It's kind of sad, the reason he's so good at math now considering that he rarely attended math class in high school. He never thought he'd need to know anything beyond adding and subtracting, possibly some multiplication and division, the rest seemed pointless. He was never going to need formulas to figure out how to pay bills or save and spend money, and his job, a New York City firefighter (the music thing didn't really work out for him as he had hoped), you don't need to know numbers that much either, all you need is a physically fit body and the adrenaline coursing through your veins when you're about to run into a burning building to save someone that will repeatedly thank you for the rest of their lives. But now as he sits in the living room of their apartment, gazing out the window, math is the only thing on his mind, well besides her that is, and the reason she left.

Puck can tell you down to the second when he last saw her, he's been counting. He can even tell you how long ago he kissed her, touched her, and the last time he was buried deep inside of her as she moaned his name in his ear. It's pathetic, he knows this, but he doesn't care. You'd be the same way if the love of your life walked out the door.

He's trying to concentrate on other things, anything to get his mind off of the look on her face when she left—two weeks, three days, seven hours, and twenty-six minutes ago. Nothing is working.

Yeah, he knows he shouldn't be acting like this, it's totally out of character, but when it comes to Rachel it's different. He was never Puck with her, only Noah. And Noah, that's all she ever needed. She never expected him to be anything but himself. Even if himself was sometimes a huge pussy willing to cut off his balls and hand them over to a girl he never thought he'd ever get the opportunity to love and soon realized was the one person he wanted to love for the rest of his life.

Then he had to go and fuck it up.

All he wants to do is scream out in frustration that he let her walk out of his life so easily. Maybe it's the alcohol in his system that's talking but he's pretty sure he could shed some tears over the fact that Rachel is across town, living with Quinn and Sam and not with him. She should be with him.

Puck takes a long drink from the bottle of JD he has in his hand (no need for a glass when you're depressed) before getting up off the couch and heading towards the window that has an impressive view if Central Park. It's a beautiful view; he remembers it was the first thing Rachel said when they looked at the place right after she landed her first role on Broadway. The view was all building and bright lights, now fighting off the darkness and the rain that had been pouring down for days.

By now, he's pretty much convinced that Mother Nature knows exactly how he feels. The sun hasn't been out since she left. The city has been under a blanket of clouds and rain, and the occasional thunderstorm. He wasn't really down for all this gloomy shit. If he wanted rain he would have moved to Seattle. New York was supposed to be about bright lights and endless opportunities, not some dead end road, which is just how he's felt since she left.

Since she left. It's all he can think about.

"I'm sorry, Noah," she had told him when he came home from work that day to find her bags packed and leaning against the wall by the front door. "I just can't do this anymore, all this fighting. It's unhealthy."

They'd fought a lot; it was like a staple in their relationship. She'd scream at him, and he'd scream back, always about something pointless. Eventually, an hour or so later, they'd be fine again. The makeup sex was always amazing. Every few days they'd repeat the cycle, sometimes he'd start everything, sometimes she would, but in the end he'd always tell her he loved her even if she was totally insane, and she'd do the same thing. It's just the way things were with them.

What really pisses him off though is Rachel just up and left one day without warning. Yeah they had gotten into a really bad fight over something he knows he should have had a better reaction to (it was just a simple question) and hadn't spoken for three days but he figured after they both calmed down everything would be fine. Instead she just went on her way as if their relationship had meant nothing to her. Three years down the drain in a heartbeat. Well actually try eight years; it was complicated the first five years, with the end of high school and most of college.

Puck glances at the clock, he might be good with numbers now, but when Rachel was on his mind he could easily lose track of time. She had always had that effect on him. It's past one of the morning, and he's drunk. Work is going to be difficult tomorrow (today).

Now all he can think of is calling her, begging her to come home and forget everything that happened.

He tries her cell phone a few times, but it goes straight to voicemail. Hearing her voice is bittersweet when her recording kicks in. The last time he calls he leaves her a message, a simple one, call me back in a slurred voice.

