A/N: In the interest of full disclosure, I should confess that this story is actually based on a Roswell fanfic I wrote when I was about 14… And I'm pretty sure that fic was ripped off of a trashy romance novel I purchased at a garage sale for .50c and hid under my bed from my mum. If I still had that book, or could remember it, I'd give credit where credit is due. So rest assured I'm not claiming this concept is my own, oh no. But I'm giving it the Puckleberry spin, so clearly, my version will be better.

You should read my Roswell edition…..*shudders* God I hope my storytelling has improved since then…

Thanks to my twitter twin (who really is '2looney') and Nikki for their time and feedback….though both of you will note I kept the term 'fuggos'- just so everyone's in the loop, a fuggo is a f*cking ugly individual. It seems like a term Puck would have in his vocab, so I'm using it. I encourage you to do the same.

What a Woman Should Know

(According to Puck)

1) A woman should never pick stainless steel appliances over nights of endless lovin'

2) Too many rules are damaging to a boy's spirit, to anyone's spirit.

3) Germs are NOT deadly. Dog kisses are one of life's delights.

4) Small boys (and big ones) NEED to get dirty.

5) Not everything can be colour coded and fucking catalogued. Life has to hold surprises.

6) Women who marry for security end up like shrivelled up prunes who don't laugh enough, never cum and are most likely to jump off a bridge in their middle years.

The best kept secret in Lima, Ohio was that Noah "Puck" Puckerman loved to sing.

The louder the better. Around his house he sang until his voice rattled the rafters; in his truck he cruised around with the windows rolled down, singing along to the radio and tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel in time to the music. More often than not it was classic rock but occasionally, when the mood called for it, jazz, country or a little bit of rhythm and blues found its way onto the rotation.

In short, he sang when he was happy and today had been a pretty fucking good day - even if he had wrenched his shoulder pulling out the engine from Matt Rutherford's '69 Camaro.

Of course, there was one place where he could really unleash his passion for singing and that was in the shower; Puck was indulging himself now.

As the hot water pounded down on him, soothing the aches in his shoulder muscles, he belted out his all time favourite tune. The bathroom was steamy, despite the wide open window but he hadatheory that steam greatly improved the acoustics.

"Jerimiah was a bullfrog, ba, ba, BAH! He was a good friend of mine. Ba, ba, BAH!" he sang into the soap, tossing his head in time to the 'Ba, ba, BAH's'.

Every window in the small two bedroom house was open, letting the cool early evening air chase out the heat of the day. His home and the attached engine repair shop were on the outskirts of town, just far enough out of Lima so that the only the crickets could hear him when he got in one of those I-just-gotta-sing moods.

"I never understood a single word he said, but I helped him a-drink his wine. And he always had some mighty fine wine."

But it wasn't the crickets answering the void of silence as his voice paused readying for the chorus, it was an incessant knocking of knuckles on the glass pane beside his front entry.

Puck frowned, considering this a breach of his privacy and debated not answering the door at all. No one knew he sang. No one. Except a long, long time ago, when in a moment of pure madness, he had sang someone a love song.

Don't go there he warned himself darkly, his earlier happiness completely evaporating.

Though he tried to outwait it, the knocking persisted, more determined that ever and Puck's frown turned into a scowl.

Whether he was mad about remembering an affair that had ended badly, embarrassed he'd been caught singing or furious that the intruder simply didn't have the fucking good sense to go away, Puck was just plain pissed as he shut off the water. Slinging a faded blue towel low around his hips, he stomped out of the bathroom and towards the front door, trailing water all over the carpet in his wake.

Who the hell would dare to intrude on his most private moment?

If he hazarded a guess, he'd bet it was his old high school buddy Mike Chang, another of the town's most sought after bachelors and a fellow founding member of the Not Getting' Married - No Fucking Way, Not Fucking Ever Club, known by it's initials N.G.M-N.F.W.N.F.E.C, who often dropped by in the evenings with a six pack of beer. They'd spend the evening either watching ESPN on the big screen or out tinkering in the shop on whatever old car Puck had discovered at the scrap heap and had made his latest project.

