A/N: I don't own Glee or Rachel or Puck or anyone. Wahhh.

Rachel absent-mindedly twirled her bar straw around in her vodka-cranberry, and wondered what, really, is the point of those little red and white striped teeny straws. You can't really suck your drink through them, and they can't possibly stir all that well and maybe if they have a little lime speared through them, there's a purpose but -

"And so, I was just waiting there, just waiting, Rach, by the back door and it was fate, I tell you. She came gliding through like a dark haired pegasus with a voice like pealing bells, and I called out, 'Idina you are my musical soulmate!' and then -"

Her friend Andy was telling the story about how he met Idina Menzel after the first time he saw Wicked.

She completely zoned out, but for good reason. She gets it, it was a magical moment (it would have been for her, too) but it's just...she's heard the story, like, FIVE times.

Tonight.

FIVE TIMES TONIGHT.

Andy is a predictable drunk, and he usually does one of two things when he achieves a certain blood alcohol level:

1. Acts out pivotal scenes from Dream Girls with himself as Jennifer Hudson (of course).
2. Tell everyone within earshot about how he met Idina Menzel after the first time he saw Wicked and how they sang ⅜ of a line of Defying Gravity together and it was just so magical that the baby Jesus cried and their harmonies gave birth to unicorns adorned in rainbows and sparkles and cupcakes.

Rachel really was having quite the lovely evening. Her roommate Julia, was tending bar tonight and thusly, drinks were free. She and Andy were keeping Julia company till last call.

It was one of those New York City yuppie sports bar with pub style tables, buffalo wings, 27 types of craft beers, and approximately 4,571 different TVs showing approximately 4,571 different sporting events, which is the antithesis of her desired "scene". Rachel prefers her bars with a side of dancing, music, and motion. However, beggars can't be choosers. Free drinks are free drinks and even though Rachel was limiting herself to only two of those free drinks. She firmly believes friends are a pivotal aspect of any bar experience, whether it dance club or sports bar, and she was pleased to be there with hers, whatever the conversation may be.

Friends. Once a potentially foreign concept to her, she relished the small group of close knit companions she had garnered in her time at Julliard. After transferring from NYADA her sophomore year, she became more comfortable and confident, with herself, her city, her education and her future. Once that happened, once she let go just a little bit, people actually found her enjoyable. She found herselfenjoyable. It was like she had found her niche in the world, not only professionally, but personally.

She continued to tune Andy out, while still wearing her, "Oh yes, this is quite the thrilling story even though I heard it no less than eight hundred times throughout our friendship" face. Her eyes scanned the bar, pausing on the television right over Andy's left shoulder. It was towards the end of a tied Yankees versus Boston baseball game (which explained the packed and rowdy bar crowd tonight). She doesn't like sports, really, but something drew her in.

The entire bar was full of talking and shouting and laughing and cajoling and "Idina! She was RIGHT THERE!", yet the only sound Rachel's ears isolated were the notes wafting out of the TV, out of that Yankees/Red Sox game at that very moment.

"Good times never seemed so good..."

And her mind...

Drifted.

It was a thick and humid Wednesday night in late August Lima, and Rachel was driving home from a last minute Wal-Mart trip. She was leaving for her NYADA dorm the next morning, and decided at 9:30pm that she absolutely had to have 2 extra toilet cleaning brushes for the communal bathroom in the dorm, because, while she is sure the cleaning staff does an impeccable job, she is almost positive that the toilets will still require the Rachel Berry touch of cleanliness.

Mission accomplished, she drove past each little nuance of Lima, smiling fondly and earmarking them in her memory. In less than 24 hours, she will be settling into the city. Her city.

Her dream. It's actually happening.

She didn't get to that dream without drama, of course. Rachel Berry is not Rachel Berry unless there's at least some sort of drama going on, either the real life kind or the ballad inducing Streisand on DVD kind. After a somewhat catastrophic breakup in June between her and Finn, she spent the entire summer regrouping and rebuilding. Rebuilding Rachel Barbra Berry, as opposed to RachelandFinn, or, as opposed to Rachel soon-to-be-Hudson.