He's not about to give up though. Puck calls Quinn's phone but she doesn't answer either. Of course she wouldn't. She's probably asleep; normally people are sleeping at this hour. He doesn't leave her a message, there's no point.

Screw work tomorrow, he needs a bar right now.

"Rachel?" Quinn asks softly, pushing open the door to the guest bedroom Rachel had been occupying for the past two weeks. The room is dark, but Quinn knew she was still awake. She reaches over and flips on the light to see Rachel curled up on the bed, her knees against her chest as she rocks her body back and forth.

"I know you're awake, I could hear you crying through the wall." Quinn says as she walks over and sits on the bed. "You really need to stop this, Rachel. Talk to me."

Rachel continued to ignore her best friend. She hadn't wanted to talk when she showed up here, and nothing had changed since then. All she wanted to do was sleep, sleep forever and forget everything that was ever good about Noah Puckerman. Sleep though, wasn't coming as easily to her as it use too. She'd spent every night here restlessly tossing and turning, his face always popping up the second she closed her eyes.

"Maybe if you just went over and talked to him…"

"I'm not going over there!" Rachel shouted suddenly, bolting up on the bed. "He's had plenty of time to come over here and apologize and instead of doing that he's been out getting drunk practically every night."

"You are the definition of a mood swing right now. Calm down. I was only suggesting it. Look, he calls every night. I'm sure he calls your phone too. You'd realize that if you actually turned the thing on. Just hear him out."

Rachel shakes her head and lies back down on the bed. She's tired, physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted and it's all Puck's fault. All Quinn can do is sit there and try to comfort her without words. More words could possibly lead to Rachel flipping out again and she doesn't need her neighbors banging on the door at this hour telling them to be quiet like they did a few nights ago.

There's another soft knock on the door and Sam's low voice filters through the open crack. "Quinn, he's calling me now. Should I answer it?"

Quinn shook her head no and put her attention back on Rachel, reaching over and rubbing the small of her back with her hand.

Sam took a deep breath and sighed, pushing the door open further to see into the room. This whole situation was getting to him as much as it was getting to everyone else. "This is getting ridiculous. Unlike you two I actually have to get up every morning and go to work. I can't sit here each night and listen to her cry while you run to her aid and wake up me. I'm going over there. This is stopping tonight."

He's loved her since the third grade, though he'll never admit it to anyone, even her. It would completely kill his badass reputation, even now when they rarely see any of their friends from high school apart from Sam, Quinn, Santana, and Mike. He's lost her more times than he cares to admit but in one way or another they always found their way back to each other. New York had always been her dream, never his; he never really had any dreams beyond high school. He was more concentrated on getting out alive and maybe playing some music somewhere down the road. Somehow he found his way here though; he didn't follow her, even though everyone swears up and down that he did. It's just that NYU had an amazing music program and once he was finished with Lima Community College and applied to a bunch of different schools, it was the only place that accepted him on a full scholarship. When they had made things official a few months after he got here, Puck almost went and thanked the admissions committee for letting him in.

To say Rachel was the best thing that ever happened to him would be an understatement. She was right up there with that hazel eyed little girl he gave up years ago. She made him want to be a better person without even trying.

But now instead of enjoying the life they had together he was sitting on a bar stool at his regular haunt on West 71st street, drinking the pain (and her) away.

The new bartender (yeah he's here that much), a girl around his age with long blonde hair and huge tits, keeps eyeing him up and down every time she passes him. He's pretty sure by the time he leaves she'll try to give him her number or go home with him. It's not what he wants though, she's not Rachel, and Rachel is all he wants.

As he's nursing the beer in his hand (by now he's lost count of how many he's had), Puck feels the stool next to him move, but he doesn't bother to look up. His eyes are focused on his phone. There's a picture of her on the screen, all smiles and wild hair. He took it after they ran through Central Park in the rain after he finished his first year at NYU, she looked fucking amazing. It was the night he first told her he loved her. He might have let on that he had felt that way for a long time.

