Disclaimer: Glee? Not mine. But I'm totally pimpin' it (without monetary gain, of course).

AN: Just a little IB exam de-stresser. Fucking IB. The idea just came to me after I got my first tattoo. :D As usual, Puckleberry all the way. Because apparently I'm kind of an addict.

When Puck looked at it, he saw devotion. He saw romance. He saw love. He saw the woman that owned his heart. He saw his future.

And as he gently removed the bandage from the left side of his chest, right above where his heart was, revealing a simple, freshly-inked heart-shaped tattoo with "Rachel" written inside of it, he had expected Rachel to swoon; he had expected her to see his true feelings for her, the ones he could never seem to be able to put into words. He had expected her to see his declaration of love, written clearly and permanently on his skin for the world to see.

When Rachel looked at it, she saw white-picket fences and brown-haired, bouncy jewish toddlers in the yard. She saw herself cooking and cleaning and caring for said children. She saw herself being tied down; she saw all of her dreams of stardom and all her future plans going up in smoke. What she saw most prominently was permanence; at just 23 years of age, permanence was one thing Rachel Berry just wasn't ready for. She panicked; she did the only thing she could think of. She ran.

Puck awoke to find her side of the bed empty and, typical Rachel-Berry style, flawlessly made. He found her note on the empty pillow, her loopy cursive that had become so familiar to him shaky and uncertain, the page stained with still-damp teardrops. He vaguely recalled being half-awakened by the feeling of her warm lips on his left cheek in the middle of the night. He remembered asking her groggily if everything was okay. She softly whispered to him to go back to sleep. He fingered the place where her kiss still lingered as he read her note in a state of total shock and confusion.

In her letter, she told him she was scared. That she still had so much left to do in her life; that his tattoo had made her realize how permanent things were becoming. That it killed her to do this. That she really did love him. She just wasn't ready for commitment. That she was leaving for L.A. to pursue her dreams. She was so, so sorry.

He read and re-read it in disbelief. Realization sunk in. She was gone; really, completely, permanently. Gone.

He felt himself begin to choke as his throat tightened. He fought valiantly against the emotions consuming him. Like he'd always learned he should. But finally, when he could hold back no longer, he clutched the paper tightly in both hands, crumpling the edges, and cried into it, mixing her tears with his own on the page that had torn his heart to shreds.

Six months had passed. Puck stood in front of the laser surgery clinic, steeling himself for what he was about to do. He just had to walk in. Go up to the desk. Check in for his appointment. He just had to follow the doctor to the back room. Take off his shirt. Lie on the table. It was going to hurt. He knew that. But it couldn't possibly hurt as much as the constant reminder of the piece of his heart that she'd taken when she left.

Instead, he just stared at the building. Tears filled his eyes as he thought of her. The only woman he'd ever truly loved. The only woman he ever truly would. Of all the wonderful times they'd shared over the course of their five-year relationship. He just couldn't bring himself to erase the last little piece he had left of her. Even if it was damn near killing him.

Puck turned away from the building, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He punched in the numbers he'd come to memorize and informed the bubbly receptionist on the other end that he was sorry for the trouble, but he would like to cancel his appointment. Again.

Eight months had passed. Rachel had found an agent, had cut her first CD. She was scheduled to begin a six-month concert tour opening for some big-name band. She was finding success; she was realizing her dream. And yet, no matter how hard she worked, no matter how much closer she came to achieving her dream, she still felt empty. She was missing a piece of her.

As she lay in bed at night, alone, or, on rare occasions, with a near-stranger, Rachel would silently trace hearts above her left breast before she fell asleep.

Puck would often meet random women in bars, buy them drinks, invite them home to spend the night. Anything to avoid facing the cold emptiness of his apartment; an emptiness that seemed to haunt him wherever he went. Anything to drive Rachel's memory away, at least temporarily. He would insist, above all else, on keeping his shirt on. He had several excuses prepared. He had been badly scarred in the past was the one he generally used. And, in all honesty, it wasn't really a lie. He just failed to mention that his scars weren't on the outside.

As he would make love to some random stranger, he always seemed to imagine Rachel's face on the body in his arms. Often, he cried out the wrong name. When this happened, his night-time company left in a huff, leaving him to think of the woman he had really been wanting to hold. He would lie awake for hours, picturing the success she had worked so hard to earn. On many nights, unable to find sleep, he would get out of bed and flip through the scrapbook he had made of any articles he'd come across mentioning her. He'd kept them all.

It had been nearly two years. Rachel Berry's three hit albums, two successful concert tours, and an award for one of her hit singles had made her virtually a household name. Despite all of the smiling pictures of her plastered to billboards and flashed on TV in between shows, she was never happy. Somehow, happiness always seemed elude her. She couldn't remember the last time she hadn't had to fake it. Fame, she had come to realize, meant nothing; especially when you had no one to share it with.

