A/N: I couldn't let it end, could I? Much to the detriment of my sanity, I've spent the last few weeks revising this third part into the ground, but it's finally here. Enjoy :)

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As a young girl, Rachel had once stood in front of her living room window and held a kaleidoscope to her eyes, twisting it over and over in her hands. The dazzling colours had reminded her of the possibility of the Broadway stage. Someday, she vowed, she would gaze into the bright spotlights and hold out her hands to the standing ovation.

Standing in front of the mirror that evening, her fingers silently tallied the marks on her body, curling over the eggplant hickey on her clavicle, the bruises circling her upper arms. She turned, looking over her shoulder at the lower half of her body, where the sunset dappled her skin – there, colours exploded over her thighs, marking the ways that he'd gripped her as he'd taken her against the alley wall.

He hadn't wanted her to forget, she mused, stroking a finger down her bruised thigh. She prayed that he wouldn't be at the club tonight, watching her with those intense green eyes as she danced. Refused to think about what would happen if he did.

She swore to herself as she stepped into the shower, turned the nozzles back, allowed the hot water to soothe her body. She lathered her head with lavender-scented drugstore shampoo, flinching as her fingers hit the sore points along her scalp. Even after three days, she was still recovering from the way Puck had slid a hand through her hair and –

Rachel thumped her forehead against the shower in frustration. Don't go down that road.

She'd spent the first year utterly terrified of finding a familiar gaze in the sea of faces, having severed all contact with both her friends and family. As more time passed, she'd slowly rebuilt the dignity and control that had been previously forfeited. Rachel had eventually reached the point where she could carefully traverse her days with distasteful familiarity, steadfastly ignoring the painful thoughts regarding the end of her tenure. In this life, there were no knights in shining armour - merely neon lights, heavy makeup, and the barely-there uniform of industrial lingerie.

Then she had stepped through the stage curtain and found Puck at the end of the stage, watching her.

Do you like it when people watch you?

She smoothed soapy hands over her body, lingering over her breasts. He'd done the same when she'd danced for him in that dingy room, wantonly rubbing against him until he'd been rock hard underneath her weeping sex. Her words hadn't dissuaded him - instead, he'd waited, followed her into that alley, pressed her against the brick and interrogated her with his words and his fingers and his cock. Split her open, sank into her, she'd clawed his back, unable to resist the need in his green eyes, more, more, more.

There was no room for someone like Puck in her life. His very presence was humiliating to her, a past that reminded her how far she had fallen from her ambitions. Yet she yearned for his touch to set her skin on fire, make her damp with a single glance, snatch her breath with one last kiss -

Almost unconsciously, she splayed her hand across her stomach as he'd done, slipped her fingers between her legs, stroking at the quivering flesh. Her thumb hesitantly circled her clit, already proudly peeking from its nest. The moisture between her legs added to the water droplets cascading down her bruised thighs.

She pressed her forehead to the steaming tile and curled two fingers inside her, mimicking the way he'd arched his hand against her pussy. She moaned, opening her legs wider as she gripped her thigh with her free hand. Her wrist twisted, her hips snapped against the delicious friction deep inside her. He'd spread her open for his assault, she could still feel the rough denim of his jeans scraping against her skin as he'd pounded into her –

She imagined those bright eyes watching her do this, and her hand quickened. With a loud cry, she came in a violent shudder, collapsing against the shower wall.

Memories are all you can ever have, she thought, dimly registering the icy spray on her body.

---

Lenny signaled the waitress, talking a mile a minute – man, the jackass wouldn't shut up about the chicks in here – and Puck hooked a hand around his beer, sucking the last remaining drops from the bottom.

They'd sat at the same corner of the stage for the past five dancers – five long routines from girls of questionable sizes, colours, and consciousness – and Lenny had screamed like a little girl through all of them. Puck had only kept his bleary eyes open in the hopes that a petite brunette would appear on stage, and the tightening in his chest had long verbalized into a stream of expletives.

It was a fucking stupid idea to come, he thought as he peered at the bottom of his beer bottle, because he'd have to watch her dance half-naked on stage along with everyone else in the room. All he could do was suck it up, shell out more rent money for a private lap dance, and watch her throw a diva fit at the sight of him in that ugly room.