It wasn't pretty, and her broken heart was still tender, but every day it was mending. Much as it pained her to admit, Finn was right. There was no anger (anymore) between them; they both needed to find their own way in life.

Rachel Berry believes in fate. Soulmates, kismet, right place at the right time, stars aligned, all of it.

So if a RachelandFinn is meant to be, then it will find its way to be again, some other time, some other way.

She passed by the middle school playground and a lone, mohawked, figure on the swings caught her eye. It's not exactly commonplace to be sitting on a swingset at 10pm on a Wednesday night; then again, Noah Puckerman has not been known for his normalcy. She pulled her silver Prius to the curb and padded through the perpetually opened gate to the playground.

His back was to her, so he didn't see her until she demurely sat down in the swing next to him. "Hi Noah," she cheerfully greeted him. "What brings you here?"

"Nothin'!" He immediately answered defensively in a sharp voice, whipping his head around. And then he realized who his audience was. Rachel isn't going to make fun of him for being at a playground at dark (although it does seem shady and pedophiliac and fuck, that shit's gross; he probably needs a new "thinking place", but whatever).

He revised his answer. "Just...hanging out. The fuck are you doin' here?"

"I was on my way home from Wal-Mart, and I saw your unmistakable coiff and your truck, and curiosity got the best of me," She swung her legs and Puck noticed she was so short, her feet just barely touched the ground. "And thus, here I am. Plus, I do have a certain affinity for swings." She smiled. "So...what's on your mind?"

He looked down and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. "Just tryin to fucking figure out what to...do."

She wrinkled her forehead. "About...? I'm a problem solver, Noah, I can adequately help unravel whatever vexes you." She tipped her head back and began to swing higher, with more purpose, as she waited for Puck to collect his thoughts before she steamrolled him with her solutions.

"I gave all my fucking money to my dad. All MY fuckin', hard earned cash, back in May when the bastard came back. And I worked so hard with pools and shit this summer and I thought I'd make it all back but..." He sighed and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "Can't make shit if you're not putting out for the cougars. I mean, seriously, I only get $30 a pool if I'm not munching on some rug or something."

"Noah!" Her face flushed red in embarrassment.

He shrugged. "S'truth. I'm not broke, but I don't got shit to get my ass to LA. Or anywhere except crap town Lima."

He leaned back on his swing, to get his trajectory started as she floated by him. "Oh. Well. Perhaps...maybe you can work at Mr. Hummel's tire shop? I know since Finn went off to Georgia, he's down another mechanic and I am sure he'd be delighted to have you."

"Tried. He's got some other guys and no room for me."

"Oh. Hmm. What about...classes? At community college?"

"I just graduated by the skin of my fucking teeth, Rach." He rolled his eyes. "You think I'm gonna go off and be all scholar or some shit?" Their swings passed each other briefly every few seconds.

"You don't know unless you try, Noah," She urged. The cadence in her voice resulting from her incline during his decline emphasized the word "try", and it just pissed him off more.

"Don't make me have this conversation again. Same shit, everyone I talk to. I'm not smart. I'm not like you guys. I had my plan, my oneplan, and it all went to shit. S'what you get for doing the right fucking thing."

"Which was...?"

"Giving my old man the money to leave us the hell alone. But now, I'mthe one who's screwed. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. I had it all figured the fuck out for once and...fuck. Once again, a big ol' disappointment."

Rachel drew in a deep breath. "You know, you sound like a petulant child right now."

Puck stopped abruptly, kicking up a cloud of dirt. "The fuck? You're not fucking helping, Berry."

Rachel's toes skirted the ground to slow her as she looked at him. "You've been sitting here feeling sorry for yourself instead of doing something about it. I mean, I get it, things didn't work out, but this isn't that new a development, is it? At some point, you need to think of other options, think outside of the box. Life doesn't always fit into the neat little compartments we create. So change it."