"Figured I'd find you here," Sam says from beside him.

After a few moments Puck finally looks up and makes eye contact with his best friend. He wants to ask him how Rachel is, but he doesn't. Then he wants to know why he's there, but again he keeps his mouth shut and just stares at him. What's the point of digging for information when he's sure that Quinn had told Sam not to say a word about Rachel?

He finishes off the rest of his beer, not bothering to say anything to Sam. Silence works just as well. He remembers Rachel telling him once that it's not what you say, but your body language and how you say it. His body language is screaming I'm a mess, and his tone of voice would only further prove that.

"Here's the deal," Sam says after ordering himself a beer. "I've been late to work practically every day for the past two weeks because I get woken up in the middle of the night by the two sobbing women living in my apartment right now. There's way too much estrogen there for my liking and I actually enjoy going to work every day."

"You shoot at people for a living, of course you like going to work every morning," Puck slurs his words as he reaches for the new beer bottle that's placed in front of him. He looks up to catch the blonde bartender slipping a piece of paper his way, but he doesn't acknowledge it or her at all.

Sam shakes his head before taking a sip from his bottle. "I don't shoot at people for a living you dipshit. I haven't shot anyone since I joined the force two years ago."

"Cause you're a pussy." Puck informs him before changing the picture on his phone to another one of Rachel, dressed in a bridesmaid's dress at Quinn and Sam's wedding six months ago.

Sam doesn't respond to him, there's no point on fueling Puck anymore. He's got enough shit going on his head right now.

They sit in silence for a while, it's not an awkward silence, it's more of a 'if you say anything else to me right now I might just lose my shit' type of silence. Nothing would really stop Puck from punching Sam In the face right now if he brought up Rachel anymore than he already has. Depressed or not, one wrong word could easily turn into a broken nose for the cop sitting next to him.

By now Puck's had a half of a bottle of JD and an estimated five beers, just enough to loosen his tongue (and his mind and practically everything else). So when someone that works with Sam comes up and congratulates him on Quinn's pregnancy, he pretty much loses his shit right there because that's what got him into this whole mess to begin with. It all started over a stupid question about Rachel asking him how he felt about babies.

"I had it all planned out," he informs Sam as he leans forward, his head resting against the bar. "I had it all planned out."

"Had what planned out?" Sam asks as he reaches over and pushes the beer in front of Puck away from him. Enough alcohol for tonight, he's not in the mood to haul Puck back to his apartment shit faced drunk. The boy was a dangerous drunk to begin with; he didn't want to find out what sad and drunk Puck turned into.

Puck keeps his head on the bar but starts moving his arms around, gesturing to the air in front of him. "Our life, mine and Rachel's life, everything, I had it all planned out; a wedding and babies and her stupid Tony Awards and Grammy's. I planned it all out so I'd be prepared for everything and anything that she wanted."

Sam shakes his head, he has an idea about what Puck is trying to say but he's not going ask for details. It's weird enough to sit here and listen to Puck share his feelings. When it came to feelings they were strangers to him. All Puck could show was horny, happy (which was normally when his favorite sports teams won a game), sleepy, or hungry. No one ever expected a depressed, drunk Puck who was obsessed with Rachel. They didn't even know he knew what depressed was.

Puck lifts his head up from the bar and tries to reach for the beer that Sam pushed away from him.

"Dude," Sam says putting hand on Puck's shoulder, "You're done."

He pushes himself off the stool and starts heading for the door, Sam on his heels. He's pretty sure he can hear the blonde bimbo behind the bar calling out to him, but he still doesn't care about her. There were plenty of other available drunks she could hit on.

When Puck finally stumbles out onto the sidewalk, Sam has to catch him by the elbow to stop him from falling over into the street. It's still raining, only it's a slight mist now compared to the downpour he was watching earlier.

