A/N: So this chapter was an absolute bitch and a half to write. Took me forever to get it how I wanted it. Lucky number thirteen, I guess. I must've written and rewritten it a dozen times. It's finally flowing how I want it. (I hope)

I've got some ideas for some Unholy Trinity appearances in the future that I'm really excited for. But for now, more Finn and Puck, and I hope you enjoy the second part of this fic. We're now into Thanksgiving time. T for language.

And shout out to Jojobean and Chicimono for always reviewing. You guys rock!

Chapter 13

Finn tried his damnedest to pay attention as Mr. Schuester droned on and on about when to use ser versus estar, but he just couldn't seem to focus. It was his last class before Thanksgiving break and his attention span was already dangerously narrow. On top of that, he'd be meeting Quinn Freaking Fabray in just thirty-five short minutes, and he could barely contain his nerves.

It'd come as a major shock when Quinn tracked him down at his locker the other day and said she wanted to give 'Team Fuinn' another go. He couldn't believe his luck. After all, their first date—and that's using the term 'date' loosely—had been a major disaster. Never in a million years did he think she'd give him another chance after that epic fail.

A part of his conscience knew she was only interested in him again because he'd made the Varsity basketball team. At least that's what Puck seemed to think anyways. And while it did sting a little bit, a larger part of him didn't really care. If Quinn wanted to go out with him again, who the hell was he to question her motives?

He was going to do better this time. He had to. In all fairness, he couldn't do much worse. He shuddered as he thought back to that fateful Friday after Halloween. God, he could really be such a moron sometimes. What had he been thinking, showing up to Quinn's veritable mansion with two bike helmets and a picnic basket clutched in his big, dumb hands?

Yeah, there was nowhere to go from here but up…

Finn momentarily forgot how to speak English when Quinn Fabray pulled open her door. She looked like an angel in a floral print dress, her corn silk blonde hair framing her face in soft waves. Standing awkwardly before her, he suddenly felt like a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal, and why the hell didn't he remember to iron his jeans before going over there?

Quinn's demure angel face soured once she saw what was in his hands.

"Bike helmets," she said suspiciously. "What are you up to, Finn?"

"I have a surprise for you," he said, leading her down the stoop to where he'd left the surprise in question leaning against the Dudley Road yield sign.

She stopped walking when her eyes fell on the lime green atrocity. "What the heck is this?"

"A tandem bike," Finn explained, his smile faltering. "But it's not just any tandem bike. This is the Green Machine. My dad built it himself. He and my mom used to ride it around everywhere. Well, before he died, anyway. Check it out; I put new tires on it and everything!"

Quinn wasn't interested in the tires. "And what's in there?" she asked, jutting her chin towards the woven basket in his other hand.

"Uh, a picnic? I-I thought it would be fun to bike over to the park…Feed the geese…?" He balked under her angry gaze. Damn, he knew he should've run this whole picnic idea by Puck before going through with it.

"In November," she asked skeptically. "You want to have a picnic in November?"

"Well—yeah?" Shit. It was becoming more and more evident that he'd miscalculated.

"What happened to Breadstix? You told me we were going to have dinner and play mini-golf. You didn't say anything about a janky picnic!"

"Er—well…" Finn ground his toe into a crack in the sidewalk. Truth was he didn't exactly have the money for that kind of date. Not anymore, anyway. Not since he'd snuck his entire life savings—all thirty-five dollars and sixty-two cents of it—into Kurt Hummel's locker. He'd overheard that the little gay dude and his dad were in some dire financial straits following some inexplicable roof damage and his conscience had been riddled with guilt.

"Well what?" she asked, her eyes boring into his. Finn felt his palms begin to sweat.

"I-I thought this would be fun…" he said weakly.

"Fun! Are you freaking kidding me, Finn Hudson?" She grabbed one of his bike helmets and hit him with it. Wincing, he stepped back in defense. "Who do you think I am? You think I'm the kind of girl who'll get on a Loony Tunes bike with you? You must've lost your mind!"