You've completely misplaced your cognitive functions, Noah, the old her would have said to him before flouncing out of the room.

"When do you wanna leave?" Lenny asked eventually, when the bored blonde came on stage and half-heartedly twitched her hips at them.

Puck shrugged, shifting deeper into his seat. "Whenever," was his slurred response. The large clock mounted beside the stage read close to two in the morning, and Lenny tipped his beer towards it.

"My old lady's gonna flip if I show up to her niece's morning christening lookin' like I licked the bottom of a dumpster," his friend commented, leering at the redheaded waitress eyeing him from the end of the bar.

"They're closing up anyway, prickface," Puck retorted, as the bartender hollered out last call.

Through the reverberating music, Puck could hear his friend's sudden high-pitched squeak as the waitress slipped into his lap – why hello there, pretty thing – and wanted to throw his beer at the wall. Three days of unsuccessfully shadowing her at her shithole strip club, ending each night with him trying to stroke the feel of her out of his cock, and he was wishing that he'd kept the number to the underground fight club in the Bronx.

But whether she'd hid behind the curtain all those nights, or she just hadn't been there, it didn't matter. Fuck however long it took for her to come out of hiding, he was going to stalk her in her crappy-ass neck of the woods until he knew why she'd looked so damned frightened in the cab.

"Hey," the redhead said, leaning over and touching his arm. "Your buddy here says you're lookin' for Cherry. Waste of time, at least till Friday – boss sent her home, gave her a couple nights off."

Jesus, he hated her stage name. "Didn't think strippers got nights off," he growled.

"They do," she commented, "if you come in lookin' like you got run over between your legs."

Puck's eyes narrowed.

"Girl showed up tonight with a hickey the size of Texas and bruises all over her body," Red said, rolling the words with a sardonic drawl. "Boss just about went apeshit on her sorry ass, looked like he was gonna add a few more to the bunch."

"The hell."

Her shoulder went up in a rather graceful shrug. "You don't fuck with management," she remarked. "If you ask me, I wouldn't let any man ride me for any amount of money on the side, but I guess she was pretty desperate for some extra cash – "

He kicked the chair back.

"Puckerman, wait a second. Hey!" Lenny hollered, tipping the redhead to the floor in surprise.

---

One day, you'll come to New York – that is, if you aren't living there already, because I know you have ambitions for yourself and naturally NYU is one of the best colleges in the area – and you'll find me on the Broadway stage, where I belong. Don't forget to bring me red roses, because every actress should receive red roses from her admirers. Alright, Noah?

Whatever, Berry.

He fumbled with his house keys, turning the numerous locks back – click, snick, kfft – finally managed to open the door to his loft studio, and stepped inside. The lamp he had purchased from the as-is department at IKEA suddenly switched on, sending a flickering light through the room. He started, blinking owlishly at the petite figure sitting in his dilapidated armchair.

"Hi."

He tossed his keys on the side table, leaned a hip against the scratched wood. "Hi, Berry."

She'd broken into his only good bottle of booze, but she wasn't working.

Her long legs swayed back and forth, toes brushing against the nubby tweed in skittering fidgets. She was free of makeup this time, her hair falling to her shoulders in loose waves – tired, as he noted her pale skin, the weary crease on her face. She sipped at her drink, placed the empty glass on the side table next to her, licked her suddenly dry lips.

His tongue wet his own, reminiscing. "How did you find me?"

"Facebook and Google Maps." And she'd known, as she'd snuck into his low-security building and hunted for his spare keys, that it was a terrible idea to come to his apartment. She'd explored the comfortably used furnishings, the exposed concrete walls decorated with rock posters and family pictures, the scuffed wooden dresser filled with his soft cotton shirts and faded jeans. Two pairs of well-worn work boots, dark blue jumpsuits, and a couple of carelessly tossed hard hats were in his closet. Sheet music was gathering dust under the night table, a guitar carefully resting in its case in the corner.

