Like Ships

[acontrollist]

The apartment is empty when Rachel walks in. Not that she expects anything different. They've been married for a little more than a month, but since their honeymoon, she's actually gotten to spend time with Noah that wasn't just the two fo them sleeping next to each other or shoveling takeout into their mouths before they passed out maybe a grand total of 3 times. 4, if you count the quickie on the couch, which Rachel doesn't really, since she's pretty sure she was asleep before he even pulled out and she's not sure she would have remembered it happened at all the next day if there hadn't been that bruise on her ribs.

Needless to say, the whole baby thing? Hasn't happened. She was ovulating last week and didn't get to see him at all (she woke up halfway when he got into bed, and then again when he got out to go back to work) those days. Rachel's frustrated to say the least and she kicks her shoes hard into the back of their closet, grumbling to herself.

Comments

[but_idontlie]

He'd assumed that life would get easier once everybody was on the same page once they were married, not only legally but at temple in front of their friends and family. Their legal wedding the year prior had simplified their paperwork, making is easier for them to get time off, and passports, and to have the medical tests that were necessary prior to conceiving. The actual bells-and-whistles wedding had been their first trip to Lima since leaving after graduation, and it was amazing to see how much had changed. There was a new legitimacy to his relationship with Rachel; people no longer saw him as the town bicycle, but as the guy who'd fallen in love, left town, and become someone better than anyone had anticipated. They admired his badge and his biceps and practically fell all over themselves in front of Rachel, the Drama Desk and Tony Award winner they had mocked in high school. They couldn't believe that they had Beth, that Rachel was happy with all of it, that Shelby had let them take Beth and how big she'd gotten since Shelby had left Ohio. [Um, hello. He loves his daughter. He always has; he signed the papers because he had no choice.]

All of these things were supposed to make life simpler. "No, we can't come visit for Passover. Rachel's working," or, "Noah's working, I promised him I'd stay so he wouldn't be alone," are valid excuses now. The teasing remarks regarding other women have vanished, replaced by questions of how Rachel is doing, how the show is doing. [And, of course, the questions about grandchildren. Those are happening now, too, with playful nudges from their friends about loud-mouthed BAMF Jew babies.] And when they actually made a baby announcement, it wouldn't be a town scandal; they'd be happy about it, sharing their good news because it's what they want.

Their honeymoon had been seven days of tropical bliss. [He'd actually gotten seasick.] Shelby had met them at their apartment to get Beth; they grabbed the luggage they'd packed for their cruise, and headed to the port to catch their ship. They had just barely missed her ovulation that month, even with all the sex they'd had on their honeymoon. [He took her on the balcony, just like he said he would. And it was so worth it.] Since they'd returned, it was like everybody and their mom was pulling out illegal firearms and doing stupid shit. An arson in Hell's Kitchen. Three separate shootings in Central Park. Hell, even helping out ATF at a raid in Queens - and all of that is on top of their normal caseload. He's fuckin' beat by the time he gets home. Couldn't get it up if he tried - and the only time he can get it up is at night, when she's working. His best bet at this point is probably to show up at the theatre, right before curtain, and to get Amanda to do the show while he bangs his wife in the dressing room.

Granted, that would be a funny-as-hell story to tell people about the conception of their first child.

He was scheduled for a double to cover Drew [emergency appendectomy, and he'd be in the hospital for a few days before riding a desk until the doc cleared him for duty] and that's still assuming that he'll get out on time. Missing Rachel has been a bitch, and the guys at work have been nice, even, and dropped their usual "Puckerman needs to get his dick wet!" comments when he's in a less-than-happy mood. [Even if it is true. He does need to get his dick wet. Specifically, he needs to get it wet during a three-to-five-day window so that his wife pops positive on the next pregnancy test she takes.] He'd left her a note taped to the TV before heading out that morning, leaving her asleep in their bed.

hit up work if you want a quickie, the guys owe me a favor

Not that it'll do anything, really, but it'll give them more time together than they've gotten in days. And if she wants to swap the quickie for a quick cup of coffee or sandwich, well - he can roll with that.

Maybe their drunk contract needs to be amended so that he can just fuck her when she's asleep if she's ovulating. Whatever works, right?

[acontrollist]

Rachel doesn't see the note that morning, in a rush to make an early emergency rehearsal. Their Ilse's taxi got into an accident the night before and she's got a broken leg and two ribs to attend to. Which meant that they needed to do a quick couple of run-throughs with her understudy, and everyone needed to be in an hour earlier than usual. She bypasses breakfast, tea, and especially her early morning television background noise, so the note is still on the tv when she gets home.