If it was Mike, it would be all over Lima by first thing tomorrow that Puck sang about bullfrogs in the shower. Maybe that type of gossip wasn't big fodder for any other place, but Lima was a small town, too fucking small, and as such, always a little short on news, big or small. The most trivial snippets of private information could tear through the town like wildfire and next thing Puck would know, his phone would be ringing off the hook with all the old bats from Temple wanting to know why Puck was serenading amphibians- he had a lousy feeling he'd be subjected to Kermit the Frog jokes for a long, long time.

Stalking down the hall now, intent on reminding Mike about the time he'd gotten drunk at Santana Lopez's graduation party and made out with his cousin Tina, Puck stopped short in the shadows of the entry, staring at the silhouette of a woman. She was framed in the last rays of late afternoon sunshine through the large black mesh window of his front screen door.

She was turned away from the entry, looking out over the overgrown shrubbery surrounding his front porch, hugging herself against the cool breeze. She was wearing a pencil skirt that fell to her knees and a sleeveless white blouse that on anyone else might have looked business-like, but not on her.

On her, that skirt hugged the seductive swell of her hips and the finest ass he had the pleasure of gazing at in a long while. Oh yes. Even though her back was to him, he knew exactly who it was.

Her dark hair was wrapped up in a tight bun, the light breeze playing with the strands that had escaped their confines as her natural mocha highlights shimmered in the fading sunlight.

For a moment his mouth went dry and he remembered the man he had been once, almost a lifetime ago when he'd sung that woman a love song.

He reminded himself sharply he wasn't that man any longer.

Knotting the towel more firmly around his waist, he continued down the hall, every step increasing his fury.

Five years.

Five fucking years and there'd been no letters, no phone calls, no explanation at all. And now she'd just decided to waltz back into his life?

His plan was to slam the door and lock it. He'd been bewitched once by Shelby Corcoran and that one time was more than enough for this lifetime.

And with that thought in mind, he was surprised when his anger propelled him past the screen door and onto the porch, overriding everything in him that was reasonable.

He took the slenderness of her shoulder in his hand and spun her around, and without fully registering the shock on her face, he pulled her hard into him and kissed her.

It was not a "hello, how you doing?" kind of kiss.

It was punishing, savage. It held the bitter sting of love and betrayal; the hurt of five years of having to ask himself why.

She was shoving against him frantically, trying to escape his hold, his lips. He felt momentary satisfaction that her strength was so puny compared to his, but then it registered, somewhere, that something was wrong,

Shelby trying to escape his lips? That wasn't right. She would have got off on the savagery and would have been giving it back to him, as good as she got. Hell, she would have drawn blood by now.

As he was arriving at these conclusions, he felt the woman surrender beneath the punishing onslaught of his mouth and the struggle stopped.

He was contemplating this development, letting the doubt take hold as his lips moved lazily over hers, when she yanked free of him and belted him upside of his head with her purse. A purse, from the feel of it, that was packing bricks.

Puck staggered back from her and regarded her with narrowed eyes.

He felt as though he'd been hit with more than a brick as he studied the exquisite face that looked back at him.

"How dare you!" she spluttered angrily, glaring at him as she began to wipe away at the front of her blouse, now saturated from his shower-damp skin, as if she could erase his touch from herself.

Oh, it was Shelby's face alright, well a version of it anyway. He could never forget those cheek bones; the slightly too large nose and the small dent in her chin that deepened as she smiled. But that clipped tone was definitely not Shelby. And under the sooty sweep of thick eyelashes he realised the eyes were different. Shelby's had been a lighter brown, the color of cheap whiskey. These eyes were a dark chocolate, wide and seemingly innocent.

Of course, with contact lenses anything could happen. Puck studied the woman more intently.

The anger and slight fear were real. And right behind that was softness. The same softness he'd felt in those lips. On closer inspection, it wasn't Shelby's mouth either. Shelby had thinner lips; this woman's were wider, generous, more…sensual.

