A/N: I'm sorry, but, now that Quinn and Finn are over, where the fuck is she living?
For the first time, she appeared at his doorstep.
It was raining. It had been raining for a while since... whatever happened with Finn. She appeared at his doorstep, announced by an ominous roar of thunder and a cliche flash of lightning, her eyes downcast and two hastily-packed bags in her hands.
She appeared at his doorstep without a smile or hopeful eyes.
He kind of took her in, her soaked hair, the raindrops and tears beading on her skin. Thunder rumbled as she shook there. Just waiting.
He paused with his hand on the door frame and his eyes carefully caressing her, easing their way to her sullen gaze. She stared right back at him, unwavering and unapologetic. No apologies. Just a calm, collected gaze that bore so deep into him, he fancied she could see the depths of his soul. Hear his breathing turn uneven and shallow.
"Puck," she murmured, soaking wet to the very bottom of her jeans, her maternity shirt slicked to her stomach, "I need a place to stay."
He should have turned her down. His heart was thumping oh-so-heavily against his ribcage, every vein pulsing with adrenaline. But his brain was clearly stating no. Turn her down, go back inside, watch old reruns of sitcoms.
Instead, he nodded, whispered, "I know," and reached out to her with one hand. In a gesture that meant so little, so completely insignificant, yet so horribly profound. She stared at his hand and delicately placed hers in the warm crook, lacing her fingers through his.
In a swift movement, she was pulled into the house, both bags fallen to the ground and face buried into his shirt, sobbing and heaving, the punctuated bawling thudding against his aching heart.
In a swift movement, she leaned forward, pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, and wrapped both arms around him, silently begging him to care for her. Because it was such a cruel world, such a terrible world, and she wanted to feel safe and protected again. Loved, like an infant in a crib, both parents watching over.
He carried her to his bedroom and they did not make love; she fell asleep on his chest, face nestled into the curve of his neck, both soaked to the bone with piercing rain - yet neither willing to care.