She called her manager, finally fed up with the loneliness she couldn't shake. She quit. Showbiz just wasn't her scene after all. Surely, it wouldn't take long to find someone else to take her place.

She had no idea what she would even say to him as she caught the first available flight back to New York, hoping and praying that he hadn't left and disappeared to a place where she couldn't find him. She had no idea what he was doing right now, if he had moved on from her. If he had found love with someone else. If he hated her. She had tried to keep tabs on him over the years through mutual friends, but information was little and sporadic at best. All she could do was hope that, if she threw herself at his feet and begged forgiveness, If she could convince him of the stupid mistake she'd made, that he would take her back.

She opened the front door of the apartment building with trepidation, using the key she had taken with her on the night she'd left. The one that had hung on a chain around her neck for the last two years; the one thing that most reminded her of him.

The elevator took an agonizingly long time to reach the fourth floor. She walked quickly down the hallway, gathering her nerve, fighting the urge to do what she did best and flee. She reached apartment 4-C. She knocked. She waited. She could hear rustling behind the door, and footsteps approaching. Her eyes began to tear up. She was afraid, and excited, and guilty all at the same time. She wasn't sure how her small frame could contain all of that emotional turmoil without bursting.

The lock clicked. She took a deep breath. The door opened.

Puck stood there and stared at her, unbelievingly, as if he was sure that this must be a dream.

Rachel was instantaneously shocked by his appearance. He looked tired and deflated, a far cry from the Noah Puckerman she had left that night almost two years ago. His face was covered in stubble, his hair no longer the neat mohawk he'd once preferred. His eyes were empty and hollow. His grey track pants looked as though they hadn't been washed in a while. Rachel's eyes travelled down from his face to his bare chest and she had to choke back sobs as she took in the tattoo that she was sure he'd have had removed after she left. She reached out gently to touch it.

"Rachel?" Puck asked uncertainly, a small spark of that familiar gleam returning to his eyes.

The tears she'd worked so hard to keep from falling began cascading down her cheeks, sobs escaping unbidden from her chest.

"Oh, God...oh, Noah...I...I've made a...a terrible mistake." Rachel choked out between sobs, "I was so...determined to follow...follow my dreams that I...I...I was blind to what I already had. Oh, Noah...can you ever forgive me?"

Puck didn't respond. He placed a hand on top of hers, still resting on the tattoo. It was still as vibrant as the day he'd gotten it. As was his love for her. He stared down at his hand on top of hers, as though testing to see if it was real. Finally, he looked back up into her face and pulled her to him, crushing her against his body.

"Oh, God, Rachel. I've...missed you so much." Puck murmured into her shoulder, where he'd nestled his face, taking in her sweet scent. She still smelled the same as he remembered. He sobbed against her, openly, not caring who saw. Rachel buried her head into his right shoulder and sobbed loudly too. She hugged him as tightly as she could, afraid that if she ever let him go again, she'd lose him forever.

That night when they made love, Puck didn't have to imagine it was Rachel. And she didn't need to imagine it was Puck. They both fell asleep immediately afterward, getting the best nights' sleep either of them had gotten since Rachel had left. What they felt could only be described as true, unadulterated bliss.

Four years had passed since Rachel had come back into Puck's life, and they'd spent every day since treasuring one another. Rachel stood at the kitchen window of the small three-bedroom house she and Puck had bought last year, wearing a spaghetti-strap summer dress, washing dishes as she stared out into the backyard, watching her three-year-old twin boys play with the neighbours' children. Her neighbour, watching the children carefully over the fence, waved when she saw Rachel. Rachel waved back.

It was a beautiful sunny Saturday morning; Noah's day off. She grinned as she heard footsteps behind her, and her grin only widened as she felt him plant a kiss on her right shoulder blade. It was here that, two months after her return, she'd had a heart identical to Puck's tattooed. His name, along with the names of their boys, were written on the inside. Puck hugged her from behind, and she could feel from the heat of his body that he was shirtless. His left arm wrapped around her chest just beneath her breasts, while his right hand traveled down to rest on the small bump of her stomach. They both realized that soon they would have to have another name tattooed on their hearts.

Puck opened the window and called out to his children.

"Zachary! Daniel! Come on in, boys; it's nearly lunch time."

"Okay, Daddy!" The boys replied in unison, waving farewell to their friends, who promptly crossed back around the white picket fence and into their own yard.

Noah went back to holding his wife from behind, and as they stood like that, his chest against her back, watching their sons head toward the back door, their hearts touched.

END!

AN: Yeah, so this is just a little oneshot that I had to write, because it was keeping me awake at night. Quite literally. Hopefully, after exams, I'll find time (and inspiration) to update my other story Dead Weight. Thanks to all who read. Forgive my Puckleberry addiction. Reviews would be nice. Wink wink, nudge nudge. They are my other addiction. Hope you all enjoyed!

Cat.