As he contemplated this, she dipped her tongue out to run it over her bottom lip, now swollen and wet from the ferocity of his kiss.

He swore under his breath. Had he just kissed the living daylights out of a complete stranger? One who'd done nothing but have the misfortune of showing up on his door just as he was remembering another woman, one who'd broken his heart and hightailed it out of town with half his Zeppelin collection? Bitch.

He crossed his arms defensively over his broad chest, Her eyes followed his movements and it was blatantly obvious she didn't like the fact that all that separated her and his nakedness was a threadbare towel that had seen better days.

She didn't like it one bit.

Her gaze averted and she dropped her eyes to study her blouse intently, as though she expected daffodils to bloom from her nipples.

"You've ruined my blouse." She said finally, her voice stiff and controlled. "It's silk."

"Yeah I figured."

She gave him a look that implied she doubted very much whether he would know the first thing about silk, so of course he felt compelled to prove her wrong and do nothing to correct the horrid first impression he'd made so far.

"Silk is always see-through when it's wet." He explained easily with the beginnings of a smirk.

Her eyes grew round and her mouth formed an indignant O. She blushed and crossed her arms defensively over her breasts.

"Too late," he found himself teasing, "I saw. Purple, lace trim….nice." he arched his eyebrow in approval and her color deepened, her neck and the top of her chest also tinging a rosy pink.

"I am appalled by your lack of decorum." She seethed, her hand twitching.

"Don't hit me with that purse again." He warned, his temple still smarting from her earlier attack.

'Well then," she paused. "I must insist you refrain from staring at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like a complete…" she paused again, thinking hard "Lizard!" she proclaimed eventually in disgust.

Now Puck, avowed bachelor that he was, prided himself on the fact that the combination of his good looks, charm and disarming grin could turn heads and make hearts beat faster.

A lizard? Really? Well that was just insulting.

He had half a mind to kiss her again, even if it did earn him another wallop with her purse.

He studied her more closely.

Well no wonder she was showing immunity to his charms. Her close physical resemblance to Shelby had him automatically assume she was his former lover- just hotter and younger. The youthfulness of her features and the perkiness of her breasts didn't sway his assumption at all. It was amazing what plastic surgeons could do these days. They could turn even the roughest of fuggos into somebody completely bang-worthy with just the swipe of a knife.

And Shelby had never been unattractive, but reasonable theories aside, he had to give in to the suspicion that had been forming over the last few minutes.

She just wasn't her.

The blouse was buttoned right up to her throat and her thick locks had been forced into a no-nonsense bun. Her makeup was minimal and understated and her lips were now pursed into an expression of disapproval that was distinctly schoolmarmish.

"What can I do for you?" he asked curtly. She might not be Shelby, but she had to be related. A twin sister?

No, he decided immediately, his gaze once again sweeping over her face; a younger sister. Puck had always had a thing for older woman and Shelby had a good 10 years on him. A much younger sister then, since the woman in front of him looked to be a few years younger than the 30 he claimed.

Well whoever she was, nothing about Shelby was going to be good news. He felt it in his gut.

She released an arm from where it guarded her wet chest and swiped at her lips as if removing his germs from them. Her arm returned immediately to its protective position and then she looked around.

In her eyes, he saw the moment it registered that she was on the front porch of a strange house with a near-naked man who had just kissed her and the nearest neighbor was decidedly not within shouting distance.

Under different circumstances, he would have tried to reassure her. But Shelby meant danger and this woman, with whatever ties she held to the other woman she so strongly resembled, made him shift uneasily.

And even if this particular brunette looked like the least threatening person in the world, he had tasted her lips; there was something in that kiss that was not nearly as cool as she was pretending to be.

He saw now that his visitor was slender, petite. Shelby had been slender too, but voluptuous at the same time. And Shelby had preferred and perfected the sexy look- her clothing had always been tight and revealing. This woman's tailored skirt reinforced the impression of a school teacher and the whole package screamed "prim and proper", Mary Poppins arriving at her assignment.