"Why?" Puck spits out as he starts heading down the street, stumbling each time he takes a step. "Why? Can you answer me that because no one else seems to be able to give me a straight answer. They all just look at me like I'm stupid. Like I should fucking know why she freaked out over my answer to a simple question and why she just up and left me without a fucking word."

Sam stopped in this tracks, reaching out and grabbing a hold of Puck's shoulder so he couldn't go any further. "Stop. You really have no clue what's going on do you?"

Puck shoots him a wicked glare. Seriously? If he had known why Rachel had freaked out so horribly and left him he would have found a way to fix it, two weeks, three days, nine hours, and fourteen minutes ago, instead of standing here in the rain with a guy he should probably have kicked the shit out of that long ago for ever letting Rachel into his apartment.

"If I knew, I would not be standing here in the fucking rain sharing my fucking feelings with an asshole like you."

"Puck, look—"

"No save your breath. I'm going to do what I was planning on doing the night she left. She wants to get married? Fine by me, I already have the damn ring. She wants babies? I'll give her so many we'll be able to start our own fucking baseball team. I'll give her everything she wants, anything she fucking wants, it's hers."

Before Sam can move to stop him, Puck hails a cab and jumps into the back, urging the driver to go before Sam can reach the door. He's got some shit to do before he shows up at Quinn and Sam's apartment. Like take a shower and get the alcohol out of his system.

Five hours, two showers and about four cups of coffee from Starbucks later, Puck is at the door of Sam and Quinn's apartment building. It's past eight in the morning so he has no problem repeatedly hitting the button so Quinn can buzz him in. He can still feel some of the alcohol running through his system, but he's sober enough to know what he's doing, that little bit left is just giving him an extra boost of confidence. He's not slurring his words (seriously he tested himself before he left the apartment), and he's eaten enough breath mints to know his breath doesn't smell like alcohol anymore.

"Who is it?" Quinn's tired voice filters through the speaker.

He hesitates for a second, he'd spent most of his time sobering up trying to come up with the perfect thing to say, but now he's at a loss for words.

"Hello?" Quinn's voice calls out from the speaker again, still tired with a hint of irritation. He's not about to piss her off while she's pregnant. He's been there, he's done that, it's not fun.

"It's me, let me in." Puck says simply, it's the best he can come up with.

There's a long pause, but no buzzing or metal clicking together to signify the door unlocking. Puck's pretty sure he's blown everything before he even got a chance to say anything. So he continues talking, hoping someone on the other end hears him. "Just give me a chance. Hear me out, please."

"Go home, Noah," Rachel's equally tired voice answers him. "There's nothing left you can say."

"Yes there is, Rachel," he pleads with her. "Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

"Fine," she agrees, even though she really doesn't want to. She'd rather be back in bed trying to get a little bit of sleep, make up for being up all night crying with Quinn. "Five minutes, starting right now from right there, and then you leave."

Puck takes a deep breath, as long as she listens to him that's all he needs right now. Hopefully whatever he says will get her, or Quinn because Rachel can be extremely stubborn, to open the door and let him. He can feel the engagement ring in his pocket weighing him down (yeah it just might be that big) and he wants it on her finger as soon as possible.

"Look I know I'm not perfect, I'm far from perfect. I'm stupid and stubborn and do dumb shit without even thinking. I'm always going to be fucking something up, doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing. It's like I'm missing this filter in my brain. You're the only one that can keep me in line."

He pauses for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, resting his head against the brick wall the speaker is mounted on. He doesn't want this to get overly mushy but he has a feeling that's where it's heading. Mushy and romantic, that's the only thing Rachel seems to respond to when they're fighting. Well that and when he sings to her to calm her down, but he's not about to start doing that. He already looks like an ass talking to a wall on a busy street in New York, he's not about to add to it.

