blink and you'll miss it style, he kind of has to remember how to breathe.
When the chair he's in starts moving and Artie's voice booms at the back of his head, “Puckerman, dude, lean a little to left, I can't see shit...” and Rachel laughs, loud and long and melodic, he thinks that maybe it doesn't matter what Quinn thinks anymore.
Even though it still totally does.
Just maybe not quite so much.
Pairing/Character(s): Puck (also Tina, Kurt, Mercedes, Rachel)
Rating: R for potty mouthed words only.
Word Count: 3230
Spoilers: If you've seen 'Sectionals' then you're good to go.
Summary: Finn's beat down on Puck following the baby daddy revelation is a little more serious that it first seemed. The original Glee kids pick up the pieces when no one else will.
A/N: My first venture beyond the safe walls of Grey's Anatomy fanfic. Constructive criticism is actively encouraged.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
The morning after the night before.
Well, it had been more like afternoon really, but the sentiment remains the same. Puck can still feel Finn's fist pounding into his face, chest, stomach. In the end it didn't really matter, it all hurt just the same.
Doesn't mean he didn't deserve it though. All of it.
And more... maybe.
He gets a headache in math class. A real one, and the trip to the nurse's office is more than a little disconcerting. There is a pounding behind his right eye that makes walking in a straight line a little more difficult than it should be, and he misjudges a doorframe, slamming one shoulder into the bright woodwork. It jars his ribs and greys his vision in and out, out and in. By the time he gets to where he's going he's using that same shoulder against the wall to keep him upright.
The nurse takes one look at him and offers to call his mom, or 911. He rebuts with an I'm fine that he absolutely does not mean and insists he just needs some sleep.
That it looks worse than it really is and can he please, please just get some sleep?
Getting his body into a position resembling horizontal is an exercise in restraint (not to swear or... you know, like... burst into tears) but once he's down the lights are out almost immediately.
He's woken by the nurse five minutes before he's meant to be in the music room for rehearsals and it takes him four and a half of those to remember where the hell he is and why he feels like an entire back line used him as a dance mat.
Oh.
Finn.
And Quinn.
And the baby that's really his.
Shit.
~ ~ ~
There's a week until sectionals and apparently Miss Pillsbury is going to be their new Mr. Schue. The sight of his face shocks her, he can see it in the way that she keeps sneaking glances at him, eyes wide and blinking.
Kurt had squealed when he walked in, started ranting to Mercedes, Tina, Artie, whoever would listen, that he'll have to call on his big guns to hide that but also, that he never shied away from a challenge.
Puck wonders, vaguely, if Kurt talking about him and big guns in the same sentence is something he should be worried about.
He hasn't looked in a mirror yet so he can only imagine the damage but at least his left eye is starting to open up a little more and it's enough for him to be able to detect that Quinn is in the room but Finn is most definitely not.
He thinks someone (Rachel) takes pity on him, because they rehearse on stools and decide to give the choreography a miss to concentrate on the vocals. Then Mercedes helps him out even further by insisting that she needs to practice 'I'm Telling You I'm A Superfreak' (or whatever the fuck it is), but he doesn't complain because it gives him more time to sit silently and stare at Quinn and maybe, kind of, get her to look at him, too.
She doesn't.
He (pretends he) doesn't care.
They're half way into a run through of 'Don't Stop Believing', and Quinn still hasn't so much as asked if he's okay, and he's really struggling to breathe now, let alone sing, when he realises that if he doesn't get the hell out of there he's going to vomit on his shoes (or maybe Kurt's because at least that would be fucking hilarious).
He struggles to his feet and offers a wide, fake everything's peachy grin to Miss Pillsbury who looks like she's about to freak the fuck out, and he realises that maybe he's not hiding the sudden nausea as completely as he'd hoped. But he has his back to everyone else (Quinn) so he just heads to the door calmly and waits til it's closed behind him before lurching his way across the hall and into the bathroom (he's pretty sure they don't even drop a note).