When she finally sees it, she's changed into a pair of sweats and is in the process of braiding her hair (the odds that she'll fall asleep on the couch are looking way higher than her odds of getting pregnant within the next few weeks). But instead of making her laugh, or...anything positive, really, it makes her angry and she yanks the paper off of the screen, balling it up and tossing it in the trashcan. She doesn't want a quickie. She wants her husband. This isn't just their usual fare, it's not about them being used to having sex regularly and feeling deprived. They're trying to have a baby, and Rachel would at least like to feel like that means something and a quickie in the smelly mens locker room at the NYPD station is the farthest from that.

It takes her a few minutes to stop drumming her fingers angrily against the kitchen counter and text Noah. It's really not his fault he has to work so much and at the very least, she can let him know not to expect her.

I'll see you when you get home. The maybe is pretty much unspoken at this point.

[but_idontlie]

To: rachel*
From: Noah Puckerman

everything ok?

[acontrollist]

To: Noah
From: Rachel*

Fine. Tired. Early rehearsal.

[but_idontlie]

To: rachel*
From: Noah Puckerman

sorry, rach. can you catch a nap and meet me for late dinner when i get out? or i can get take out for us. miss you

[acontrollist]

To: Noah
From: Rachel*

I don't really feel like going out. Take out is fine. I miss you too.

[but_idontlie]

To: rachel*
From: Noah Puckerman

how is britta doing? broken leg is a bitch, glad it wasn't you though

[acontrollist]

To: Noah
From: Rachel*

I heard she's fine, just stuck at home mostly. She'll be alright in time for the tour.

[but_idontlie]

To: rachel*
From: Noah Puckerman

ok. can you try to nap before i get out so we can stay up together? lmk if you want anything special for take out

[acontrollist]

Rachel knows the nap isn't a good idea. She's very strict about her sleep schedule during the work week and with Britta out, they're doing early rehearsals all week. Keeping a good sleep schedule is imperative if she doesn't want to be yawning during the Mama Who Bore Me reprise...

But she misses her husband too. Even if she is a little irritated with him.

Maybe. Is the only honest response she can give him. And even that makes her feel awful, like she's punishing him for something that he can't control.

She trades out her sweats for a pair of jeans and some boots, hoping she looks at least semi-presentable, before catching a taxi to the police station. It's a short ride, and she doesn't even really bother to check whatever Noah may have texted her back with between her last text and when she walks into the station.

[but_idontlie]

To: rachel*
From: Noah Puckerman

ok. love you. if you're sleeping when i get home, want me to wake you up or let you sleep?

It feels like he barely sees her. With Drew out at the precinct and Britta out now at the theatre, they're both stuck working their asses off when this should be the home stretch. She's only doing the show for the next two months; it seems like she's working more now than she ever did. He's noticed that crime seems to come in waves in the city - it's pretty fucking obvious, especially during the summer, where the heat shortens everyone's tempers - and he's at the top of that wave, baby. He feels like he never leaves work. [He actually rolled over in his sleep the other night and told Rachel to stop resisting arrest.]

He's stuck at the desk at the precinct, filling out paperwork and running info checks for anybody who calls in needing them. It's a shitty job and somebody's got to do it, but he'd actually volunteered. [If he's riding a desk, the chance of him going out on a call right before he's set to clock out goes way down. Guess who doesn't want to pull a triple today? This guy.]

[acontrollist]

Abbey's in her mid-thirties and has been working the front desk at the precinct for the last 10 years. Her husband is a lieutenant, and when Rachel comes in, looking exhausted and upset but determined, she immediately recognizes it as the Where is my husband? You assholes have been hogging him. look. And really, she's a sweet girl and Abbey's never seen or heard about anyone else when it comes to Puckerman, and on top of that, she knows from the recently appearing picture on his desk that the two of them just got married. So she takes sympathy on the poor girl.

"He's in the back, honey. Info checking. He might be in the file room nearest his desk." She calls over the edge of the desk before Rachel can even ask, smiling back when the tiny brunette flashes her a grateful, tired smile and turns the corner.

With Abbey's instruction, Rachel just heads through the precinct and to the elevator (she passes a few officers she knows, but she must look worse than she thinks she does because no one really says anything besides Hey Rach), heading upstairs to Noah's desk.

[but_idontlie]

The phone at his desk rings; he swipes it while scrolling through data one-handed to find the R.O. of a tan Camry with a partial plate. "Puckerm--," he answers automatically, before Rob interrupts. "Saw your girl in the lobby, she's heading up." Rob hangs up before he can say anything else, and his eyes automatically flick toward the elevators in the center of the floor.

