A/N: I obviously do not own Glee. I watched Sectionals from season one again the other day and was struck by the look on Puck's face in the delivery room, and this just popped into my head.

He's staring at Quinn like he's never seen her before. And maybe he hasn't - not in this way, at least. She's holding their daughter - their daughter - and she's laughing and crying simultaneously. And all of a sudden, he knows that he can't watch this anymore and mumbles some excuse he doesn't really care if she hears before he bolts from the room.

Unfortunately, he has to go through the waiting room to find any semblance of privacy, which means he has to deal with all of the questions and congratulations (? congratulations? what for? it's not like he gets to keep her...), but he forces a smile on his face as he nods briefly and shrugs off their questions about Quinn and finds his way out into the hallway.

But once he's out there alone, he hardly knows where to go, so he just keeps walking until he finds a little alcove which seems to be a storage area for stretchers and other equipment he can't and doesn't even care to identify. What he does know is that there are no people there, and that's all he wants right now - just to be away from people. He just needs time to think, and everyone keeps getting in his way.

He's alone now, though - but it's not helping. He's free to figure things out, but he's not sure what there is to figure out anymore. Quinn's made it clear that she doesn't want to keep the baby, and even though he does - he really, really does - he knows, too, that it's just not something he's remotely capable of doing on his own. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, trying not to remember the tiny, perfect face or the trusting eyes that looked into Quinn's. This is his daughter - his baby. He should be able to keep her safe and protect her, and she won't even know who he is. He swallows hard.

Then he jumps. A hand has touched his leg, and his eyes fly open - only to find Mercedes, sitting across from him. He notes almost clinically that she is still wearing the gown they handed her in the delivery room, and then he closes his eyes again. He can't think of the delivery room - at least not now with Mercedes sitting across from him.

Through gritted teeth, he manages to grind out, "What are you doing here." His voice is a low growl, and he's almost pleased. He still sounds a little like himself. But he hasn't counted on Mercedes being the one person who would hear the difference.

"I saw your face," she says simply, and one glance at her shows him that she knows - she knows - and that's enough for him to close his eyes again so she can't see that his are starting to fill. If he keeps them closed, maybe she'll go away. But he hadn't expected the tear to trickle down, and now her hand is on his calf again, and she's squeezing it firmly but not saying anything. She seems to know he doesn't want to talk. He doesn't want any company at all, for that matter, but it's clear that she's not planning on leaving him alone, so he ignores her as he concentrates on steadying his breathing. But it's not working, and he finally gives up, opening his eyes and looking straight at her even though now she's blurry.

"I should be the one to protect her and take care of her and see her first steps, and she won't ever know who I am, and I'll be worse than my own dad." It all comes spilling out, and his voice his shaking, but Mercedes, mercifully, somehow manages not to look surprised. She just shifts closer to him and whispers, her own voice trembling, "I know... but by giving her to someone who can give her everything, you're doing all of those things for her. You are," she insists when he shakes his head, swiping furiously at his eyes to keep the tears contained, He knows that she knows what he's doing, but she stares at her feet as she says, "Puck, you're nothing like your father You love this baby and are giving her the best chance possible at the best life possible. You and Quinn..."

But she trails off because he's shaking his head, and he doesn't even care that his voice is breaking when he says, "I did this to her ... and now she..." but his voice has stopped working entirely, and Mercedes realizes that there's nothing she can say anymore to make this better, so she does the only thing she can and wraps her arms around Puck's suddenly shaking shoulders and holds on tightly. She's glad she came after him when everyone told her he'd just kind of bolted, but now - well - she's just trying not to cry. Winning or losing sectionals seemed like everything a few hours ago. Right now ... it couldn't matter less.