Hey y'all. . . somehow I seem to get assaulted by AU-plot bunnies, which incessantly demand that I write them up….which is pretty bad, considering I also gotta write my thesis at the same time ^^
Disclaimer: The Characters are not mine, at all.
He heard his feet pounding on the pavement, his breath burning in his lungs.
"Outta the way!" His shout cleared the sidewalk somewhat, nonetheless he was forced to dodge a few slowpokes still in his way. A few meters ahead of him, a small, skinny man was sprinting as fast as possible, ruthlessly shoving people out of his way.
"NYPD! Dammit, Warner, stop runnin'!"
Warner threw a look back, his rat-face paling slightly when he realized, Puck had nearly caught up. In panic, he threw one of the tables of a small street-side cafè to the floor. With a curse, Puck vaulted himself over the obstacle and kept running. A few seconds later he was close enough for a football-tackle from behind…and tackle he did.
With a squeal from Warner's throat and a grunt from Puck's, he tackled Warner to the ground.
Chest heaving, Puck made a mental note to work out more.
"Matthew Warner, you are under arrest for the possession and selling of heroine. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court o' law! You got the right to an attorney, if your fucking broke ass can't provide one, we'll take care of it for ya. Now, you getting' up or do I have to haul your ass downtown myself?!?!" With a deeply satisfied grunt, Detective Second Grade Noah Puckerman of the New York City Police Department straightened himself, pulling the little drug-trafficking weasel with him and towards the dark, inconspicuous Sedan in which his partner was sitting.
A few hours and a long shower later, Puck found himself sitting in front of his Captain, Louis Vegaz.
"Puckerman, you rowdy son-of-a-gun. That was the fifth bust this week." With a twinkle, Vegaz nodded.
"Good job, son."
"Thank you, Sir." Puck straightened and preened a little. 10 years with the Force and he still wasn't used to getting praise. A few years ago, he would have laughed out loud at the idea of wearing a uniform. The other side of the coin was more to his liking, he had had his fair share of petty crimes. Luckily enough, he had never been caught. And he probably would have continued to have a lifetime of petty crimes and joblessness back in Lima, if it weren't for June 18 2010, the day his baby-girl was born.
Quinn and him had decided to opt for adoption, knowing that, despite wanting to do so, they were simply unable to provide for a child. So they had named her Madison, and given her to her adoptive parents, eagerly waiting to shower the child with love and devotion.
Puck got to hold his first-born for a scant 2 minutes, in which one look from her curious blue eyes was enough for him to realize that with the crap he had pulled, there was simply no way he deserved to be responsible for something so precious and innocent, not with the way he was busy destroying everything that ever came close to him. He had carefully placed his daughter in her new Dad's arms, kissed Quinn on the forehead and promptly gone to the chapel to bawl his eyes out.
When he returned to school a few days later, Noah was making an appearance and Puck was shoved on the backburner, only to re-emerge when needed. He worked hard, pulled up his grades and kept out of trouble. He attended Maths (the school nurse quit within two weeks, claiming Trigonometry as a reason), he kept his slushie in the cup (both, literally and figuratively), and managed to graduate with a GPA high enough to get him into Ohio State on a scholarship. After getting his degree in Criminology (all those hours watchin' CSI had finally paid off), he had joined the NYPD and steadily risen through the ranks. His superiors were impressed by his ability to just get into a perp's mind (he so wasn't telling them why he did that). After a few years he was transferred to the narcotics-unit under Vegaz and promoted to Detective and was now sweeping the streets of New York from the ever growing scumbags.
When Puck noticed, his boss had asked him a question, he tuned back in.
"Sorry, boss?"
"I said, how would you like a change of scenery?"
"Huh?" With a chuckle, Vegaz shook his head.
"Puckerman, your ugly mutt's becomin' too well known round here. You go down a street in the Bronx, there's more stash goin' down the drain than piss on Mardi-Gras in the Big Easy!" Vegaz' strong southern twang gave everything he said a certain weight.
"What's that supposed to mean boss? I can't work no busts no more or what?" Puck looked enraged. This was his life, he cleaned up as well as he could.
"Easy big fella. I'm sayin' right now, you can't do busts. We gotta take you out of rotation for a little while. Just temporarily though, don't wanna loose my best man."
Puck grunted, wary of any changes to his daily life.
"One PP is looking for someone in the Homicide-Unit. One of theirs apparently turned dirty and nearly got him and his partner killed. He's sittin' in the joint right now, waitin' on trial." Vegaz scowled and Puck felt his anger-levels spike. If there was one thing Cops hated more than usual Criminals, it was a Cop turning into one.
"So, they're requesting one of ours. You're s'posed to report to a Captain James Morgan" Puck couldn't stop snickering, but a look from his boss silenced him. "Monday, 0800. You're partnering up with the one left, the heat's got 'em people goin' crazy, parently people are dyin' left 'n right and homicide's swamped. Here's your paperwork."