"Oh, just like you went ahead and thought out of the box the minute you fucked up NYADA?"

He saw a bit of flame behind her narrowed eyes as she stared back at him. "I mourned, yes. But then I regrouped shortly thereafter. I created lists, gameplans, pep talks, and I got myself in the place I wanted."

He scoffed. "No, Finn got you in the place you wanted. He finally manned up and let you go do your thing. You really didn't do shit."

Now her eyes really did blaze. "Ex-CUSE me? I didn't do anything?"

"No. You didn't. Hemade you go, Rachel. You'd be sitting pretty here in Lima, planning on when to pop out your 2.5 kids with your Volvo and your picket fence with no Broadway dreams, if he didn't break up with you. Finn's not the brightest bulb sometimes, but you owe a debt of fucking gratitude to that dude."

"Noah, it is entirely possible that I may have lost myself in the fairy tale stylings of a high school romance, but I assure you that I got into NYADA on my own merits, because of my drive and dedication to my dreams!"

"Dreams you were ready to throw away at the snap of his fingers. Yeah, ya got in, but what did you exactly do with that acceptance?"

"Stop it!" She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes in frustration. "Why are you being so mean to me when I'm just trying to help you?"

He sighed and looked down. "I don't know. Yes I do. I'm just...jealous. I never knew what I was supposed to do with my life. You were singing Broadway on your way outta the birth canal, you had it all planned out. I can barely plan my fucking lunch."

She bit her lip and looked down. "I've...known my dream since I was four years old."

"Exactly. Fucking four years old."

She remembers four year old Noah. She remembers five year old Noah, and six year old Noah, and nine year old Noah, and all of those Noahs sitting on the front stoop while she held his hand, his other fisting tears away, trying to be a tough guy when his dad called him a mistake, or stupid, or not worth his time, over and over again.

She remembers ten year old Noah, when his dad finally left and shattered Noah into so many little pieces, pieces that would never be found again.

"I'm...sorry. You're not acting like a child. I can understand how easy it is to get lost."

"Yeah well...s'hard to be found if no one really wants to fucking find you, including yourself." He shrugged nonchalantly. "No one expected much of me, so Imma go ahead and do just that, I guess. Not fucking much."

"Oh Noah," She sighed. "I hate when you do this, when you put yourself down like this. I know you can do great things. I mean, you already have," She started ticking things off of her fingers. "You are an amazing dad to Beth. You helped Quinn out of a difficult time this past year when no one else could get through to her. While I don't necessarily appreciate your past methods, you've operated and maintained a successful small business. You worked hard to graduate, and you made it. You have an amazing voice and your expertise on a myriad of instruments is nothing short of incredible."

She took one of his hands, looking into his eyes. "Noah Puckerman, you are a wonderful, kind, talented, loyal, mature, smart, bad ass," She smiled and waggled her eyebrows. "And I believe in you, and I believe that whatever you want to do in this world, you can and you will.You'll do it and you'll do it well, and I will support you every single step of the way, no matter what."

She's still holding his hand. He wraps his fingers around it.

His thumb glides softly, lightly, over her knuckles, his gaze locked on her.

She's not exactly sure what's propelling her.

Towards him.

She slowly leans her face closer, her eyes fluttering shut.

He knows exactly what is propelling him towards her.

He's always been...it's always been...

Her.

He leans towards her, eyes wide open to drink in the moment.

He sees her raise her other hand, and her fingertips ghost over the back of his neck and her lips just about brush his, feather light, and -

The first raindrop hits.

Within milliseconds, the skies open up in the most torrential, random downpour ever and Puck legit thinks this is God's way of telling him to hold the fuck up.

Both spring up from their swings and away from each other, the spell now broken. A clap of thunder booms in the distance.

"Gah!" Rachel cries. "This...this rain! So sudden!"

A small part of him is mildly amused at her lacking vocabulary.

