A/N: I consider myself lucky to have able to ride-along - four times. It is always an eye-opening experience to see what our law enforcement officers can, and do, deal with on a day to day basis. Much of Kurt's experiences on his ride-along are lifted from my own. Thanks Billi for your cheerleading! Part 2 is 83.89% complete - it will be done before my laundry.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or its characters.

February 14th, Valentine's Day

14:19 hours

Using his arms to push himself up, Blaine plopped his butt down on the kitchen counter in his condo, scrubbing his fingers through his sleep-mussed curls. The rich aroma of the coffee brewing filled the air and he inhaled deeply, anxious for his first cup. His eyes shuttered against the early afternoon sun, he felt Kurt nudge his knees apart, before arms wrapped themselves snuggly around his waist.

"Hey babe," rasped Blaine, reaching out to rest his arms on Kurt's shoulders and nuzzling into the soft hair of Kurt's head.

Kurt hummed a response, fingers tugging at the thick cloth of Blaine's t-shirt until they could slip underneath to the heated flesh beneath.

Dropping his chin to the top of Kurt's head, Blaine sighed. "Still coming with me tonight?"

"Mmmhmm," Kurt answered sleepily.

Yawning widely, Blaine shook his head trying to wake up. "Do you suppose when our kids ask how we spent our first Valentine's Day together, they'll end up laughing when we tell them you went to work with me?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow at Blaine, but kept silent while he stepped back and filled a large coffee mug with the steamy dark liquid. Taking a long sip, he passed it to Blaine who blew on it gently before taking his own drink. "I think," Kurt began thoughtfully, "that our kids are going to roll their eyes at us no matter what we're telling them."

Eyes catching Kurt's gaze, Blaine offered a shy smile. "Probably." Blaine hesitated for a moment before finding the courage to ask, "Kurt? Do you … do you want kids? I mean, in general. Not with me. I mean, I wouldn't mind if it were with me – you know later down the road. Maybe not too much later, but I was just wondering. About kids. About how you feel."

When the wheat toast in the toaster popped up, Kurt spread peanut butter on Blaine's pieces before adding a drizzle of honey to his own. Listening to Blaine's nervous ramblings, Kurt's smile grew until he couldn't contain a snort. "Am I really that intimidating that I still make you this nervous, honey?" he asked quietly, handing Blaine his breakfast.

Looking sheepish, Blaine placed his toast back on the counter and took Kurt's chin in his fingers, rubbing them against Kurt's stubble. Taking a deep, settling breath, he explained, "I say shit, and then I think to myself, 'Fuck, Blaine, what if he hates kids? What if every time you mention the future, it makes him want to run for the hills?"

A couple flippant remarks went through Kurt's mind, but he realized at the same time that Blaine was opening himself up in a manner that wasn't typical. "Do you – in your heart – do you really feel like I'd run away from you? From us? In all seriousness."

Blaine shook his head, staring at the floor. "No," he whispered, "no, I don't. I just … I worry."

Kurt leaned up to kiss Blaine softly. "Do you remember me telling you that my dreams have shifted since coming home to Lima? I dated guys when I was in New York. But after a couple years of only finding Mr. Right Now, instead of Mr. Right – I closed the door on that chapter of my life. Then, I met you. And you've handed me a whole new book, full of blank pages just waiting to be filled. I never imagined settling down and having a family."

"Oh," sighed Blaine, slipping down from the counter.

"Let me finish, handsome," Kurt insisted, blocking Blaine in with his arms. "I never imagined it – until you. The idea of kids is kinda scary – but the idea of you as a dad … kinda hot. And I think it's a path that I wouldn't want to take with anyone else but you."

A million butterflies in Blaine's stomach took flight. Wrapping his arms tight around Kurt, he buried his face in the crook of Kurt's neck, rocking the back and forth. Lifting his head, Blaine kissed the side of Kurt's neck. "Love you," he murmured. "How long do you need to get ready?

