Title: It's not you, it's me
Word Count: around the 2000 mark
Rating: PG-13 (for sexual situations and swearing)
Spoilers: Ummm... just casting rumours and the logical thought that if Rachel can't have Finn and she can't have Puck, she'll have someone else. Post "Mash Up"
Characters: Rachel, Puck, Puck/Rachel, some other inconsequential people
Disclaimer: I do not own "Glee." Sue someone else! :P
Summary: They'll wait, because it's not a lie, it was never a lie.

It's their future.

He knows it, so does she.

They both see it clearly, but can't touch it yet.

If it's a week, a month, a year, it doesn't matter. They'll wait. Maybe not alone, but they'll wait just the same, because what they have is not a lie, was never a lie.

* * * * *

So she starts seeing someone new, a boy/man from a neighbouring school. They'd met before at competition but had never really spoken.

He hears stories.

iDid you hear that Jake did this, or that… He and Rachel sure do seem serious…/i

In truth, listening to people talk about her makes his fingers tense and curl into a fist that just itches to hit something (or someone). Makes him feel like his head is exploding.

He's never cared about what other people talked about before, but now that it's all Rachel, all the time, he thinks seriously about reneging on the deal he made with his mom about not skipping school and just taking off.

"Jake and Rachel have so much in common, it's a miracle they don't bite each other's heads off." He hears someone whisper in Math class – yes, he's attending a math class (he is two years behind and he does want to graduate at some point). It all makes him want to vomit. So he grabs his bag and sneaks out the back door while the teacher is looking the other way.

He walks through the halls until he arrives at the music room. He looks through the window by the door, the room is empty. He enters and sits on one of the plastic chairs.

He doesn't move towards the guitars, or the piano, or even the drums. Doesn't sing to himself softly.

He simply sits in the quiet, and waits for the bell to ring.

* * * * *

She likes him, Jake. Sure, he's a bit on the conceited side (he talks about himself constantly, but what teenage boy doesn't?). Sure, he doesn't have brown hair or brown eyes (she never really thought she had a type before those two boys) but he can really sing. And he's beautiful. And he wants to be with her, not with some pregnant cheerleader with perfect blonde hair and perfect green eyes (she gets to be first for a change).

So when he asks her out on a date, a real date (not some fake trip to the bowling alley, or a covert make-out session in her room), she hears herself acquiesce.

So what if he's on an opposing team. So they'll have to compete against one another eventually. So he'll have to watch her interact with the two boys on stage and see the sparks that she feels every time she's with them (them being mostly him now, though they don't sing together very often she's found herself standing beside him during almost every song). Jake will just have to deal with it.

He takes her to a movie. He's not afraid to be seen with her. He holds her hand while they're in the lobby. They share a bag of popcorn, but she insists on having her own drink – can't coat her vocal chords with sugar (she has Glee practice tomorrow).

When they sit in the theater they chat quietly about their schools and the differences between their Glee Clubs and the differences between their lives. Jake is super popular at his school (manages a 4.0 GPA, Honours English, Male Lead, and a girlfriend, all on top of soccer). She doesn't mention the slushy showers she's had for the past two years (at least twice a week, sometimes multiple times during the day). Nor does she mention that she's completely hopeless at soccer (or at least she thinks she is, no one ever passes her the ball in gym class, so she doesn't really know for sure).

Jake tells her about the drama in his Glee Club (apparently the female lead, some girl named Charlene, has been all over him for months now, and he just can't handle her obsessive ways anymore). She blushes because she's the one who's on a date with him now (and his situation feels vaguely familiar).

When the movie starts, they sit together, munching on popcorn, sipping from their straws, watching the screen. The images flicker past and she's absorbed by the story – an action/adventure (romantic comedies just aren't what they used to be) full of suspense and thrills.

Their hands brush as she reaches into the bag for some more.

It feels different. Not like when Finn spins her around on stage and she can't see straight because her world is in his eyes. It's definitely nothing like when Noah – Puck (she's still struggling to remember that his name is Puck) threads his fingers through her hair and puts his lips against her. It's not like when Finn's lips hesitantly close on hers, the pressure of his weight on her chest forcing the air out of her (or so she's lead herself to believe). Or even when Puck walks into the choir room at three thirty on a Thursday afternoon, holds her and whispers, "Bring it."

Still the touch gives her pause. And at the end of the night, when Jake kisses her, she doesn't stop him.

* * * * *

Her name is Becky and she's a junior. She's not a Cheerio (thank God), but she's still part of the popular crowd, and she's asked him for help in Spanish (even though he's only a sophomore). He's sure that the real reason she's asking him for help has more to do with the fact that she just broke up with her steady boyfriend and knows about his reputation as a Sex-God (and he is).

The thing he's not so sure about is why he kind of wants to say no. In his head, he knows that is maybe the stupidest thing ever. She's looking to get laid, and he will gladly give his services.

But lately he's picked up this nasty habit.

He's started listening to his heart (and his conscience) and it's saying "No."

So he feels conflicted when he tells her to meet him at his house at four thirty, because he has Glee practice after school and his little sister won't be home because of her dance lessons.