"But I—!" He tried to ignore the way her jab at his parents' once cherished bike seemed to cut him in the chest.

"But nothing, Finn! I'm not some trailer park girl that you can impress with crap like this! Go home with this garbage! I'll see you at school." And with that, she dropped the helmet at his feet and stormed up to her house, slamming the door behind her.

"But—!" A ringing silence filled his ears as he stood very much alone on the curb of Dudley Road. He'd never felt so humiliated and angry and…hurt? He wasn't sure if he wanted to scream or hit something or cry, or maybe a combination of all three. Instead, he scraped what was left of his pride off the sidewalk and clambered onto the bike.

Puck.

It was the only word in his brain that made any sense. He had to tell Puck about this, humiliating though it would be. He had to tell him because he was Finn's best friend in the whole world and the only person who could make him feel better about the whole situation. It might be a little awkward, but Finn didn't care. After all, he hadn't been to Puck's house since last Sunday when they'd woken up tangled together in a state of confusion, Puck nearly dead from a hangover.

Thirty minutes later, he was leaning the tandem bike against the busted siding of number eighteen Gilboa Avenue and pounding his fist heavily on the front door.

"Keep your panties on, I'm coming!" came Puck's muffled voice as he fumbled with the deadbolt. "Finn?" he said in surprise a moment later. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out on your date with your head up Quinn's ass?"

Finn's jaw twitched. "Can I come in?" he asked, pushing past Puck without waiting for a reply.

"Uh, sure?" Puck closed the door and followed Finn upstairs. "…Didn't go well, did it?" he asked slowly, watching as Finn threw himself dejectedly into the desk chair.

Finn didn't answer; just gave a quick jerk of his head 'no.'

"…Want to talk about it?"

Finn hesitated. In reality, he wanted to tell Puck everything; like how his heart felt like it'd been stabbed a hundred times with a blunt knife. But he didn't trust his own voice at the moment. Afraid of how pathetic he might sound, he opted to keep silent and bury his face in the crook of his elbow.

"Ah, fuck her, dude," said Puck dismissively, the epitome of 'bros-before-hoes' crassness. "You were too good for her anyway."

Finn scoffed into his elbow. It was a bit of a stretch, even for Puck, to pretend like Finn was too good for the great Quinn Fabray.

"Go on," said Puck, ruffling Finn's hair playfully, making him jump. "Tell me what happened."

Finn grumbled and swatted Puck's hand away. He took a deep breath, raising his head from the safety of his arm. "I didn't have the money to take her on a real date," he said slowly. "So I had to improvise."

Improvise. He'd learned that word from that annoying Rachel Berry chick in English class today.

"Oh god, what did you do?" said Puck warily.

"You remember my parents' old tandem bike, right?"

"The Green Machine? Of course, that thing was fun as shit," said Puck. He and Finn had many fond memories of playing on it back when they were kids and Mrs. Hudson kept it mounted as a stationary bike on a pair of industrial fans in the basement.

"Yeah, well, I thought it would be fun to take her on a bike ride and have a picnic in the park, but she basically laughed in my face," said Finn flatly. God damn, even the words felt stupid in his mouth. What had he been thinking?

"Wait." The corners of Puck's mouth twitched. "You were going to take Quinn—who's arguably the hottest girl in our grade—to the park for a picnic…on a tandem bike?"

"…Yes," Finn admitted, feeling like a moron.

"And you're telling me her panties weren't absolutely soaked?"

"Shut up," Finn snapped, hitting him on the arm. "Yes, I get it. I fucked up. You don't have to go making me feel worse than I already do."

Puck threw his head back and laughed. "Jesus Christ, dude! What was your plan? Which park were you gonna take her to? The one where those kids got abducted or the one where the hobo got stabbed?"

"The one where the hobo got stabbed," said Finn, feeling irritated when Puck's laughter didn't abate.

"You got some balls on you, dude!" said Puck, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. "If I was a chick, I would've totally gone, just 'cause you were man enough to do something so ridiculous!"