She tries to wipe the rapidly falling rain off her face. "We better go!" She yells over the pounding of water and the crash of lightning.

He nods, looking down and scratching the back of his neck.

Trying to erase the feeling of her fingertips ghosting over it.

"Yeah, g'luck in New York and shit," he calls to her, as she dashes to her car and hops in. He's not exactly in a rush.

Rachel rolls the window down. "Noah!" She calls out. "I - I forgot to hug you goodbye! And - and we didn't come up with your game plan!"

"No big," he responded. "I'll see ya around Berry. Go take Broadway by storm. No pun intended."

She grinned. "To you, too, Noah." He focuses on the raindrops trickling down her nose and cheeks. "And you will. I knowyou will."

He waited for her to pull away first, and he watched her tail lights fade in the distance as the rain continued to pound the pavement, soaking him. Mud and pebbles flooded the street, the rain rushing the earth towards the gutters.

Puck leaned back against his truck, closed his eyes and rubbed his face, shoving his thumbs into his eyes until he saw blacks and whites and reds and brights.

If only the rain could rush away the feel of her hands, her fingers, her lips as easily.

Puck does not "do clubs". Especially clubs that play that techno music shit and seriously, if you're at a fucking bachelor party, it should be at a fucking titty bar and not some bass pounding club that vomited the entire cast of the Jersey Shore. Half naked chicks were gyrating all over the place, and anything involving the phrase 'half naked' was usually a fucking ok, but he was sure half this "club" was crawling with chlamydia. In fact, some redhead in 5 inch stillettos and one inch of skirt was currently trying to eyefuck him and he pretty much could see the crabs in her crotch from here.

Plus, strippers get regularly tested for STDs, so at least you know your lapdance isn't going to end in your dick falling off.

So, clubs? Nope, not fucking feeling it.

But, it is his cousin's bachelor party. He came all the way out to New Jersey to celebrate Brad's upcoming wedding, and Brad had wanted to go to this club in New York for his "last night as a single dude" (even though it was a week prior to the wedding and there's, like, six more nights left but, fuck semantics).

Family's family and all (douchebag fathers count for shit, by the way).

And the club does have Jack Daniels, and since it's a bach party, they're getting drinks from chicks all over the place. So, ok, free drinks, that's a little bit of a fuck yeah.

Brad is currently getting body shots from some chick with jeans so tight they looked painted on, and Puck is slightly fearful for his cousin because if his soon to be cousin in law, Sandy, finds out about the body shots, she's going to nunchuck his dick off and he's just about to stop that shit from happening (the body shots, not the nunchuck cause Brad got himself into those first three shots without Puck noticing so, too bad so sad for him). Brad's head pop up from yeast infection jeans' stomach and holler (amidst the thump-thump-thump of that annoying as fuck bass), "MIKE SMITH, you sonofabitch!"

Brad clamps his arms around some tall fucker, presumably Mike Smith, and it's like, the gayest reunion ever because they're in a fucking club and his cousin is jacked on Redbull and Grey Goose and clapping this guy on the back and all grinning and shit.

He's only 21, but really? Puck's too old for this crap.

Or too normal.

Cause, seriously. Bachelor parties need boobs or something. Not Rhianna. Just the fact that he knows who Rhianna is and what songs she sings is enough to make him start growing a vagina.

"Imma get some air for a sec, bro!" He calls to Brad, who waves him off. Puck walks outside the club and past the red velvet ropes (seriously, pretentious much?). Across the street was one of those electronic stores with the billion tvs in the window, and they were all tuned in to the Yankees game.

Yanks leading against Boston. Sweet. Boston sucks balls.

He hums along with the bottom of the 8th song. "Good times never seemed so good..."

Ok, so post chapter Author's Note: Sometime during the 8th inning at any Fenway Park (Boston Red Sox) game, it's tradition that they play, "Sweet Caroline" (.) – trust me, I didn't pull that one out of my ass. But I didn't want to tell you that till the END of the chapter. I'm all stealthy like that :-)