"I'm sorry," he continues. "I'm sorry for being stupid and saying what I said. If you want a baby, Rachel, we can start working on that as soon as you come home. I need you to come home. I can't do anything without you. I can't eat, or sleep. Everywhere I go you're there. You're haunting me."

Rachel takes a deep breath and looks over to Quinn, unsure of what to say. The only response she gets is Quinn shaking her head as if to say just let Puck continue. She can't do that.

"You say that every time we fight. It's hard to believe your apology when you say the same thing over and over again."

He knows this is similar to all the other apology speeches he's given to her over the years, but this one is different. This one is going a step further. He would punch guys for getting as romantic as he's about to get, but he's going to do it because she deserves to hear it.

"I love you. I've loved you since that day in third grade you slapped Chris Garrett across the face because he was making fun of me for my dad leaving."

"You remember that?" Rachel asks a little surprised.

"Of course I do. I remember everything, the good and the bad. I remember the look on your face when I sang Sweet Caroline for you sophomore year. And that time senior year when you drunk dialed me and told me you wanted me to deflower you. I remember the way you jumped into my arms when I showed up at your apartment the day I moved here. Rachel, I remember everything. It's hard to forget when every single thing in my life reminds me of you."

"Noah…" Rachel doesn't know what to say, this is probably the most he's ever said in terms of how much he cares for her. Puck's better at showing her instead of telling her.

"I'm not good with words, baby. I just need you to believe me."

He doesn't receive any answers after that, instead there's a buzz and a click of the door unlocking. Puck reaches for the door, he's half way there.

Instead of waiting for the elevator to take him to the eighth floor, Puck heads for the stairs, taking two at a time when he's going up each flight. It doesn't matter that he's going to be really tired when he gets to the right floor; he just needs to see her now.

When he finally gets there and walks down the hallway to the apartment's door, he can hear someone (Rachel) screaming at Quinn over something. She's so loud that it's almost as if she's standing right there in the hallway next to him. He stops for a second, listening to what's going on behind the door.

"How could you just let him up like that?" He can hear Rachel screaming from behind the door. "Now he's going to expect me to talk to him."

"And you should talk to him. You can't just keep avoiding him because you got pissed off over something he said. This is Puck, he's always going to piss you off," Quinn is screaming back at her.

"He went too far this time! It's not just about us anymore, it's about us." Puck can't see the way Rachel's holding her hand protectively over her belly.

He's had enough of the screaming. Puck starts knocking on the door, calling for one of them to open it up. He hears Rachel's muffled screams some more before a door inside bangs shut. This really isn't going like he planned it too.

Quinn opens the door a few seconds later, an apologetic look on her face. She gives him a small smile as she waddles over to the side to make room for him to come through the door. He notices she's gotten a lot bigger since the last time he saw her.

"You look huge," he tells her with smirk.

The smile on her faces disappears, turning into a frown. "You look like shit."

He ignores her and asks where Rachel is. Quinn simply points down the hallway to the door he knows leads into their guest bedroom.

"Puck," Quinn calls after him when he gets to the end of the hallway. "Don't fight with her, she's been through enough already."

He nods at her before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the ring. "I'm done fighting with her."

Quinn smiles and mouths good luck to him as she heads towards the couch, far enough away not to be seen but close enough to hear everything; she's not missing this.

Another door, he's standing in front of another door that's separating him from her. If Rachel knew how many doors he'd broken down to get to her since their time together in high school, well he'd have a lot of explaining to do let's just put it that way.

Puck knock lightly, not really expecting an answer right away, but he gets one, a forceful scream comes from the other side of the door.

"GO AWAY, NOAH PUCKERMAN!" She screams, but her voice catches as she says his name, he's not sure if it's because she's been screaming so much or because it hurts her to say his name.

He's not leaving though. He's not going anywhere until the ring in his hand is on her finger and she's back home with him where she belongs.