"Too bad you're not a chick, then," said Finn flatly.

"Ah, cheer up, man," said Puck thumping him on the back. "Forget about her. She's not worth it. Besides, when you make the Varsity basketball team in a few weeks, you're gonna be absolutely drowning in pussy. Quinn will be so jealous. "

Finn looked up hopefully. "D'you think if I make the basketball team Quinn will want me again?"

"Er—yeah, probably…" said Puck, shrugging disinterestedly. "But who cares? The point is, you'll have loads of other options. And what do I always say? 'The best way to move on from one chick—"

"—is to score with a different one.' Yeah, yeah, I know," said Finn, rolling his eyes. But then something odd clicked in his mind. "Hang on. If girls will be interested in me 'cause I'm good at basketball, you don't think Quinn blew me off 'cause of how bad I sucked in football, do you?"

Puck bit his lip but didn't say anything.

The game against Dayton a few days back had been a disaster of epic proportions. With a final score of seventy-six to six, the defeat was record-breaking. Finn had never seen Coach Tanaka look so pissed, which was saying something considering the man always looked like he smelled shit under his nose. To make matters worse, they'd lost to Dayton's JV team. Losing, Finn could deal with. Losing to a bunch of dudes who didn't even have pubes yet? That was a different story.

Puck's silence spoke volumes. Finn groaned and dropped his face into his hands.

"Forget it, dude. It doesn't matter," Puck told him. "You're gonna make the basketball team and the chicks are gonna be lining up on their knees to suck your cock—"

"How d'you know?" Finn asked, looking up at Puck stubbornly. For all he knew he was going to stink up the basketball court like he did the football field.

"'Cause you're Finn Fucking Hudson!" said Puck loudly, punching him hard on the arm for emphasis. "I'm telling you you're cool as shit; you just have to believe it yourself. And I'll tell you what else," he grinned at Finn slyly. "If no chicks offer to suck you off after we win our season opener, I swear to god I'll do it myself."

Finn's face flushed scarlet. "Jesus Christ, dude!" he shouted, looking away in embarrassment. "Thanks, I guess, but I was just asking how you knew I'd make the basketball team…"

"Oh." Now it was Puck's turn to blush. He turned away, pretending to be very interested in adjusting the tie he'd put on for Temple. "Uh, 'cause you're like, seven feet tall, dude. There's no way a dude as tall as you isn't making that team…And…I was just kidding about the whole sucking you off thing, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, sure you were," said Finn, trying to laugh it off. But joke or not, something about Puck's comment made him squirm. If he was being honest with himself, an itty bitty, teeny tiny part of his brain would absolutely love for Puck to make good on that offer.

"Uh, Finn? Finn, hey there buddy. Earth to Finn—?"

"Huh? What?"

The dopey grin slid off his face when he realized he was no longer at Puck's, but rather still in his front row seat of Spanish class. Except the room was now empty, save for Mr. Schue, who was packing his things and getting ready to leave.

"Class ended eight minutes ago, Finn" said Mr. Schue, chuckling as he glanced at his watch.

"What! Really? Why—why didn't anybody tell me?" Panicking, Finn began to scramble, shoving his vocabulary sheet and homework packet into his backpack.

"Eh, it's last day before Thanksgiving. We can all afford to relax a little," said Mr. Schue, waving his hand dismissively. "Besides, you're a hard-working kid; you needed the nap."

For the first and probably only time in his life, Finn wished he had a more hard-assed teacher who would've slammed a fist on his desk to wake him up the moment he'd nodded off. Because now he was late—he glanced at the clock to confirm it—and Quinn was going to be so mad. Fuck! Maybe if broke out into a dead sprint, he might be able to make it on time.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Mr. Schue called after him as Finn bolted for the door.

He didn't even bother replying; he just tore through the halls like a madman. And as he rounded the corner, he nearly ran headlong into the same mohawked individual that he'd been daydreaming about just minutes before.