Hello! This is a Kurt and Blaine story. Won't be to terribly long, just a two or three shot. But I'm trying to make the chapters a fairly decent length. Anyways. This is AU and in the future, because they're adults.

I hope everyone enjoys :)

I don't own Glee

X

"Anderson! Wake up, you're taking over a new case."

Blaine Anderson shot up from his desk, his cheek was red with creases from the papers that had acted as a pillow. He sniffed, blinking back his confusion, rubbing a hand through his slightly matted curls.

"What?" Blaine grumbled, his voice soaked in exhaustion.

"The chief want's to see you. There's another case for you. Not that I think you need it, you're clearly working yourself to death. When was the last time you slept at your apartment?"

Blaine shook his head, trying to clear it. "God Nick, I don't know. I've been busy."

Nick smiled weakly, his face filled with some sort of fondness as well as exasperation. "Drink a cup of coffee and then go see the boss. I know you won't be getting any sleep once you've got your hands on this."

"What?" Blaine asked, perking up immediately.

"Coffee first," Nick chided. "You look terrible."

"Fine, tell the hawk I'll be there in a minute."

Nick rapped his knuckles against the barely exposed wood of Blaine's desk. "Will do," he promised, stretching his arms above his shaggy brown hair and walking away. "And Blaine, you've got a paper clip in your hair."

Blaine huffed at Nicks' retreating form before reaching back up into his hair, feeling around for the piece of bendy wire.

It was true that he couldn't remember the last time he slept in his own bed. He mostly only returned to his apartment to shower and change his clothes. He was almost a permanent fixture at his precinct. He was a hard worker. Brilliant at what he did and he always closed his case. He was addicted to his job. He loved his job. He didn't have a personal life because of it but that had never bothered him.

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the near ancient brewer that was set against the far wall. He sipped his cup fondly, running his free hand over the back of his neck, scratching at the indentations the beaded chain that held his badge had made.

He made a promise then that this night, he would make sure to be home for bed.

Feeling the coffee take it's expected effect, he headed towards the chiefs office. He knocked sharply, his eyes tripping over the yellow lettering on the door and how it looked with the spangled light coming through the wooden blinds that hung on the other side of the glass.

"Enter."

"Hey Chief," Blaine greeted, just sticking his head through the door. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes," She greeted, giving Blaine what must have been her version of a fond smile. "Blaine Anderson, come in, take a seat."

Chief Stettson was a tall and intimidating women. Aged a well and stern looking forty-six, she had corn flower blonde hair, littered with sliver and cropped close to her head. This highlighted her long nose and high cheek bones, her face narrow and shrewd.

"Nick said you wanted to see me?"

"Yes I did. I wanted to say good work on The Clark case. Job well done."

"Thank you Chief."

Stettson looked at him thoughtfully. "I've always found you to be far above proficient. You take your work very seriously, you do it well."

"I'm flattered that you think so," Blaine muttered humbly, secretly celebrating that his hard work was actually appreciated.

"We have an open case that's been passed on to us. No one else has been having any success, so now we have a shot. And I'd like you to head this case."

Blaine gaped stupidly at her, completely disbelieving. "I–You want–O-Of course. I'd be honored."

"I'm glad you're so eager," She hummed, turning in her chair, reaching into the filing cabinet she had behind her. She pulled out a thick manilla folder, papers and colored sticky notes sticking out the sides. She let it flop on the desk in front of him, flipping open the front flap.

"I'm sure you know who this is."

The photo that was stapled in the left corner of the top page was blurry and dark, but yes, he knew exactly who that was.

"That's Snatcher."

"Yes. As you know Snatcher is a vigilante that has been plaguing this city for almost five years now. And I know this file looks thick but it really doesn't give us anything to go on. No one can get more than a shit snap shot of this guy. He's in and out of all the places he ends up hitting before anyone can get there and he doesn't leave a trace. He goes mostly after gangs, drug lords, prostitution rings. He steals everything, then leaves them for the cops to find. But's he's also robbed a few businesses."

"Alright."

"He may be catching some of the creeps out there but none of the money is showing up," Stettson frowned. "He's a criminal."

"Of course," Blaine nodded. "So what would you like me to do?"

She closed the folder a slid it closer to him. "This case is all yours. Do what ever it takes. Find out who is. Catch him. Bring him in. You do this Anderson and you'll have a name made for yourself. You'll be in every paper and maybe, make commissioner someday. How does that sound?"

"That sounds like everything I've ever wanted."