She'd smoothed over his comforter, tested the mattress with a hand, before she'd abruptly turned to the liquor cabinet and unsteadily poured herself a drink. Liquid courage after she'd briefly tasted his brand of normalcy, before she convinced them both that he had to stay away.

"I saw you going into the club as I was leaving," she said.

He was suddenly dizzy with rage. His conscience was screaming at him – you're not your deadbeat asshole papa – but he was tempted to throw her on the rumpled bed and beat her fucking black and blue. "Jesus, Berry, I spent the last three days in that shithole waiting for you to come out and get your dance on, and some chick finally tells me that you got sent home – "

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place," Rachel protested. "If I'd known that you would've been so - "

"So what?"

She flushed, turned her face away. Between flickers of the lamp, he could see the impressive watercolour painting on her legs. "I could have been fired," she finally answered.

"I didn't hear you complaining back in the alley," he retorted.

"I wasn't thinking about my job at the time," she said quietly.

How many other times were there? His stomach clenched hot. "So what, you're out of commission for a few nights," he said tauntingly. "This shouldn't be the first time for you."

She blinked in shock. "What are you talking about?" she asked incredulously.

"Your other clients," Puck emphasized. He strode over, kneeled in front of the chair and leaned forward until he was inches from her face. Her breath smelled like alcohol and apples. "They never played rough with you when you were sucking them off in the back room?"

Her eyes practically fell out of her head. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

He hated this, hated himself for degrading her, but he needed to know. "C'mon, Berry," he coaxed, tracing a line of bruises with his palm, "no shame in putting out for a little extra cash. Those pimply-eyed fucks that you dance for, how do you do it? Do you let them bend you over a table so you don't have to look at them when you - "

She slapped him with sudden ferocity. In the deafening silence, he could practically hear the blood rushing to the handprint on his cheek, a searing reminder of the bastard he'd always been towards her.

"I've never – how dare you – " she sputtered breathlessly.

When he whipped his head around, ran his eyes over her face for more hidden mysteries, he read the naked humiliation in her face.

"You're the only one I've ever been with, you obtuse buckwheat groat," Rachel exploded, words stumbling out of her in a flood.

He caught her around the waist before she could stomp out of his apartment. Desperately, he pinned her against his kitchen counter, accepted the successive slap that landed on his chest.

"Dammit, I know I'm a shithead," he rasped. "I just – dammit." He skimmed his hands lightly over her hair, her cheek, trailing down her sides. She watched him with hauntingly dark eyes, her breath hitching when he stroked the palm of her hand with calloused fingertips.

"It kills me to think about those assholes touching you," he burst out, looking so damn vulnerable and pissed at his admission.

She took a deep breath, exhaled against the hurricane of tears in her chest. "This is my life," she murmured.

"This isn't you," he returned, his fingers smoothing over her delicate wrist, the soft skin along her arm, her curved elbow. "I don't want to hurt you, I just need to know why, I just – " And he couldn't finish, because he wasn't sure either.

But what he could give her was this – and he kissed her, licking the taste of whiskey from her lips until he felt her arms curl around his neck. She opened her mouth to him, drawing a hum of appreciation, and she longingly stroked his tongue with hers. He moaned, drawing her in his arms until her breasts pressed against his chest. Her small hand snaked under his shirt, sliding against the smooth skin on his back, dipping underneath the waistband of his jeans. His fingers lingered up her leg, meeting damp skin, and she broke away with a whimper.

"Stay." He brushed his thumb against her cheek, repeated the request as he traced the curve of her neck with his tongue, tasted the soft skin behind her ear.

Her heart skittered at the predatory, tender look in his eyes. "I can't," she breathed.

"Yeah, you can," and suddenly, he was stalking her towards one of the floor-length windows. He anticipated her easily as she tried to dart around him, cornered her against the cool glass and slanted his mouth against hers, once, twice, over and over until she murmured something – no.

Puck fisted a hand in her prim blouse, roughly yanked, heard the buttons pop and bounce all over the floor as he palmed her breast, plucked at her nipple through the demure lace bra.

She made a low keening sound in her throat as he released her breasts from their lace confinement – don't – and he merely dropped his head and curled his tongue around a nipple. His hand slipped underneath her skirt. "Jesus, your panties are soaked," burst out of him.