"Since I only have to impress you – and we both know you're most impressed when I'm naked, covered with a light sheen of sweat – twenty minutes," teased Kurt, grinding himself lightly against Blaine.

"You do know you have to wear clothes on the ride-along, right?" snickered Blaine.

"Spoil-sport."

15:33 hours

Blaine punched the code into the key pad and opened the back door to the station house, gesturing Kurt to enter before him. "Follow me," he instructed, leading Kurt through a confusing series of hallways until they reached the locker room.

Once he was standing in front of his locker, Blaine began pulling out pieces of his uniform. "Here," he said with a wicked grin, "hold this for a moment."

Kurt took the bullet proof vest from Blaine, feeling the hefty weight. On one hand, he thought it was fairly heavy, but on the other, for as important of a job as it had, it seemed infinitely too light. "Can I try it on?" he asked Blaine quietly.

"Yeah," Blaine agreed, brushing some powder over his chest before yanking a t-shirt over his naked chest. "Let me help." The front and back of the vest were connected by large Velcro straps, so he helped Kurt swing the vest over his head on to his shoulders. Carefully, Blaine wrapped the straps around Kurt's chest. "How's that feel?" he asked.

"Weird, I guess," Kurt admitted using his knuckles to rap against the plates.

A voice from behind them called out, "You get used to it pretty quickly, Hummel. Mostly because you're too busy worrying about everything else."

Kurt's eyes widened substantially. Spinning on his heel, he managed to whisper, "Dave," despite his throat tightening.

Feeling the tension in the room ratchet up exponentially, Blaine moved closer to Kurt. "Hey, Karofsky," he acknowledged, fiddling with the straps of the vest before removing it and placing it over his own chest. "How do you two know each other?" Blaine asked, hoping that one of them would answer.

Clearing his throat, Kurt turned back to Blaine, moving to the other side of Blaine's locker to keep extra distance between him and the other deputy. "Dave and I went to high school together. He … played football with Finn. Among other things." The last comment was said under his breath.

Furrowing his forehead, Blaine continued to change into his uniform.

Dave walked closer to Blaine and Kurt, biting on his lower lip nervously. "Is Kurt the guy you've been talking about, Anderson?"

Nodding, Blaine toed off his shoes, kicked them into the lower part of the locker and stepped into his steel-toed uniform boots, zipping up the sides. He glanced at Kurt, noticing that Kurt was studiously reading every poster, flyer and piece of paper hung in the locker room rather than making eye contact with Karofsky.

"Look, what Hummel isn't telling you … is that I was a grade A douche bag to him in high school," Dave explained softly. At Blaine's sharp glance, Dave shrugged. "He was out and proud. And I was … fucking buried in the closet with the moth balls. I hated myself and I hated that he had so much confidence in himself."

Dave glanced over at Kurt. "I owe you a hell of a lot more than just an apology, Kurt. I'm sorry. More sorry than I could ever begin to express in words, especially here and right now. I just … I'd like you to know that … that I'm not like that anymore. I'm not that person. I'm sorry for every mean comment I said, every name I called you and for throwing you into the dumpsters and slamming you into lockers."

Kurt could feel the other men's eyes on him as he leaned against the cool metal of this locker room and thought about Dave's apology. After some time, he raised his eyes carefully. "It's been fifteen years. I don't know about the statute of limitations on bullying, Dave, but I'm sure it's run out by now."

Taking a deep breath, Kurt let it out slowly, "I forgave you a long time ago, because I realized that if I didn't, I'd only continue wasting energy on circumstances I couldn't change. So I chose to move on. Thank you, though. I appreciate your apology and I accept it." Holding out his hand, Kurt gave Dave an unsure smile as they shook.

"I'll, um, see you in briefing, Anderson," Dave said quietly before leaving Blaine and Kurt alone.

Full dressed, Blaine shut the locker, before tugging Kurt into his embrace. "Everything okay?" he asked against Kurt's ear.