Shelby had been anything but prim and proper. Still, the danger crackled in the air around this less vivacious copy.

"What can I do for you?" He repeated, his voice deliberately sharp.

"Nothing," she decided. "I've made a mistake." She took a shaky step backwards and then turned to flee.

Puck didn't honestly know whether he felt regret or relief that the mystery of her visit was going to go unsolved. He supposed he might be leaning towards regret, since he had to bite back the "Wait" that wanted to pop out of his mouth.

In her haste to get away from him, the toe of her ballet flat caught and she stumbled on the second stair. Instinct made him reach for her, but it was too late. She went flying; he could hear the dull thud of her head hitting the cement pad at the bottom of the steps and it made his heart leap with trepidation.

He was at her side in a second, animosity forgotten.

She looked at him, dazed. 'Don't touch me," She ordered groggily.

Her forehead was cut, blood trickling from the split at an alarming speed.

"I said, don't touch me!" She insisted again as he picked her up. She was so light; it didn't even strain his sore shoulder to lift her.

"Put me down!" She demanded shrilly. Her eyes closed and she winced, the effort of making that small command obviously beyond her right now.

He was ignoring her anyway, conscious of the fact that his towel was in danger of slipping as he carried her back up the stairs.

He coaxed the screen door open with his toe and went straight through to the kitchen. When he set her upright in a chair he instantly felt the cold where her warmth had been huddled against his bare chest.

Immediately, she tried to stand up. He noticed that even after all the excitement, she was still managing to keep her wet chest protected from his gaze.

"Sit." Puck directed sternly and took a minute to do some hasty adjustments to his towel.

She glared at him defiantly and took one wobbly step towards the door before sinking reluctantly back into the seat, smartly determining the task was too much for her.

Her eyes darted around his kitchen, which was decidedly NOT in the market for a Home Beautiful magazine spread.

The room was plainly furnished and there were four days worth of dishes piled up in his sink. Her gaze came to rest on the engine he had taken apart on his countertop, the grease smeared over the laminate top and the nuts and bolts strewn haphazardly over the bench.

Puck thought it was just like a woman to notice the decorating-or lack there of- at the very same time she was entertaining the notion that she was in mortal danger. And from the wary way in which she was casting him looks from underneath her eyelashes, he knew she was apprehensive.

His dog Hank, a nice mix between a blue heeler and border collie, had been sleeping peacefully under the table. He chose that moment to rise and stretch his solid black and white body before plopping his large head on her lap. He sniffed impolitely, blinking up at her with warm brown eyes, and started to drool.

She squealed, dropping her arms from their defensive position and pushed the dog's head from her lap.

"Filthy beast," she muttered, wiping at the wet spot Hank had left high on her thigh,

Okay, now Puck could tolerate a lot and he knew that not only did Hank have a tendency to drool but his breath left a lot to be desired; however, filthy beast was more than a tad harsh.

He would pronounce her medically sound and then Miss Uptight and Prissy was out of here.

He held up his fingers. "How many?"

"Three." She answered with a roll of her eyes and another glare.

"What day is it?"

"June 24th."

"When's your birthday?"

"How would you know if I had that right?"

Good point. And the fact that she could make it meant her brain wasn't too badly addled. It was time to kick her hot little ass to the curb.

It was on the tip on his tongue to suggest, not unkindly, that she get the fuck out but she looked like the type that would sue if she ended up with a concussion or something. So, reluctantly he turned from her and retrieved a half empty packet of peas from his freezer compartment, holding it against her forehead.

The woman's hand reached up to hold the makeshift ice pack in place and her fingers brushed against his. Hazel met chocolate and their gazes held; she was the first to look away.

Her eyelashes fluttered shut for a moment before she struggled to stand. He pushed her gently back down into her seat with a sense of déjà vu, sure they had just completed this little dance.