~ ~ ~
He's locked in a stall, sitting on his ass on the cold floor and trying to get a grip when he hears the door open. He can make out a pair of familiar shoes from where he's positioned, they pause at the sink and Puck can imagine their owner doing a solid once over in the mirror above the basin.
“Puckerman.”
(The are you still alive in here is implied but understood).
“Lee'me alone, freak...” he grinds out but the jibe is totally lost in the fact that his voice sounds about as manly as Mercedes' does when she's pitching a diva inspired shit-fit.
“Puck, please don't make me call you Noah, because I will you know... I'll totally call you Noah...”
He'll give the losers one thing, they sure are persistent (and sometime, the more of a jerk you are to them, the more determined they seem to hang around).
He grits his teeth and bounces the back of his head lightly against the wall behind him. The sound echoes in his head and (almost) drowns out the marching band that has taken up position behind his eyeballs. He pushes the heel of his hand into the centre of his chest, tries to push away the ache that's got him thinking he might truly be about to die.
For real.
“Puck?”
There's outright concern in the voice now, no attempt made to veil it in any way. Puck closes his eyes and chooses to ignore the fact that it's Kurt (and not Quinn, or Mike or even Rachel) that's come to make sure he's okay.
When he opens his eyes again he's horrified to discover that the graffiti on the wall opposite him (a caricature of Rachel Berry with some kind of trophy stuck up her... anyway, yeah, not his best work) has blurred into a salt-water haze. He swipes the back of his hand viciously across his face and doesn't even care that it sends shots of white hot agony all the way to his toe nails.
He hears scrambling then, in the stall beside his (and if Kurt is about to take a dump or something he thinks he'll probably use his teeth to slit his own wrists).
But he hears the lid of the toilet come down with a clatter and suddenly there are fingertips creeping over the top of the stall and they're followed by a perfectly coiffed head of hair and eyes that (despite the make up) he's actually kind of glad to see.
Because now that he's down on the floor he's not entirely convinced that he's gonna be able to get back up again.
“Wha'tha fuck you doin' up there?” he slurs as his eyes continue a slow blink they've suddenly developed where his lids kind of fall down without him even trying and then it takes them seconds (sometimes more) to work their way back up to (mostly) open.
“You don't honestly think I'm going to subject these pants to the bathroom floor do you? Just because you choose to nestle amongst the-”
“Hummel...”
“Hmmm?”
“If I'm dead and you're an angel in heaven, where the fuck's the path straight to hell...”
“Oh, honey... I'm no angel, and as far as hell is concerned, you can rest assured... you're already well on your way down that paved path.”
~ ~ ~
Tina takes them both home because everyone who's leaving (Quinn) has already left and the ones that are staying have (more important) things to do.
He's in the front passenger seat because that's where they put him, and his eyes are closed and his head is against the window before they even get his seat belt around him. They drive off to the sound of Tina and Kurt harmonising softly to a tune he can't even begin to decipher and he finally starts to think that maybe he will be able to breathe again.
Eventually.
They drop Kurt off first and he has to spend three solid minutes convincing the two of them that it's fine and that he'll totally be able to get out of the car and into his own house without Tina having to carry him (even though his fingers are crossed under his left thigh because he's not entirely sure that it's true).
They're at his driveway before it hits him but when it does it's like all the air in his body has been set alight. He goes rigid and despite the fact that his brain lurches into overdrive he can't actually think of a single thing.
“Puck?”
“My mom...”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn't see her last night, she doesn't know, she... I haven't told her yet and... my face...” He brings his fingertips to his lips, runs them softly over the scabbed abrasions, as though confirming for himself that they are in fact still there.
Tina offers a quiet oh, and while what he really wants from her are answers and options and plausible excuses, he knows there's nothing really more than that to say (besides jerk and you deserve it and yeah, maybe there's actually plenty).