"Water under the bridge," Kurt shrugged, taking in the awkwardness of hugging Blaine in uniform, given the bullet proof vest and gun belt that poked him in strange places.

"Clearly I don't know everything that went down between you two, and of course, if you feel like sharing, I'm here to listen. That being said, I want you to know that Dave Karofsky is one of the finest deputies I've had the pleasure of working with."

Taking a step back, Kurt gave Blaine a small smile while he tugged his shirt back into place. "That makes me feel better. I think. That you think so highly of him. So Dave has your back?"

Giving Kurt a serious look, Blaine answered emphatically, "Always. And I have his."

"Good."

Blaine started to lead Kurt out of the locker room, looking over his shoulder to add, "He's the one I was covering for at Christmas so he could be with his husband and two boys. I'm surprised I didn't mention his name."

Following closely, Kurt shook his head. "No. I mean, maybe you mentioned covering for a 'Dave' but I know I would have remembered if you'd have said 'Karofsky'. Too much history between us. Well, behind us. So he's married with kids? Two? Wow."

"Yup," Blaine answered, popping his 'p'. "I was thinking we could have four or five."

Kurt actually stumbled at the comment, catching himself before he tumbled to the floor. Giving Blaine an incredulous look, Kurt mumbled, "You're certifiable. 5150 and all that."

Taking Kurt by the elbow, Blaine lowered the register of his voice. "You're the one that said picturing me as a dad was, and I quote, 'hot'."

"We'll talk about it," Kurt offered.

Blaine offered a smoldering smirk. "Talk? Sounds ... good. I'm sure I can convince you ... using my amazing oral abilities." Waggling his eyebrows, he chuckled for a moment as Kurt rolled his eyes at Blaine's gentle teasing.

As his hand reached for the door handle to the briefing room, Blaine's complete demeanor shifted into a serious work-mode. "Just take a seat in the back. I've got to pick up some stuff and then I'll be right there. If anyone asks, just tell them you're riding along with me tonight.

"Okay."

16:12 hours

Blaine held out a silver key on a strange key ring. "It's the spare to the patrol car. Just in case," he explained as they settled into the seats.

Picking it up from Blaine's palm, Kurt's brow furrowed. "In case…?" Kurt paused, curious.

Shrugging has he typed on the laptop resting between the two seats, Blaine answered distractedly, "Call goes too long and you want to sit; call goes to shit and you need to safely remove yourself from the vicinity. Just in case."

Kurt sighed and shoved the key deep inside the pocket of his wool coat. Both his dad and Finn had been out on ride-alongs with Blaine in the past several months. Neither of them had anything too crazy go down. Certainly it would be the same with Kurt. Suddenly, Blaine slapped a laminated card against Kurt's chest.

"Here," he said, eyes still on the computer, "This has all the 10-codes listed and a lot of the penal codes you'll hear from dispatch."

"Ah, a cheat sheet of sorts," Kurt said slyly.

At that Blaine looked up and grinned. "There'll be a test later, so you better pay attention." Keying his shoulder radio, Blaine began speaking rapid fire to dispatch.

"Control, 3 Paul Twenty-One."

"3 Paul Twenty-One, Control. Go ahead."

"Control, please log me 10-8 with 10-14 for the duration. We'll be heading out to serve a bench warrant, address to follow, break."

Using his finger to track the codes listed on his chart, Kurt learned that 10-8 meant Blaine was 'on-duty' and 10-14 meant 'escort' so he assumed that meant that Blaine was escorting him around for the evening. By the time he'd figured out those two things, Blaine and the dispatcher had finished their conversation and Blaine was pulling the patrol car out of the parking lot.

"How long did it take you to learn all these? Seriously, there's a code for a Deceased Animal, Loose Livestock … and a Ballgame in Street?" Kurt's tone betrayed his shock at this last violation. "Seriously? A ballgame? Isn't that unpatriotic or something?"