Is he sure? Because, he figures, Rachel would have said something, sent him a text, whatever, if she was planning on dropping by. Unless, of course, she was stopping by for that quickie. She's just as exhausted as he is, so he doubts that it's that. Maybe she's just visiting, swinging by to say hi. Which is cool, 'cause he misses her.

[acontrollist]

She hears Noah's voice before she sees him, and it suddenly occurs to her that duh, he always sits in the same place and she's not sure why she's standing in the doorway looking for him (she's so tired. Her half-functional thought processes can be excused). Side stepping another officer, she weaves through the desks, waving slightly at a rookie she recognizes, before stopping at her husband's desk.

"Hi." He looks exhausted, and she can't imagine she looks too much better, but it doesn't really matter at this point, does it? At least she's actually getting a glimpse of him for the first time in what seems like forever.

[but_idontlie]

She stands before him, dark circles under her eyes, still polished and gorgeous in these skinny jeans he loves tucked into the fuzzy boots he'd given her for Hanukkah. She's beautiful, and she really fucking needs one night of uninterrupted sleep. [So does he, but whatever.]

He manages a half-smile, his face instantly releasing the tension he didn't realize he was holding; he opens his arms to her, leaving her enough room to slide onto his lap and cuddle close. Fuck protocol. Nobody here is going to begrudge him a hug and a few minutes with Rachel. "Hi, baby," he murmurs, blinking as he gazes into her eyes [he is so tired]. "Big surprise. Thought you were staying home."

[acontrollist]

She doesn't hesitate to slide down into his lap, wedged slightly between him and the edge of the desk. It doesn't occur to her that it may be slightly counterproductive, but with his warmth at her back and his scent so close she's suddenly exhausted. Down to her bones and despite the beeping and the phones ringing and the talking all around her, she could probably honestly just sleep. Right here, in his lap, all night.

"I didn't think the nap was a good idea." I couldn't say no to everything. It's not your fault you work ridiculous hours is really what she means. Not that the first statement wasn't true. "When do you think you'll get off?"

[but_idontlie]

He pushes back from the desk in his rolling chair, giving her a bit more room as his arms wrap around her body and hold her close. "I wish I could get out of here now," he murmurs regretfully. "I miss holding you when you're not knocked-out. M'stuck here 'til four," after getting to work around midnight, four puts him at the end of a double shift, "unless they make me stay later. Pretty sure that's not gonna happen, s'why I'm on desk duty. So I'm not out when a call comes in and I end up on a triple," which would bring him home at midnight - twenty-four hours after he'd originally arrived at work. He hates triples.

"You can hang out here if you want," he offers gently, knowing that it's definitely not going to be her first choice, but he wants to be selfish anyway. "We could get take-out, eat it on break. I could go for noodles. You can crash on the couch in the break room. I miss you, babe."

[acontrollist]

"You could come home." Rachel suggests alternatively. She has to work in the morning, early, just a few hours after Noah gets there and falls asleep. Spending the majority of her sleeping hours on the kind of awful break-room couch, waking up whenever someone needs coffee and then again to head home just...no. No. She knows that Noah knows this, that he probably knew she'd say no as soon as he asked, just like she knows he'll say no to her suggestion. But it was worth a try.

"Can you take off Monday?" That's Rachel's one day off during the week. "Or Sunday?" She works that day, but only matinee shows.

[but_idontlie]

He winces. "I wish." But he's stuck at the precinct for another three hours minimum, and there's no way he can bail or leave early. It seems silly for Rachel to get all the way to the precinct from home/work just for a quick hug before having to leave again.

"I can try to switch with somebody," he brushes a few strands of hair from her face. "Rob owes me. I bet I can find somebody with a Monday who wants to switch. I could try and get a Saturday second shift, come home, sleep with you. Be with you Sunday." Lowering his voice, he leans in, his lips brushing gently against her ear. "When's your next shark week? Figure out when our good days are, and I'll put in to have the days off."

[acontrollist]

Try. Rachel tries not to sigh too loudly, nodding. She knows his job is unpredictable. That working a bunch of hours is really the best kind of unpredictable they can hope for in his line of work. And she's proud of him for doing something he loves that helps so many people. But that doesn't mean she has to like sacrificing her husband a grand majority of the time.

"Week after next." Rachel mumbles. At least, she hopes so. Going off of the pill has made her periods kind of weird while they try to re-regulate themselves. She didn't have one at all for December, and she was two days over in January after they got back from their honeymoon (not that they were having sex anyway...).