He straightens in his seat and something in his chest grates against something else and the whole world goes white. Somebody screams (and it sure as shit isn't Tina).
~ ~ ~
When his vision returns they're moving again and Tina's fingers are laced with his, one finger trailing idle loops over and around and under his thumb. Her phone is open in her lap, she's talking loudly, too loudly, but he can't make out the words over the thrumming of his own heart beat and he almost hopes that she's plotting his demise because... holy mother fucking fuck.
The car barely slows to a stop at the end of Kurt's driveway before he's clambering back in without so much as glance in Puck's direction, and it takes about eight seconds before he and Tina are back to harmonising along with the radio. Puck makes a mental note to compliment them later because, they're really, really fucking good. For now though, he just closes his eyes and leans back against the window and clings to the perfectly pitched notes like they're his saving grace.
It's not until they're walking up an unfamiliar front path that he thinks to ask where the hell he's being taken. Tina just twists her fingers back through his and tells him not to worry, which... yeah. Nothing at all to worry about here.
Turns out Mercedes' mom is a nurse (a real one, not like Mrs. Schuester. Psycho nutjob) and when he protests that he doesn't need a nurse, Tina gives him this look that clearly says whatever and reassures him that's Mrs Jones knows what she's doing and is pretty damn cool to boot.
Mercedes opens the front door before they even have a chance to ring the bell. There's a somewhat overgrown rat in a pink coat at her feet that lets loose a blood curdling series of high pitched yips before she reaches down and slings it under one arm. Puck, barely conscious as he is, can't help but to think that the sight only reinforces what they already know.
When Mrs Jones asks him if he's taken anything for the pain yet, he nods a yes before expanding; three beers and a wine cooler last night.
When she just sighs and puts her hand on his arm, he thinks Tina might have been right about the cool part. When her fingers press at a purple spot right at the bottom of his rib cage he (passes out) thinks it's suddenly a great time for a nap.
~ ~ ~
Rachel comes to see him two days before sectionals. He tells himself that she's only there to make sure he's still planning to attend, nothing more, nothing less, but as he's following her up the stairs to his bedroom, one arm wrapped around his ribs, she turns suddenly and looks down at him with a soft, sad smile, as though to reassure herself that he's not too far behind. He's only two step back, but it feels like miles (and mountain ranges and oceans) of ground that he'll never make up.
“At least your face doesn't look quite so much like you're channeling Riff Raff.”
Puck knows without asking that she's just made some obscure musical theatre reference, he doesn't even bother to seek clarification.
She sits on his bed and smooths the cover with the palm of her hand, like she's nervous and not really sure what she's doing here. His guitar is lying across his pillow, he's taken to playing it that way because it hurts too damn much to hold it in any position that resembles the conventional. He eases down beside it and strums his fingertips across the strings.
Bouncing his fingers over the frets, he works up the courage to ask the second most important question he's been wanting an answer to all week.
“Is Finn still mad at me?”
(Does Quinn still think I'm a loser? is the first most important...)
Rachel is silent, Rachel is never silent. She picks at an invisible spot on her skirt and watches his reflection in the mirror above his desk.
“Have you talked to him?”
She nods, slowly, brings her eyes up to meet his.
“Did he say anything-”
She shakes her head, side to side and drops her gaze back to the invisible spot, “He's not coming to sectionals. Jacob Ben Israel has been recruited to fill his spot.”
Puck snorts before Rachel's look ices his veins, “If someone had managed to keep it in his pants, this wouldn't be an issue...”
It's a fair point, he can offer no retaliation to it.
“We decided, democratically, that you would take Finn's place as the male lead in 'Don't Stop Believing'.”
“You what?”
“It was put to the vote. You won. Personally, I was in favour of Artie but, apparently-”
“Rachel, I can barely walk, let alone dance.”
“Which is why you need to lead. You'll be too obvious just standing propped at the back, if you're propped front and centre it'll be like we planned it all along.”