Puck leans his head against the door, he's ready to get on his knees and beg if he has too. Then the words he's wanted to say since he was downstairs slip through his lips so softly he has to stop himself afterwards because he's not sure he was the one that said them.

"Don't give up on us, baby, please…"

Then the door swiftly opens and he has to catch himself by grabbing onto the door frame so he doesn't fall to the floor. She's there in front of him, fire in her eyes.

"Why not?" She spits out, barely giving him time to think. "You already gave up on us. Long before you even knew there was an us."

He looks at her, confusion crossing his face. "What the hell are you talking about? Who is this us you keep talking about?"

She spins on her heels and goes over to the dresser, picking up a tiny picture in her hand, before going back to the door. "This us," she says thrusting the picture into his hand.

It takes a moment for him to register what the picture is, a grainy black and white picture with Rachel's name at the top. He's seen enough ultrasound pictures before to know what they are, but it's been a long time since he's held one in his hand that was part him, one he's not going to be forced to give up.

"Rachel…" All he can say is her name because he feels like a complete jackass right now for ever opening his mouth when she asked him two weeks ago how he felt about having a baby. He probably shouldn't have said eventually, it's just not in the cards right now, because obviously someone had other plans. He only said it with her career in mind.

When he finally looks up from the picture and at her, tears are falling freely from her eyes. Rachel quickly reaches up and brushes them away with her hand before crossing her arms protectively over her belly.

Then he laughs, clutching the picture in his hand, smiling because these last two weeks have been one ridiculous misunderstanding.

"This situation isn't funny, Noah." Rachel says reaching up to wipe away more tears from her cheeks.

All he can do is look at her and shake his head. "I'm not laughing at the situation, I'm laughing at you. You're hilarious. What would make you think that I wouldn't want this, especially with you? I thought you knew me."

"Considering what you said—"

He really doesn't want to hear her say those stupid words he said again. "I only said that shit because I thought you wanted to get that Tony before you started popping out my babies. Come on, Rachel, having a kid, I mean I don't think anyone understands how bad I've wanted that since, well, you know…"

She shakes her head; she doesn't need to hear him say it. "So this is ok?" Her voice is small and she's looking down at her feet, trying to avoid making eye contact with him.

Puck wants to laugh again but he knows this time it might just get him slapped. So he walks over to her and places a finger under her chin, lifting her head up so her eyes meet his. He can still feel the ring in his hand, pressing into his palm.

"More than ok." He tells her as he leans down to press his lips to hers. He'll never admit to anyone that it was probably the best kiss of his life, the way Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body into him, it made him forget where he was for a moment before he heard a loud coughing sound coming from the living room down the hall.

Yeah he still had to give her the ring too.

He pulled away from Rachel a little, moving his hand away from her chin until it was just in front of her, and opening his close hand slowly to reveal the princess cut diamond set on a white gold band.

"For the record," Puck whispered into her hair. "I got this before you left."

"Say yes, Rachel!" They hear Quinn yell from the living room. "If you don't, pregnant or not, I will come in there and beat you."

They both start to laugh as Rachel shakes her head, fighting the fresh new tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She holds out her hand for him to place the ring on her finger, but stops him right before its past her first knuckle.

"Wait, so you've been in love with me since the third grade?"

He groans and shakes his head before pushing the ring completely on. "Don't make me say it again." Rachel gives him a look, one where she suspects what he said was bullshit. "Fine, it was more like second grade when you spent recess inside with me for two weeks when I broke my arm."

Rachel can't help but giggle when she gets up onto her toes and presses another kiss to his lips.

Six months, three weeks, and four days later, he's got a wife and a beautiful baby boy. Rachel's talking about moving to a brownstone in Brooklyn to be closer to Sam and Quinn and their little girl, and he's all for it. Like he said, anything and everything she wanted, he'd give her. Well to a point that is, when she starts talking about flying his mother out here to help them for a few weeks when he goes back to work he starts to rethink that whole promise and curses Sam for ever telling Rachel about it.