TITLE: I'm Trapped Here but Still I'm Free
SUMMARY: In 1919, the Red Scare had made communism a source of terror for Americans. For one Noah Puckerman, head of the General Information Division, all he had to do to help keep the U.S. safe was keep the anarchists and communists out. But perhaps this growing bond with one of the prisoners will change his mind?
RATING: T
WARNINGS: Is angst a warning? Slash. Eventual language and a reference to sex. Maybe even *actual* smex. Who knows?
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1919: october 2nd
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"Do you have him in custody?" Noah Puckerman inquired to the silent and well-dressed agent across the polished desk.
"Yes sir, we do. He and his accomplice are in separate cells, with no contact." Matthew Rutherford responded. His features were darkened with the weariness of the day which had been far too complicated for either man's taste.
Noah—or as his co-workers referred to him, Puck—pulled on the lapel of his jacket and peered at his companion who did the same. The small office room was cast in an odd fluorescent glow from the orange tinted lamp. Heat pushed against the wallpaper and crept beneath the stiff jackets of the young men. For being October, it was relatively cold outside, and to make up for the cold, the heaters were set at full blast.
"Has he managed to cause any harm in the past few days?" Matthew shook his head briefly before reclining in the vinyl chair. Puck breathed out, and chanced a small smirk.
Having the two most renowned pains in his ass sitting in the building's personal jail cells made life a little easier for the aspiring FBI agent. The duo had caused such disarray amongst the already burdened United States.
In Puck's, and pretty much all of the assigned unit's opinion, this had to have been the most moronic couple in the entire world. Creating mass communist hysteria and defacing not only the Great War, but the government that founded the most idealistic country of al time? It was as if they were asking for the death sentence.
However, the government enforced the deportation policy against Reds and anarchists, and as one of the greatest (if he did say so himself) FBI agents to head the Justice Department's General Intelligence Division, he would enforce it to the greatest extent of his power.
He'll especially use his power against the man who had plagued him in his efforts of maintaining peace for his beloved country. His partner was no sweet blossom either.
Puck felt his smirk dissipate and glanced back over to Matthew, who seemed lost in his thoughts as well. The tanned male cleared his throat once and immediately had the attention of his subordinate.
"Let's have 'em stir for a while, and we'll personally interrogate the Wonder Twins."
Puck's company nodded before excusing himself. Watching as he left, the head of the department dropped his shaven head into his large palms. It was nearing eleven, and while he would have been able to speed through the infant hours of the morning, but after running around all day trying to secure every last detail for the two wanted anarchists, he was burnt out.
The papers covering every last piece of information he had collected and needed to make a trial was haphazardly paced on his desk next to the can of ink pens and the single photograph of his younger sister.
Puck skimmed his fingers across the smiling face of the young girl. This was why he dedicated himself to his country and keeping it secure. His sister was all he had left since his mother had walked stone drunk into a street and was toppled by a passing automobile. All Puck wanted to do was provide a future for his sister, and as he rose in the ranks, the more her future seemed to brighten.
The files containing background on the two anarchists sat leisurely to the side and Puck couldn't fight the victorious look he sent it. He knew, however, that it would never truly be done with until both of those cretins were either behind bars forever, or six feet under.
Puck leant back against his plastic seat, relishing the serene moments of peace. His eyes lowered and his relaxed state drew him to slumber.
The muscular twenty-eight year old completely drifted off with the thought of his sister, his nation, and the feminine radical Kurt Hummel along with his lawyer comrade Mercedes Jones wafting through his head.
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Yes, this is incredibly short. This is the prologue, though. I had this idea when we were discussing the famous anarchist Emma Goldman (who, if you couldn't tell, was Kurt) in history. Emma Goldman was J. Hoover's (a.k.a. Puck) first exhibition case. She didn't necessarily believe in communism, but she did resent war time.
This is slash. But again, this is angst.
Enjoy my much-to-be-desired prologue and please critique.
(I'm such a slash fan that I'm making history homosexual!)