A/N: Written for hc_bingo, the prompt: "nausea."


Expel, Tell

He finds he bent over behind the bushes near the gym, retching her guts out into the dirt. That pretty much makes him freak automatically.

"Whoa, Quinn?" he asks – he knows who it is, because come on, who else throws up that much, has that blond hair and has that tight an ass? "You okay?"

She looks up for a split-second, glaring at him witheringly. "I'm fine," she says, before she has to lean down and puke again, which kinda goes against her point. "It's just... you know," her voice goes hushed and quiet despite the fact she won't even say words like that aloud – he doesn't blame her; he's like ninety percent sure there are spy systems all over the walls of McKinley High. Especially anywhere near the Cheerios. Sylvester is crazy.

He nods. "Sorry. Must suck," he says. "Still, I think I read somewhere that it's like, good if you puke a lot. I don't get it; maybe the baby just like, moves a lot and pushing all the food out of you. So the moving is good. If it wasn't, it'd be like, deep shit."

She laughs, but sounds a little bitter. "Yeah. Because Little Miss Quinn Fabray, president of the Celibacy Club, getting pregnant isn't 'deep shit' at all."

He flinches. "Sorry."

She shrugs, before her body shudders and she turns back to the vegetation, throwing up again. Puck hopes she's eating a good diet, for the plants, if not for his kid.

Her hair is tied back tight, so he doesn't think he should have to do that hair-holding thing you do with wasted chicks, but it's falling over her shoulder onto her chest, so he does it anyway. She seems a little taken aback, but she doesn't move away, although that might be because she's still puking her guts out.

Eventually it stops, she straightens up and he lets go of her hair. "Thanks," she says, although she doesn't look a hundred percent grateful.

He shrugs, then blinks. "Hey, you've got puke on your chin," he points out helpfully.

Her eyes go wide. "Shit! Shit shit shit! If I get it on the uniform–"

"Whoa, chill," he says. "Here," and he offers her his sleeve, and she quickly wipes the vomit off.

"It gone?"

"Uh-huh."

She sighs. "Thanks," she says. "You're not going to tell anyone about this, right?"

"Why would I tell? All it'd do is get you pissed at me. And like, screw everyone's lives over even more."

"You did tell the whole Glee club about... well, this."

Okay, yeah, she has a point there. "Yeah, but they kept wondering what had happened to you and it was annoying as fuck. Got a feeling they would have figured eventually anyway. Besides, they're the Glee club; all ragtag-bunch-of-misfits, so like, being cool with crazy shit like this is kind of their job."

Quinn laughs, but then her face goes sort of still. "Look, thanks. But watching me won't... It's not your baby, Puck."

He shrugs, because he knows somewhere, she doesn't mean it. "Whatever. It's cool. Finn is like, freakishly tall; I won't piss him off."

"I mean it, Puck," she repeats, tossing her hair back in that condescending way she's practiced so well on the loser chicks around school. "I don't know what you think you can get out of me, but this... My life is bad enough as it is. I'm counting down the days until everyone finds out and I'm slut trash for the rest of my life. I don't think my parents will ever talk to me again if they find out. Okay, one of the only good things I have right now? Is the fact that my boyfriend understands me, will support me, and will do anything for this baby. I don't care what you want, Puck; I am not going to lose that, and I am not going to take it away from my kid."

I could be that guy, thinks Puck, but he doesn't say it aloud. He thinks that would be against the point he's trying to prove. "Yeah, I said: I get it. Your life's enough of a mess. Besides, I'm Finn's best friend, right? So I'm like, the kid's uncle or something."

Quinn grins. "Not quite how it works, but the thought's nice," she says.

"I'm a nice guy," he says.

"Uh-huh."

"I am!" he protests. "Well, I am to my family. You sure you don't want me to go, like, get the nurse or something?"

"We don't have a nurse anymore, Puck," Quinn reminds him. "Besides, we both know what's going on, I don't think sending me to the school nurse would help anything. Even if she did exist."

Puck accepts that. "Okay. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Mind covering for me while I go brush my teeth?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You have a toothbrush here?"

She snorts. "Please. I'm pregnant. You reckon this is the first time this has happened?"

"Why do you need to brush your teeth after barfing anyway?"

She rolls her eyes. "Will you just do it?"

"Yeah, of course," he says.

"Thanks, Uncle Puck." She smiles cheekily, before running into the gym, and he relaxes against the wall.

Uncle.

It's not quite what he wants, but he's getting closer to it.