Blaine grinned. "11-13, 11-12 and 11-15, right? The sheriff's academy is six months long – and you do a lot of studying. I use them 40 hours a week, 48 weeks a year, for the past ten years. They just … stick. I have to stop myself from using them when I with you or your family because I'm so used to talking in code, and being around people who understand what I'm saying when I do. You've even picked up some – remember you told me I was 5150 because I think we should have six kids."

"You, Blaine Anderson, said five kids. And you are crazy if you're thinking that."

Snorting, Blaine began singing, "Craaazy, I'm craaaazy for loving yooouuu," while waggling his eyebrows.

"Dork!" Kurt teased, crossing his arms protectively across his chest.

"That's Deputy Dork to you right now, sir."

Kurt caught himself before the snarky remark he was thinking flew out of his mouth. Really, he did need to remember that he was at Blaine's job right now, and as much as the two of them often fell into playful teasing, Blaine was working. There was a time and place … and this might not be it. Or, at least, maybe he needed to tone it down just a bit.

Sensing Kurt's hesitation, Blaine reached out to squeeze Kurt's arm gently. "It's just us here."

"Reading minds now?" With affection, Kurt placed his hand on top of Blaine's. "Yeah, it is just us, but you're working. Tell me it wasn't a little more difficult to get approval to take me out than it was to take my dad or Finn."

Blaine shrugged and placed both hands back on the steering wheel. "Everyone takes their family out. Everyone. When I pointed that out to the Lieutenant, it made your ride along a non-issue. Mostly the concern was that we're going out on Valentine's Day."

"So they were worried that we might … get our groove on? While you're working? Ewww."

"Yeah, well, it happens. I've been told. Repeatedly," Blaine replied quietly.

They were both quiet as they considered the implications. Kurt was able to shake off the mood first. "Fine, Deputy Anderson, teach me some more. What does your snazzy lap top do, for example?" Kurt asked, waving his hand in front of the bright monitor.

"Um, okay this section here, tells me everyone who's working right now. We're 3 Paul Twenty-One, right … there. The 3 designates the swing shift. Anyone with a 2 is day shift, 1 is midnights. Paul designates Patrol, Sam or S designates the sergeants. There should be at least 3 up right now. Mary or M are the motorcycle units. The V – Victor units are the parking officers."

Kurt nodded, starting to make sense of the letter and number conversations. "There are so many of them. I had no idea. And dispatch keeps track of them all?"

Blaine smiled. "Yeah, dispatch watches over all of us. But the number of units on–duty will shrink considerably in the next hour. The shifts overlap on purpose, so what you're seeing is all the day shift deputies and all the swing shift deputies on one screen. If the unit is on the left side, they're available. If the unit is on the right side, they're on a call. Those codes that follow should correspond to what's on your card. Um, looks like 3 Paul Twenty-Three – that's Dave's beat – has been assigned a 415v. That's a verbal fight – probably domestic."

"Makes sense," Kurt responded, glancing between his cheat sheet and the screen to see what he could decipher.

"This box down here allows me to communicate with dispatch – not unlike instant messaging, except that everything we type is recorded and subpoenable. If they don't want something going out over the radio, they'd send it here. I can do the same thing."

Considering what Blaine said, Kurt was curious, "Like, what might they not want to put out over the radio channel?"

Blaine made an adjustment to the heat registers before answering. "I had to arrest one of our sergeant's daughters for DUI once. We didn't want the entire force to know what was going down, so we kept it over the system. Also, if we were concerned we might be listened to - maybe a bank robbery or, god forbid, something that went down at the high school … we'd use this system instead."

Kurt nodded to show his understanding. "So we're in the right hand column – which you said means we're assigned to something. What's on our agenda, Deputy?

"Serving a $35,000 bench warrant. A woman who allegedly committed felony battery on her domestic partner failed to show up to court to answer to those charges. The judge issued a warrant for her arrest. We are going to pay a visit to her place of employment. If she's there, I am going to arrest her and we will take her to jail."

"Do not pass go … do not collect $200," Kurt added with a smile.