"Just relax." He said, letting his hand rest on her shoulder for a second. "Take it easy, you took a nasty bump to the head there."

Her gaze flicked to the door and he sighed. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you." He tried to reassure her, leaning back against the counter and looking back at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

"Then why did you do that?" she accused with wide eyes.

For a moment he thought she was suggesting he had knocked her down the stairs himself.

"What exactly did I do?"

"You kissed me!"

"Oh that." He shrugged like it was nothing, when in actual fact the taste of her lips was lingering sweetly on his mouth. "I thought you were someone else."

She pondered that and understanding dawned on her face. It was clear that she understood the passionate nature of his relationship with her look-alike.

"You are Eli Puckerman, aren't you?"

He flinched at the use of his middle name. Only Shelby had ever called him that, probably because she knew how much it pissed him off.

"My name's Noah actually." He replied and then hastened to correct himself. "Or Puck. Everyone calls me Puck."

"Puck." She tried it out and frowned, blinking those big doe eyes at him. "I prefer Noah," she decided seriously and he fought the unexplainable urge to smile.

"My name is Rachel Berry." She offered, sticking her chin out resolutely. "I believe you were acquainted with my mother, Shelby Corcoran."

Her mother? His gaze swept over her once more. She had to be around 25, 26 at a stretch, maybe. Though she'd never actually confirmed it, he'd believed Shelby to be around 35 when he'd known her.

"Your mother?" he asked, incredulously. "How old are you?"

"29." Rachel supplied simply.

"Fuck me."

Rachel shot him a reproachful look at his use of the expletive.

"Your MOTHER?" He repeated again, his tone now sceptical. There was just no way. "Shelby never mentioned anything about a daughter." He informed her needlessly.

Rachel nodded in understanding. "I hadn't assumed she would have talked about me." She stated, unsurprised.

"I knew her briefly." He kept his voice curt, not a hint in that cold tone that he'd once contemplated putting a ring on the finger of the woman they were discussing.

She took a deep breath. "She died."

Two words. He registered them slowly, waiting for his gut to clench or his head to spin or something. But he felt oddly devoid of emotion. For him, Shelby had died a long time ago.

He didn't know what to say. Sorry? He wasn't sure that he was.

Puck was glad when the phone rang, giving him a chance to think.

He snatched up the receiver. "Mrs Raventhorpe? Yeah it's ready, the alternator was completely shot." He listened. "A hundred and fifty bucks. You can pick it up anytime tomorrow. My pleasure, see you then."

He hung up and stared at the wall next to where the phone was mounted. He wished it had of been a longer call. Maybe Matt calling to check on the Camaro or something. Anything that required more of him.

He finally tuned back to her. Rachel Berry, Shelby's daughter. He shook his head again at the absurdity of it.

Rachel was gazing at him, searchingly.

"When did she die?" He asked reluctantly.

Her eyes were cloudy with pain and he didn't think it had anything to do with the cut or the rapidly developing bump on her head.

"Nearly a year ago."

"And why are you telling me? Why now?" Puck pressed uneasily.

"I don't know." She looked away and the telltale flush returned to her face.

He could hear something in her voice. It had been in Shelby's voice too: mysterious and seductive, with a touch of vulnerability.

It was a combination that made a man weak with the want to protect them. But there was a lightness in Rachel's tone, even now, as grave as it was. She had a musical lilt to her words and he wondered if she could sing.

"Are you from Long Island too?" Shelby had grown up in Queens, she had told him, and lived there for most of her adult life as well. Puck had met her in Manhattan when he'd gone there one weekend for a Hockey game. They had met in a smoky Blues bar and after a particularly raunchy weekend spent holed up in his hotel room, she'd packed a single bag and followed him back to Lima, where they'd shacked up together for 6 months before she had up and left town without so much as a goodbye. It had been the first and last time he'd ever cohabitated with a woman.

"Boston actually." Rachel answered. "My fathers and I moved to New York when I was 9, but I live on Long Island now, yes."

"Fathers?" he asked, emphasizing the plural.