"Good. Alright Blaine, get out of here, get to work. I'll let you take that and look it over before you put a little team together, if you need it. It's something I would recommend however. I don't want you taking on more than you can handle."

"Believe me chief this is what I've been waiting for. I won't let you down."

"I putting my trust in you. Don't disappoint me."

"I won't. I swear."

"You're dismissed."

"Thank you."

Blaine almost skipped do his desk, his blood bubbling happy under his skin. This was what he had been waiting for. An opportunity to truly prove himself. This is why he slept at his desk. This is why he lived off of coffee and stale pastries and dry cereal. He had the case of century and he was set on closing this one. More than any other.

X

Blaine pushed his key into the old dead bolt of his door, the flaking white paint of it raining slightly on the ground as he shoved it open with his shoulder, the slightly warped wood had a tendency to stick. It was not a very nice apartment. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't the nicest place on earth to live. A small three room, floored with crack tile and dirty carpet. There was a small balcony ledge outside the bed room window, holding a small planter with long dead shrubs. His kitchen was small, his living room was filled with book shelves and filing cabinets, an old pull out couch sat across from his small T.V. which he almost never had on. Most of his time was spent in his bedroom, his home desktop in the corner holding most of his life and of course his rarely used bed.

He fell back onto his comforter, welcoming the almost forgotten feel of his mattress. Rolling over on his stomach, he slipped off his shoes while reaching into his bag to pull out the large file. It flopped heavily in front of him and he began to thumb through it, skimming it's vast contents.

No one knew much about Snatcher. He was rarely seen and never caught. Any group he decided to hit always ended up in jail, but all the money was never found. So disregarding the fact that he was cutting down the criminal activity in the city, he was still a criminal himself, still a thief.

Blaine slipped one of the photos out of the file, looking at it intently. His eyes looked blue.

Blaine sighed, grumbling and rolling off his bed. A hot shower and bed is what he needed. He wanted to be able tackle his new assignment with vigor and he couldn't do that if he was running on fumes. Nick was right, he wasn't going to be getting much sleep now.

The shower was small and his sink leaked, but his water was hot and his towel was clean. So it was wonderful and soothing and at the moment, probably his favorite place in the world.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, his towel wrapped around his waist, he headed straight to his dresser. He barely had his hand in the top drawer when he was taken by surprise by a silky voice cut through the silence.

"I didn't imagine I'd get a show as well."

Blaine spun around, falling against the wooden drawers, his eyes going wide. Stretched out languidly on his bed, flicking through the pages of the case file was Snatcher himself. He's body was wrapped in black, skin close clothing. His head shielded by his black hood and mask, the stretch of material that usually covered the lower half of his face was pulled down under his chin, revealing a stunning set of teeth.

Blaine quickly opened his second drawer, fumbling around for his spare gun.

"Don't bother. I have you're automatic and your spare. Your phone lines have been cut and I've hidden your cell phone somewhere in this apartment. I hope you have a good time finding it." Snatcher slid off the bed, all too smoothly, his movement were fluid and slightly too sensual for Blaine's liking. "So you're Blaine Anderson?"

"What do you want with me?"

"I heard you were the new head of my case," Snatcher explain, taking a quick sideways glance at the papers on the bed. "I thought I'd pay you a visit."

"That seems highly unusual," Blaine observed, keeping his voice level and calm. "Walking into the home of the person who's looking for you."

"I have incredible confidence in my abilities."

Blaine felt his throat tighten, the glossy quality of Snatchers voice setting him on edge. "Are you here to kill me?"

"Goodness no," Snatcher laughed airily.

"Threaten me then?"

"I wouldn't call it a threat. I just had a few things I'd like to discuss with you."

"And what would you have to discuss with me?"

"Give up my case."

"I'm sorry?" Blaine asked, confused.

"Give up my case," he repeated, taking a few idle steps. "You won't be able to catch me. I just thought you should get a chance to forgo it."

"You're standing in my apartment and you think I can't catch you?"

"I came to you," Snatcher reminded him. "Think about it. You got this case today yet here I am, already in your apartment. I've left you helpless and unable to call out for help. None of your neighbors are home and you're in a towel. If you want to make this hand to hand combat I'm more than happy to oblige. If you don't mind risking you modesty, that is. But believe me, I don't exactly have a problem with that."

Blaine tightened his hold on his towel. "Are you here to dissuade me from doing my job or to flirt with me?"

"The former," Snatcher assured politely. "The later seems to be happening on accident."

"Breathtakingly gorgeous men then, is that your weakness?" Blaine asked, punching out the question with false confidence.