Vegaz handed him a manila envelope.
"Boss, no offense, but how long is this shit gonna take?" Puck was rifling through the few sheets of paper.
"No fucking idea, Puckerman. But don't worry, if you wanna come back at the end, you come back, simple as stealin' a baby's lollipop. Now get lost, go do whatever the hell it is you do on a weekend and I'll see ya in a few weeks." Vegaz turned back to his paperwork, the conversation apparently finished. Puck pulled himself up from his chair and left. He was used to Vegaz-style, it reminded him a little of Tanaka, 'cept, well, Coach had no fucking clue what he was doing. Vegaz could probably kick his ass if he wanted to.
On Monday, 0800 on the dot, Puck knocked on the door of his new Captain, James Morgan. He was still wondering why the fuck someone would hate someone so much, they'd promote them to captain with a name like that and make them a laughing stock for everyone else.
A rough voice shouted Enter, and Puck felt himself involuntarily straightening.
"Sir, I'm Detective Puckerman, I was sent here from narcotics." Puck had quickly realized that, both in interrogations and talks with a superior the same rules applied. Never show what you're feeling, always know what you're up against, and you get the best answers when you don't ask questions.
The man greeting him in the office managed to make the desk look tiny. When he stood, his hand stretched out, Noah easily saw that he was at least one and a half heads taller than the Detective and built like a line-backer. Morgan was wearing his Uniform, making him look even more imposing. His hair was cut short and had streaks of grey woven through it, though most of it still retained its dark black colour, giving him a more distinguished look. A bushy moustache was resting below a strong nose, and piercing blue eyes peered at him from underneath equally bushy brows. Puck felt himself straightening even more and resisted the impulse to turn and run. Mystery solved. Puck was willing to bet his badge that Morgan would not have stood for getting any jokes on his expense.
"So you are Puckerman, huh?" Puck felt as if someone would X-Ray him.
"Yes, Sir."
"Why'd Vegaz send you of all people?" The question was laden with implications.
"Well, Sir, my face became too known in the local drug-areas." Good Puckerman, just play it cool, one sentence answers.
"So, you too good, huh?" Puck gulped. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Saying yes would be arrogant, saying no would be idiotic.
"Just good enough, Sir." Obviously he had managed to appease the mountain of a man sitting before him. With a grunt, Morgan leaned back. Puck kept staring at the wall behind him.
"So, you heard the story?" Morgan was fishing, but for the life of him, Puck couldn't figure out for what.
"Just briefly, Sir." Fucking Hell, he hadn't been this nervous since Maddie's birth!
"The basics are as follows. Rogers and his Partner investigating, Rogers got paid, Partner nearly got killed. Perps got angry, Rogers got scared and went under. Found him a few weeks ago in a Motel, drunk as a skunk. Spilled the whole story." Morgan sneered with disgust. Puck tried to remain indifferent, not quite knowing what he was supposed to say.
"That's all you gotta know. Now, you bug that partner of his for details or you make any snide comments, I'm gonna take you out like the trash on garbage day, we clear?" The moustache quivered in barely suppressed anger.
"Yes, Sir!" Puck couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor dude partnered with Rogers. Losing a partner to a bullet was pure hell, he couldn't even imagine the feeling of losing your partner to money.
"Now, here's your first case. Some uptown trust-fund duckling was found dead this morning. I got the parents all over my ass, so make it quick, but make it stick!" He threw a file on the desk. Puck grabbed it and opened it, just as a knock sounded on the door behind him.
God, this was awful. He had seen bodies before, had seen what heroine, crack and all that other crap can do to a human body, melt away half the nose, rotten the teeth, make them lose fingers and all kinds of shit. But this, this was almost worse in its banality, the simple gunshot-wound to the head so much cleaner and simpler, yet just as deadly.
"Come in." Morgan moved his inquisitive stare from observing Puck's reaction to the door.
"Aaaah, Berry. Nice of you to show up." There was an almost grand-fatherly warmth in Morgan's voice that made Puck look up.
"Berry, meet your new partner, Noah Puckerman."
With a gasp, Noah turned around and was dumbstruck.
"Well, fuck me sideways!" he mumbled.
There in front of him stood, in all her 5'2 glory, his pint-sized ex-girlfriend, the knee-sock-wearing, show-tune-belting, slushie-facial-receiving former dictatoress of the Glee Club, Rachel Berry, in a functional but modest business-suit, complete with a dark green shirt, a golden badge and a gun at her belt, and a deeply sarcastic smirk on her face.
"I'd really rather not, at least not before dinner."
So, whaddaya think? Love it, hate it, hate it, love it? Review, people ^^ I'm feeling inspired right now, so updates can be fairly frequently =)