I know that it's short and that it's been forever, but I got a small burst of inspiration and I don't know when the next one will come. In the meantime, enjoy.

"Hey, Rachel, are you ready?" Puck asked, peeking his head into her room.

Rachel nodded, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder. She grabbed the gun she kept on her small dresser and slipped it into her belt, hoping that she wouldn't have to use it.

"Did you go over the plans, Noah? I gave you very detailed instructions and I expect then to be followed," she said, slipping past the boy in the doorway.

"I skimmed them," he shrugged.

"Noah!" she cried. "We have these plans for a reason."

They strode together down the hallway of the Puckerman home, their arms brushing. "There are plans and procedures, Noah. When you don't know all of them, you make mistakes," she continued. "That's not to say you specifically, but people in general."

Puck rolled his eyes, elbowing her as they reached the living room. "Come in, Rachel. My job is to protect you," he said. "You know I don't really care about all that other shit."

"Noah, no swearing in the house," his mother said, sitting on the couch. Rachel pulled the two sides of her jacket together, zipping it before the woman could see the gun she had. "I can't control what you do out there," she told Puck, "but I still have the final say when you're in here."

Sharon Puckerman shot her son a knowing look. "And where are you two going today?"

Puck shrugged. "Sorry, ma."

"We thought we might go to the Fabray home today and spend some time with our friends," Rachel answered for them both. "Winter will be here soon and you know how difficult traversing the roads becomes after the weather changes."

Mrs. Puckerman frowned at the two of them, eyeing Rachel's backpack and the way her son kept his eyes on the ground and refused to look at her. "Of course, dear," she said eventually, sighing. "Just be careful."

"We always are," Rachel said, nodding towards Puck briefly. He picked up a duffel bag from behind the ratty couch and threw it over his shoulder. Rachel's fingers trailed over the arm of the couch, the fabric rough under them. It was old and practically falling apart, the once bright blue now dull and muted, one of the legs broken. The only thing that kept it balanced was the thick dictionary held underneath the shortest corner leg. Everything was broken.

"We always are," she said again, softer this time.

She was going to fix it.

Puck was waiting for her outside the front door, an unlit cigarette dangling from between his lips. He was searching his pockets for a lighter, grinning triumphantly when he found one wedged between the two knives he kept in his boot at all times.

"Noah, you know how I feel about that disgusting habit," Rachel scolded him. She snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it on the dirt, grinding her foot down before she started walking at a brisk pace down the street. She kept close to the sides of buildings, watching the shadows down side streets and the uniforms in the middle of the roads. Rachel liked to imagine their missions as a kind of dance, with her as the soloist of course, sidestepping her way around the backup dancers who threatened her spotlight at every turn. They moved left, she moved right, twisting away and gliding across the dirt stage of their town streets.

Puck groaned. "Aw, fuck. Do you know what I had to do to get that? That was good shit," he said. "It took me like, two months of running for the Dovers to get that stuff. Fuck."

"You'll ruin your vocal chords, for one. Not to mention the countless other stresses you're putting on your body," Rachel started, prepared to rattle off another list of reasons as to why Puck shouldn't smoke.

"What the fuck do I need vocal chords for?"

Rachel cast uneasy eyes towards the street where one of the uniformed men had caught sight of them and was watching them closely. She sent him a small smile and gripped Puck's arm. "Lower your voice," she said. "You're getting their attention."

Puck looked over his shoulder briefly, pulling the collar of his jacket up around his neck and ducking down a bit. "Fucking assholes," he muttered. "And seriously? You're gonna lecture me on being too loud? I'm not the one who keeps the neighbors up all night howling like some damn wolf, okay?"

"I've been practicing, Noah," Rachel said to him firmly. "One day, I'm going to have that stage and I have to prepared."

He snorted, throwing an arm around her shoulder. They turned the corner onto a small street where the small houses were clustered together almost right on top of one another, all of them biege covered by a layer of dust that made them look like different rooms of the same home. There was a splash of pink amid the earthy tones of the neighborhood and from underneath it Quinn Fabray raised a hand in greeting and flicked a cigarette to the ground. Mike Chang was standing next to her, smiling at them.

"Honestly," Rachel scoffed. "Must everyone in East Lima insist on smoking?"

Puck shook his head. "You're going to have your stage or we'll all be dead," he said quietly. He shrugged, watching Rachel greet Quinn. "We might as well be."

"Santana, we have to go. We've got some reports of suspicious activity in the east and I want to get home in time to finish this routine."

"Jesse, it's the east. There's always suspicious activity," Santana replied, rolling her eyes. She casually laced up her boots, smirking as she saw Jesse's agitation rise. It was one of her favorite pastimes, riling Jesse up. It was easy but satisfying.

"Listen, Lopez, I have no fewer than seventeen dancers arriving tonight and I want to be here to prepare them for the midnight festivities," he said. "So get your ass in gear and let's go so we can get back. Have you seen the dancers your dad hired? They're like crack-addicted squirrels with longer legs and bigger tits. I need all the time I can get with them."

Santana straightened herself, waving a hand at him dismissively. He shook his head at her slightly, a few perfectly-placed strands of hair moving ever so slightly. "Alright, alright. Don't mess up your hair, St. Douchebag. I'm ready."

Jesse pulled on a black backpack, adjusting the straps. "St. Douchebag? I have to say that I'm disappointed, Lopez. Your insults aren't what they used to be."

Santana elbows him roughly in the ribs and he winced, clenching his fists. "Shut up. Where are Brittany and Tina?"

"Already in the car," he answered. When he saw her open her mouth, he shook his head. "Not coming," he said simply, climbing into the back of a black car. Santana sighed and slid in next to him.

"Do you believe in fate? That there are things that just...happen? That they can't be stopped no matter how hard you try?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe, Kurt. I'm not going to die for her."

"Who says you have to die?"

"I can't."

"I'm happy, Santana. I'm happier with him than I ever was at home. One day this will all be over and he and I will have each other. Who will you have?"