She squeezed her damp thighs together in a feeble protest, and he withdrew, circled her clit through the underwear. Her breath caught, and she let out a low, acquiescent cry. He fumbled at the fastenings of her skirt, let it drop to the floor, kicked it away.

"I need to take you," he growled, hauling her against him. "Right here, right now. Fuck."

The lamp finally failed, sending them into moonlight. Puck turned her to face the window, slipping his hand underneath the lace. He laughed hoarsely into her ear, watching her curl against him in the reflection of the window. Skimming a finger into her sex, he began a slow stroking rhythm, grinding his cock into her denim-covered ass when she mewed and pressed against him.

"You're so fucking sexy," he groaned, splaying a free hand against her stomach.

Rachel shyly buried her face in his neck, and he slipped another finger inside her. "Look," he insisted, and he tipped her chin forward until she was gazing at their reflections in the window. He ran his thumb lightly over her clit, enjoying the way her eyes rolled back and refocused on the glass.

"Do you like it when you watch me touch you, baby?"

At his words, a shiver went through her, and she clamped on his fingers. Her eyes were heavy-lidded as she watched him stroke her under her panties. He licked the curve of her shoulder, smirking when he felt her shake again from head to toe.

"Maybe someone's watching you too," and he glided his fingers in and out of her, feeling her answering shudder. "Someone's watching me stroke your clit, push my fingers deep inside your pussy."

She bucked her hips against his fingers, driving him deeper inside her.

"They wanna be here, they wanna put their fingers deep inside you, taste you, take you till you come, but I'm the only one who's gonna touch you like this – "

The images he'd formed in her head were erotic, intoxicating. Her hand slipped into her underwear and twined with his, joining him stroke for stroke. He felt her fingertips rubbing against herself and let out an expletive when she clenched around him. He needed to be inside her right fucking yesterday.

Ripping her panties down her long legs, he turned her again, gently pressing her back to the window when she reached for him. With a fierce growl, he nibbled at her breasts, licked his way down her trembling stomach, left his mark against the shadowy indents in her pelvis.

Her head knocked violently against the glass as he burrowed between her thighs and lifted a leg over his shoulder. He sucked hard on her nub, enjoying the moans he pulled from her. Spearing her deep with his tongue, he licked her juices until she was writhing against his face. He didn't care if the whole world saw him, she tasted like sweet cherry and sex and Rachel and holy fuck she was -

"Please," and her voice hitched with desperation, "please, please – "

He nipped delicately at her clit, twisting his fingers deep inside her pussy, and she let out a broken sob as she came, collapsing against him with an undignified umf.

It was easy for him to lift her into his lap, shift her long legs until she was straddling his hips, slowly slip into her as she gasped from the intensity of her orgasm. "Noah," she moaned, quivering violently around him.

"Need to feel you come around me," he murmured, rocking against her, "need you, baby – "

Her hips rolled, bringing him deeper inside her. He moaned into her breasts, running a thumb across the nipple, down her stomach. The heat between her legs tightened when she felt his fingers stroking between them, and she cried out passionately as she convulsed around him.

He rolled her underneath him – hold me – feeling her muscles seize against him as he slammed into her. She was screaming a bunch of discordant notes, clenching around him like she was gonna break his cock off inside her and keep it forever, he was fucking her so hard she was skidding across the hardwood floor, he could hear his shitty-ass neighbours pounding on the shared wall – shaddup you noisy fucks it's 3 in da fuckin' morning! – but all he could feel was her, she was so wet and tight and his and he was gonna explode inside her any fucking second holy shit Rachel Rachel holyshitRachel –

As he dazedly registered the feel of her toes curling against his, she leaned into him, pressed a damp cheek to his chest.

"You can't keep me here forever," she murmured.

He kissed her until she was limp and pliant beneath him. "That's what she said."

---

When he woke up, he met the rustling crackle of a slip of paper on his pillow. Written in feminine cursive on the corner of last week's pay stub was a pair of words, the graphite smudged with a hasty finger –

Three days.

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(Reviews are love. :3)