"I have no weakness. And I'm not quite sure you fall under the category of gorgeous men. Handsome, I would have to say yes, a little short but the lovely curls make up for that. They look especially delightful when wet. I hope you leave them loose, you'd be doing yourself a great disservice if you didn't."

"Well this is very telling. You're a homosexual, clearly aware of appearance. So what? You're a hairstylist? A fashion designer, perhaps? You're used to analyzing personal appearance. Maybe a talent scout?"

Snatchers mouth dipped disappointedly. "Jumping to all the stereotypical gay occupations? That's a little bit unfair of you. You're a gay detective, maybe you should be a little more open minded."

Blaine's lips parted in surprise. "How did you know–"

"I'm too good," Snatcher shrugged. "I'm being very kind by letting you know it's pointless. You should be thanking me."

"I should be arresting you."

"Why does everyone want to make me out to be such a bad guy? I've been putting the bad guy's in jail. Some people would consider me a hero."

Blaine gave him a scrutinizing stare. "Putting on a costume does not make you a super hero. You're breaking the law."

"But doing good things by doing that."

"If you wanted to protect people and get the bad guys then you should have become a cop."

"You guys have too many rules to abide by," Snatcher growled. "Too many restrictions. I don't have to worry about those."

"Yes, we have rules. Like not allowing the removal of articles from a crime scene. What have you been doing with all the money?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Snatcher muttered cheekily.

Blaine made a face that he hoped was innocent and slightly flirtatious. "If you wanted to be helpful you could tell me."

"I don't think so, what I do with it is my business."

"Criminals don't last long on these streets."

"Yes," Snatcher smiled. "Because of me."

"No," Blaine ground out. "Because of people like me. How long do you think you can keep this up?"

"Five years and still going strong," Snatcher pointed out.

"That changes now."

"You think you can really get me? No one else had been able too, but you think you can?"

Blaine allowed himself to smirk. "I'm very confident in my abilities."

"Fine," Snatcher submitted, leaning over the bed to push some stray papers back in to the folder. "Don't say I didn't warn you Mr. Anderson."

Blaine felt panic rise back in his chest, but he kept it in check. "Are you going to take the file?"

"No," Snatcher sighed. "I've already looked through it, nothing in there is going to help you."

"You sure know how to dash someone's hopes."

"So I've been told," Snatcher huffed under his breath, picking up one of the photos from the bed and holding it up to his face. "I'll take this photo though."

Blaine watched as the picture was slipped almost magically out of sight. "Why?"

"Best one anyone's ever taken of me. I thought it look nice in my scrapbook."

"What are you doing with the money?" Blaine asked again, hating the weak sound that crept into his voice.

Snatcher stood close, tapping a gloved finger against Blaine's nose. "You'll have to catch me if you want to know."

"Now this sounds like a challenge, not a warning."

Snatcher just smiled, moving away. "I have a feeling I'm going to have a lot of fun with you. I'll see you around Blaine." And he pulled the fabric up above his nose, slipping out of Blaine's small window and into the darkness.

Blaine walked over to his bed, looking at the collection of things now gathered on his bed side table. His two guns were placed there, next to a roll of cash and a piece of paper. He picked it up, reading it slowly.

Mr. Anderson,

You will find you're cell phone in you're silverware drawer in the kitchen, not that you have many utensils in there. The ammunition for both of your guns are on the bookshelf, on top of Great Expectations. The money I leave is to fix your phone lines. I'm sorry I had to cut them but it was the only guarantee. Though perhaps you'll wish to use in for something else, your apartment really is a wreck, perhaps you should consider a remodel or at least an interior designer. I'm sure our meeting was a pleasure, I will see you again.

Snatcher.

P.S.

And the money is not stolen, I promise.

X

"I will not be pushed aside, I demand to speak to your superior immediately!"

Blaine jumped slightly as the irritated voice rang through the building. He couldn't see past the other desks and wide pillars, but he could just make out Nick's outline from behind a plant. He did not envy him of having the desk closest to the door.

"I'm sorry sir, but if you could please just calm down, I can have someone talk to you in a minute."

"I don't have minute!" The voice urged. "I have an extremely important event going on at my home this evening and I am receiving threats from a nut job in a mask! I insist on seeing someone in charge."

"If you would just calm yourself and sit down I can bring you someone who can help you," Nick offered calmly.

"Fine. With some urgency please."

A few moments later Nick was walking deliberately to his desk. "Hey Blaine. I think this ones for you."

Blaine set his paper down. "What?"