Becky's hair is red, and her eyes are blue.

He thinks that she's the perfect distraction (and that's all she'll ever be, a distraction).

He really wishes that his heart would shut the fuck up.

* * * * *

So at four thirty, after Glee practice (his head spinning from blonde hair to brunette, green eyes to brown) he pulls up into his driveway.

Becky's waiting there in her little pink Honda Civic Hybrid. He wonders briefly if her daddy bought it for her (even in his head the remark is snide).

"Come in," he asks, sliding the key into the dead bolt before turning the door knob. He pushes the door and waits as she walks in, the warm air flowing out from the house. Winter is definitely making itself known, and his mom has turned up the thermostat noticeably.

He follows her.

He pulls her coat from her shoulders and hangs it in the closet, his brain screaming. He tells her to leave her shoes by the door and come up to his room.

Why bother with denial (or foreplay)?

He leads the way, down the hall, up the stairs, until they reach his room. He's glad that he took the time to make his bed this morning (honestly, he's glad that his mother has so ingrained that one thing in him that he does it automatically). He's fastidious about his room, keeps things orderly whenever possible (makes sure that all his porny magazines are nicely hidden in the closet, never under his bed).

Becky's red hair swings loose over her shoulders, straight. Pin straight and he can't help wishing that it had a little bit of curl to it, was just a shade or two darker.

She doesn't waste his time, or hers, with what they both know is just a ruse, but moves her mouth on his.

His body responds automatically, but it doesn't feel…. right. Fuck, he's getting so clichéd in his old age. He thinks of Quinn's lips, and how soft and sweet she is, with just a hint of spice. How she shivers as his hands slide up her back and into her hair.

He thinks of Rachel, the smile she has just seconds before her lips meet his, hungry and honest. Like bacon and chocolate, things that shouldn't go together, but do.

But with Becky's mouth on his, Becky's tongue moving his lips apart, Becky's coffee-toffee taste filling him (a combination he finds just a tad repulsive), he shuts himself down and does what's necessary, stripping her of her shirt, her pants.

When the time comes, he's not hard at all. Nothing about this encounter is fuck-worthy. It's ugly and dirty… and he can't believe he's thinking this.

He's so glad when Becky pulls away, her blue eyes shining with tears, and whispers an apology. "I can't do this. I'm sorry."

Even her voice is wrong. Not the right pitch, or the right amount of annoyance, or prissy-ness or whatever.

He watches her grab her clothes, hastily throw them on, then rush out the door.

And all he feels is relief.

* * * * *

Jake is sweet. He thinks of her before anyone else. He's gorgeous, and popular, and a bit annoying. She really wishes that he would stop texting her at all hours of the day and night because it's starting to feel a little bit like he's a stalker.

And she's had enough experiences with the stalker type before.

When he comes over to her house, lies beside her on her bed, holding her hand to his heart, she should feel excited, or at the very least, safe. But all she thinks about is another boy and what he did the moment she stopped singing. How he pulled her on the bed, shifting her beneath him before really claiming her.

And God, she was his (is his).

(What?)

She wonders if Jake can feel her palm start to sweat. Where did that thought come from? Why didn't she turn on some music so that they would have something to listen to (so that she would have something to think about aside from…. NO!)

She turns her head and her body towards Jake, climbing on top of his hips (a mimic of an earlier thought) and leans down to kiss him (anything to take her mind off…).

But it doesn't work. His taste is wrong. Too sweet, too bland. His teeth clack against hers. His tongue slides through her mouth, and it's all wrong. But it shouldn't be. He's a nice boy and he likes her (so what if he's not a football player/sex god/jerk/asshole). He should be perfect.

He's not. It's not even really nice. So she lets herself imagine another face, in place of him. Brown eyes, brown hair, growing in just slightly. There's stubble along his chin, and it scrapes against her sending thrills through her body.

The body underneath her shifts and the reverie is broken.

She climbs off him.

"You know, with Regionals coming up, we're probably not going to have a lot of free time. I'm already behind in my school work as it is." She lets this hang in the air for a minute before continuing on to her point. "Maybe we should take a break for a while, and see where we are after the competition."

She watches his head nod, brown curls way too long for anyone who isn't Justin Timberlake bobbing up and down with his head. "That's probably a good idea." He steps up, and walks to the door of her room. "It's been fun, Rachel." His voice sounds sad to her ears. But his words and tone bring a smile to her lips, which she struggles to hide from him.

When the front door closes behind him, she collapses on her pink duvet and laughs.

* * * * *

She walks down the hall to her first period class.

He follows behind her.

She hears the footsteps and slows her pace.

His legs stretch out in front of him, the distance between them collapsing under him.

She stops completely when he whispers her name.

With her name still on his lips, he pulls her into an unoccupied room.

Her heart pounds.

His hands grasp her arms.

Her chest presses against his.

His mouth finds hers.

She smiles against his lips.

He laughs in response.

She slides her tongue out to meet his, slipping along his teeth.

His tongue moves along hers, his body pressing hers closer.

And he feels just right.

And she tastes just right.

It's their future, and they're touching it.