"I have two," she confirmed. "Shelby was my birth mother, she gave me up when I was a baby. My fathers' were one of the first homosexual couples to adopt in the eighties." She boasted, a hint of pride in the small smile that curved at her lips.

Puck just stared at her. "Look-"

"Rachel" she reminded him when he paused.

He shot her a look. He remembered her name, he was just trying to wrap his head around it all.

"Rachel," he repeated, "I didn't know your mother very well. We were together for a few months but didn't get around to doing a lot of talking, if you know what I mean."

The brunette screwed up her nose at his implication.

"If you came here hoping that I could tell you stuff about her, you're out of luck. I'm only just now beginning to realize that I didn't really know her at all." He looked away as he admitted that last part.

He was contemplating the scuffed floor when he felt the warmth of her palm press against his forearm and squeeze comfortingly. He looked down in surprise as her small hand came to rest on his arm, just above his wrist. Puck stared at her slim fingers; she had cute hands.

"I'm sorry." She offered softly, the packet of peas rustling in her other hand as she shifted. "Shelby was," she pursed her lips thoughtfully, paused and finally settled on "Incredibly selfish."

"She often acted without regard for others or thought for the consequences of those actions."

He could get lost in those eyes, he decided as he gazed into her hypnotizing depths. With a shake of his head, he reeled himself in.

"So you did know her?" He couldn't contain his curiosity. Rachel was as much as an enigma as the woman who had bore her, and apparently he was intrigued by them both.

She nodded. "My fathers gave me the details of my adoption when I turned 18 and encouraged me to search for her, if that was what I wanted. I met her for the first time when I was 21 and we endeavoured to keep in contact over the years."

"You came a long way to tell me about your mom." He noted and she chewed her bottom lip.

"I did." Rachel confirmed and he knew, as his stomach sunk, that she had lied before. She knew exactly why she'd come - she just wasn't saying.

"And now that I have, I'll leave you in peace. Have a pleasant evening."

Without another word she turned and headed for the door, still clutching the bag of frozen peas.

Hank got up and padded after her obediently, like she was his new best friend. She gave the dog a final glance of distaste and the teaspoon of sympathy he'd begun to feel for her evaporated.

Who could not like Hank, with his woeful brown eyes and slowly wagging stub of a tail? Puck followed her out the door as well, holding Hank by the collar at the foot of the stairs. The dog whined pitifully and Puck patted him soothingly.

So he didn't want her to go huh? That was strange. Hank was usually such a good judge of character.

Rachel negotiated the stairs, this time without incident and he glanced beyond her trim figure to the little blue Nissan parked in his drive. He made note of the Empire State license plates. It looked like an older model, those things went forever.

"You should have used the phone." He called out to her as she reached for the door handle. "You could have saved yourself the drive."

This time, he couldn't say that he was sad to see her go. Her appearance troubled him. People didn't travel all that way just to deliver bad news in person.

Rachel paused and looked back at him.

"I could have," she agreed. "But then I'd never have known."

With a final nod in his direction, she slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

Well that was fucking cryptic. Known what?

She had buckled her seatbelt and before she turned her head to back out of the driveway, she peered through the windshield and their eyes met again. Something undefinable passed between them and incredibly, Puck found himself short of breath.

What was that look?

Her visit had left more questions than answers and Puck didn't like it.

The phone rang again from inside and he tore his gaze away from the tail lights of her vehicle as it turned the corner and disappeared from view. If that was Chang on the line, he was going to fucking kill him. Dude couldn't have thrown him a life line 10 minutes ago when he needed it?

Puck gave a sharp whistle and Hank followed him obediently back into the house as he pushed all thoughts of the unexpected visit from his mind.

Shelby was gone, and now Rachel Berry was too. It would do no good to linger on the taste of her or the sight of small, pert breasts encased in purple lace, pressing against wet, white silk.

He'd been caught up in the allure of a pint-sized brunette before and had only just barely survived it; he wouldn't make that mistake again.

A/N 2: Review?