"Says he got a written threat from Snatcher and as you know, that's officially your department."

"Oh, then send him my way, of course."

Nick seemed to hesitate, before continuing in a hushed tone. "He's really aggressive, I hope you're prepared."

"I'll manage," Blaine swore.

Nick worked his way back through the desks and Blaine distantly heard him instructing the stranger where to go.

Much to Blaine's surprise it was a very handsome thirty something that approached his desk."Detective Anderson?" The man asked quietly, not sounding at all like he had a moment before.

"Blaine is fine," he told the man in the well tailored grey suit. "Please take a seat. And you are?"

"Kurt Hummel. Thank you for seeing me."

Blaine smiled. "Well it sounded like you wouldn't have it any other way."

"I am sorry about that," Kurt said, his head hanging meekly. "Please understand I'm in such a situation, I don't know what to do."

"What's the problem?"

"This morning I found this letter on my bedside table. I didn't think twice about reading it, so I'm afraid I've already ruined it for trace or whatever it is you call it," Kurt set the paper in front of Blaine on the desk, who moved it closer with a pencil. "I didn't know what to do so I came here."

Refrain for holding your event or face the consequences.

Snatcher

"What event?" Blaine asked, admiring the slightly familiar scrawl.

"I'm holding an auction at my home this evening."

"And why do you think Snatcher would wish to stop it?"

"There will be a lot of very rich people there," Kurt explained. "Which means that some of those guests might not be the nicest of people."

"Dirty money," Blaine interpreted.

"Some of them, perhaps," Kurt admitted. "A portion of the proceeds will be going to a cancer research charity, but–"

"But you don't think Snatcher believe's that makes up for it."

"Or that it's not enough," Kurt elaborated. "I know nothing about this man other than what I've heard in the papers. Some of the attendees tonight have been robbed by him. I'm worried that I'm next."

"Are you one of those with bad money?" Blaine asked.

"If I was I probably wouldn't tell you, would I?" Kurt said slyly. "But no, I'm a very successful investor and business man. I've earned my wealth."

"That's fine Mr, Hummel, I'm not trying to accuse you of anything. But what would you like us to do? There isn't anyway we can prove this letter is from him. Even if there was something to trace we would have nothing to compare it too." Lie

Kurt leaned forward slightly in his chair. "I would like to request your protective services at my home tonight."

"Come again?" Blaine requested.

"I would like additional protective services provided by your department at my home tonight. You are after him aren't you?" Kurt asked earnestly. "I won't cancel my party, which means he'll be there, isn't that an opportunity for you?"

"Well of course," Blaine said. "But this kind of operation would take time. We can't just show up at your house and hope for the best."

"I could have just hired extra security but I decided to come to the police and ask for help and you're telling me you won't?" Kurt voice went up in pitch, a flush pushing up his neck and his ears, clearly fighting anger.

Blaine fought a smile, Kurt looked delightful when he was mad. "It's not that I don't want to help Mr. Hummel, but you have to understand that there are protocols I have to follow. If a team hasn't been properly briefed it could be very dangerous."

"Fine, I will seek help elsewhere," Kurt said in huff, standing from the chair. "Have a good day Mr. Anderson,"

"Mr. Hummel!" Blaine called after him. "Wait. I suppose another agent and myself could patrol your party. In case something were to happen and this isn't just a hoax."

Kurt smiled gratefully, stepping back towards the cluttered desk. "Thank you Mr. Anderson."

"Blaine is fine."

Kurt grinned. "Thank you Blaine."

"Alright," Blaine said stanfing, offereing his hand for Kurt to shake. "We will come to your residence in an hour then."

"Wonderful. And, if I might ask a small favor?"

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"Is there any way you might come in formal attire?" Kurt asked. "I would prefer is you could blend in with the rest of the guests."

"I can't guarantee that, but I will try to appear inconspicious."

"Thank you. The press might be there, trying to snap some shots of the well-to-do's, so it would be best to be able to pass as guest, I don't wish to alarm anyone by having them know the authorities are there."

"I understand," Blaine nodded. "My partner and I will be discreet."

"Wonderful. I'm sure you look great in a suit," Kurt praised with a small wink, sauntering out of the precinct.

Blaine couldn't help but watch the delicious swing of the mans hips as he went. Damn, he needed to get a nice suit.

X

So that's the first chapter. Please leave any question, comments or concerns in the form of a review or PM. I'd love to hear from the readers, no matter the topic. Thank you for reading :)

Butterscotch,

Cleo Leo