Blaine smiled back. "No get out of jail free card either."

Listening to the tinny voice of the dispatchers coming through the radio, Kurt stared at the lap top, glancing down frequently at his laminated card, doing his best to follow along with the various calls and conversations. "You know, Blaine," he said quietly, "I don't think you've ever told me how you ended up here."

Blaine looked over at Kurt, surprise showing on his face. "I thought we talked about it at Thanksgiving? When you first asked if I was spending the holiday with my family or if I could spend it with you and yours."

Tilting his head to the side, Kurt gave an affectionate smile. "No, honey. We talked about how your parents don't approve of your career choice – or your brother's – and how you've managed to shift trade so you could work the holiday as an excuse so you didn't have to go home and deal with your parents talking about how much money they wasted on your education since you decided to pick up a job playing 'cops and robbers'."

"What I want to know," Kurt explained, "is how you decided 'Oh, there you are, 'Career As a Cop,' I've been looking for you forever."

Blaine couldn't help the laughter that burst forth. "And you call me the dork?"

"Pot," Kurt said, gesturing towards himself, "Kettle," he finished, pointing towards Blaine.

"Goof," Blaine said with a grin. "I was in my second year at Stanford."

"Have I told you how much your intelligence turns me on?" Kurt interrupted.

"As long as something about me does," Blaine replied dryly. "Anyway, I had taken a couple psych classes to meet some gen ed requirements – thinking I was going to end up at law school somewhere – and I realized I really enjoyed them. More than my other classes. I liked learning about why people behave the way they do."

Blaine slowed down as he turned into an area containing a lot of commercial buildings, clearly searching for a particular address. "I took a class in criminology and was hooked. It truly was an A-ha moment, where I realized I wanted this to be my career path. So without telling Mom and Dad, I switched my major. Graduated with honors with degrees in criminal justice and psychology while minoring in Spanish. Came home and enrolled in the sheriff's academy and haven't looked back."

Pulling the cruiser over to the curb, Blaine shut off the engine and turned fully to look at Kurt. "Every day is different. I'm helping people. I know what I do makes a difference. It's stupid, but I have a whole scrapbook at home with letters and cards from the people I help. Wes and Nick started it for me when I was having a particularly tough time. I bring it out to remind me that people do care and are thankful for what I do."

"The amusing thing is, Mom and Dad would be perfectly content if I were using my degrees to put people away in jail as a lawyer. It's the uniform and gun they object to. Too blue collar for their tastes. At least, that's what I think, when I try to separate my emotions from the situation."

Shaking his head to clear it, Blaine went back into his instructor role. "That building," he began, pointing to a large brick structure slightly up the street, "is where our client works. I called back when we were in the police station, and the office manager says she's here today. If she didn't run her mouth, I should be able to go in and escort her outside without it becoming a huge deal."

Kurt licked his dry lips. "And what should I do?"

"Do you want to come with me?" Blaine asked.

"Um, I don't want to be in the way," Kurt admitted quietly.

"You wouldn't be. Why don't you stay here and wait, then."

Blaine climbed out of the cruiser and set off for the front of the building, carefully avoiding the dirty snow that was still melting away. Knowing it was going to be a long shift inside the patrol car, Kurt got out and walked towards the brick building, where a wooden picnic table sat – the snow dusted off as if someone had eaten lunch outside today.

Taking a seat, Kurt pulled out his cell phone sending a few text messages to Rachel and Santana with a picture of Blaine's patrol car so they'd know he wasn't kidding about what he was doing for Valentine's day. When a side door behind him opened up, Kurt startled.

"Excuse me," asked a tall brunette, "are you Lane Anders?"

Kurt pointed at himself. "Me?"

"Yeah."

"Um, no. I'm Kurt."

"Oh. My office manager said some guy named Lane Anders was here looking for me. Did you see anyone else around?"