~ ~ ~
When the Jane Adam's girls sing Mercedes' solo he chalks it up to an unfortunate coincidence.
When they perform 'Proud Mary' in wheelchairs (like, seriously?), his heart sinks.
When the freaky deaf kids mutilate 'Don't Stop Believing', his teammates have a melt down.
When Rachel begs him (hands, knees, tears, the works) to do the solo, he has a melt down.
When Finn turns up and Rachel gets this look on her face, like all is suddenly right with the world, and Quinn smiles for the first time since they boarded the bus that morning, Puck quickly agrees.
He's sick and tired of being the only villain in this story.
He rolls a bottle of painkillers around in the palm of his hand, before taking a deep breath and tapping out half a dozen. He justifies it by reconciling that he didn't take any this morning and he just won't take any more tonight. After all, the labelling does specify no more than six in twenty four hours.
After “True Colors” he totally (did not) google Cyndi Lauper, and while “I Drove All Night” is kind of hot, and the 'fun' in “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” is totally (in his expert opinion) a euphemism for lesbian sex, which is also... kind of hot, he's pretty sure he has the chord progression for “Time After Time” just about perfected.
Plus, Rob Thomas sang it once and he didn't sound gay at all.
(It totally doesn't matter that he knows Quinn loves Avril Lavigne's version to bits)
He enters the auditorium through the audience and with his eyes clamped closed.
Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you.
Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new...
The plan is for everyone to follow him out. They'll walk behind him down the aisle and they'll all climb to the stage together. They're un-choreographed and this is a last ditch attempt to make it all appear just a little more planned.
About half way there, he realises that they're not behind him. There are about thirty seven million eyes glued to him, he can feel every one, and his voice catches a little in his throat because, they're not fucking there.
Then you say, go slow...
I fall behind.
The second hand unwinds.
But when the sound of the chorus erupts in front of him, he realises they're not coming because they're already there.
If you're lost, you can look and you will find me,
time after time.
If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting,
time after time.
As he gets to the edge of the audience he wants so bad to look at Quinn, but that's pathetic and corny and a hundred other things that he can't bring himself to name, so he looks at Kurt and Tina and Mercedes and Rachel and when he sings it to them, they know he means it and they knows it's thank you and and they know it's sorry and they know it's a hundred other things that he can't bring himself to name.
~ ~ ~
When it's announced that they're the winners Finn kisses Quinn. It makes him feel like someone's just stabbed him in the face.
They're all onstage, Mercedes and Kurt are doing some weirdass celebratory routine that it appears they've not only choreographed but rehearsed, Tina is in Artie's lap and they're racing so wildly across the stage that Puck is almost certain they're gonna fly off and into the unsuspecting front row crowd. Mike and Matt are towards the back, grinning stupidly and making body builder poses at each other, Brittany and Santana are kissing and Rachel... wait. What? Brittany and Santana are kissing?
But suddenly there's a trophy is his arms, bigger and heavier than his sister and the weight of it blows his mind. He can't bend to place it at his feet because he can't bend at all, and he can't scream for someone to take it the hell away because he has absolutely no air in his lungs, but suddenly Rachel is there and she's talking (he can't hear her) and the weight is gone and she's shoving a chair underneath him and it's all just in time.
She runs a hand down the side of his face, impossibly soft, “Hey, you okay?”
Her thumb props his chin up and she tilts his head so he's looking straight at her when he nods out an unconvincing yeah.
“If you fall, I will catch you...” She says it so quietly that it's almost swallowed up in the cacophony of other noises that surround them. He swallows thickly, and when her lips softly cover his, quickly, fleetingly, blink and you'll miss it style, he kind of has to remember how to breathe.
When the chair he's in starts moving and Artie's voice booms at the back of his head, “Puckerman, dude, lean a little to left, I can't see shit...” and Rachel laughs, loud and long and melodic, he thinks that maybe it doesn't matter what Quinn thinks anymore.
Even though it still totally does.
Just maybe not quite so much.