[but_idontlie]

Try, only because making a promise he can't keep ends up disappointing both of them. "I'll ask around before I head home. And -" shark week, okay, gotta check out the calendar "- I can get a couple days off unless somebody's on vacation, or I could just try and get the week." It's a long shot to get the week, but he could probably drop his vacation and take the week if nobody else has it. But, regardless, it'll be an entire week paid vacation with Rach while they begin the babymakin'. She takes her prenatals every morning and he makes sure that they've got a full fridge of spinach and bananas and everything they need for green smoothies.

Dammit, they will make this baby. He won't disappoint her.

[acontrollist]

He offers to try for the week, but Rachel just shakes her head. What would be the point in that? She works during the week, and she could take the week off too, but if they're trying to have a baby, why take off unnecessary time and lose pay? He can get paid vacation, but she can't and there's never enough income to raise a child. "Don't worry about it. Just try for Monday."

The phone in ringing again and Rachel sighs, sliding off of his lap. He's at work, and hasn't officially taken a break, so he should probably do one or the other before he gets in trouble for neglecting his job. "I can't stay long...but I can run across the street and get dinner?" The Thai across the street is actually pretty good.

[but_idontlie]

He might as well use his vacation for this; he'll be able to get on a normal sleep schedule and see some of Rachel's final shows. He can get the apartment cleaned up, buy groceries and restock the shelves, take his wife out to dinner after a show instead of getting home two hours after she does and eating a slice of cold pizza as he drops a deuce because he really is that tired.

Fuck, he can bring the iPad to the theatre while they run rehearsals, relax in her dressing room when he isn't in the audience, run out and grab her something to eat between shows. He'll get to do all the shit he wants to do, but doesn't get to do because of his fuckin' job.

She slides from his lap and stands, regretfully, as he reaches for the phone with one hand and her hand with the other. "Puckerman," he answers, glancing up at his wife. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll check it out, get it back to you. Gimme 2." He drops the phone on the cradle and squeezes Rachel's hand. "Thai sounds awesome. I didn't take lunch yet," he admits. "I can get somebody to cover my break," probably Rob, 'cause he knows that Rachel is here, "we can get it delivered and have it in the other room. Yeah?" It's the best he's got.

[acontrollist]

It's the best either of them have got right now, Rachel knows. The show is in the home stretch and Rachel's been throwing her all into it, too tired when she gets home to really do more than throw something in the oven (or order something) that Noah will be able to warm up when he gets home before she collapses into bed. She wouldn't mind him waking her up, but with both Drew and Britta out, neither of them can really see anything happening in their bed but sleep. She's pretty sure if they tried, they'd both fall asleep a few thrusts in and Rachel doesn't want to suffocate to death trying to conceive a child.

It's the best either of them has, but it's still not good enough. She wishes she could blame the urge to burst into angry tears on pregnancy hormones. "It'll probably be quicker if I just go." No point in waiting extra for takeout when Rach could be there and back in probably less than 10 minutes. "Besides, you're supposed to be working. Get on that."

Squeezing back, Rachel leans in to kiss his forehead and snatch his wallet off the desk before heading out. She didn't bring any cash and the place across the street, while good, is entirely too sketchy for Rachel to want to chance using her debit card.

[but_idontlie]

This is almost better birth control than condoms; there's no chance of pregnancy because they aren't having sex. It's enough to make him grumpy as hell, but he doesn't jerk one out in the shower 'cause he wants his boys to be as potent as possible on the chance that he does get some uninterrupted awake time with his wife.

Fuck his life. He can't remember the last time they had sex.

"If you want." She's right; it is faster, and he's just being selfish by wanting her to sit in Jon's chair at the next desk over, not leaving his side. "I work my ass off, they can give me five minutes to see you." God knows they've called him in enough, sometimes an hour or two ahead of schedule to cover something. "I'll take lunch, meet you in the break room?"

All he has to do when he leaves is look up some information on this guy's aliases; they can't book him under "Tater Salad" but he knows it'll pop up on some record out there. Rob actually strolls in just as he's calling the Lieutenant back with the requested information, nodding at Noah. He waves him over with a hand, the phone clicking to the cradle. "M'takin' my lunch," he announces, and Rob nods understandingly. "Rach went out for Thai. Haven't seen her since we got back, bro. Drew and then she's working her ass off, too. I gotta see if I can get a couple days off and switch my vaca. Our parents are beggin' for a grandkid," which isn't entirely true, but it's a believable excuse. "If you got the time, can you switch with me?" You know I cover your ass all the time, he doesn't say.

He stretches out on the break room sofa, head at one end and feet at the other, waiting for Rachel; a smile relaxes the tension on his face when she walks into the room. "M'starving," he admits.