"No. I wasn't really paying attention, though. Just checking my messages, waiting for my friend to be done with his business," Kurt improvised. Keep it close to the truth, he thought to himself as he subtly pressed the speed dial for Blaine's cell phone. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said to the woman, "I really have to take this."

As Kurt lifted the cell to his ear, the woman began to walk down the street, clearly looking for 'Lane Anders'. Kurt began whispering into the phone, "She's out here with me. Came out the side door and is looking for you. Should I stall her?"

"Are you in the patrol car?" Blaine asked sharply.

"No. Picnic bench next to the building."

"Is she trying to flee?"

"No. She's just really wanting to find this Lane Anders guy."

"Okay. I'm gonna come out. If she looks like she's getting in a car, call me back. Otherwise, play it cool. She doesn't know you're with me."

Kurt wasn't totally surprised when Blaine ended the call abruptly.

Watching the woman walking back towards him, Kurt continued the charade of talking on the phone. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Blaine approach her. It all happened fairly quickly. Blaine had a short conversation, she deflated. He took her arm and moved it behind her back, hand cuffing her in short order.

Another woman came to the side door, and held out a red purse. "Kurt, can you take that please?" Blaine called out as he opened the back door to his patrol car and helped the woman inside, buckling her seatbelt since she clearly could not.

Kurt took the purse and walked over to the car, climbing in to the passenger seat. Blaine lifted the purse from his hands, explaining to the woman that he'd place it in the trunk for safe transport.

Once he'd done that, Blaine slid into his seat and radioed dispatch that 3 Paul Twenty-One had one in custody to transport to County. Kurt could have sworn at that point Blaine read off his odometer, but when he asked Blaine about it, Blaine just shook his head. "Later," he said quietly.

To be expected, the woman in the back wasn't in the best spirits. She continually asked Blaine to give her a second chance or at least to listen to her side of the story. Blaine, for his part, kept gently, but firmly, explaining that his arresting her wasn't a choice on his part. A judge had signed a warrant for her arrest, and she'd be given a chance to explain her actions in front of a judge the next morning.

From the revving of the engine, Kurt could tell Blaine wasn't wasting any time traveling to the county jail. When they arrived, Blaine radioed dispatch as he pulled up to an electric gate that rolled up and down. He waved his police ID against a scanner, and the gate rolled up so they could proceed into an underground tunnel. Blaine parked, and shut off the engine.

"Stay here. You can't go in the jail. I'll be 10-15 minutes and then be back."

"'Kay," Kurt replied quietly.

While Blaine was inside the jail, Kurt watched anxiously as the entrance gate rolled back up and a large white bus rolled inside. Several deputies filed out of the jail entrance and off the bus as a large group of prisoners was transported back inside the jail. Part of Kurt was fascinated by all of this, while a smaller part was constantly wondering what he would do if one of them broke free – if there was a sudden riot inside this gated tunnel. There was nowhere to go.

Just as Kurt's nerves were about to get the best of him, Blaine reappeared. "Back again. You saw the work crew come back in?"

"That's what they are?"

"Yeah," Blaine commented, backing the patrol car up and driving towards the exit gate where he used his ID to get the gate to roll up again. "Control. 3 Paul Twenty-One, 10-8. They're guys who're in for non-violent offenses who work at some of the farms or on construction sites. It counts as extra time served."

"I figured it was a bunch of guys coming from a courthouse," Kurt said.

"Oh, no. The main courthouse is right next door. There's a tunnel that runs between them, so we don't even have to transport the prisoners. They walk right over, see the judge, and then come right back. There are special elevators and hallways to protect the judges and jury members as well as the prisoners."

"The prisoners? Really? They need protection?"

Blaine nodded. "Look, I say this with as little judgment as possible, but the worst – most tense – times, working at the courthouse, is when a jury is about to come back with a verdict on a murder trial. Then we have to be extra vigilant, because what happens when the victim's family doesn't get a guilty verdict they so desperately want? As a law enforcement officer, I'm still honor bound to protect the accused. Even if, in listening to the evidence, I personally think he's guilty as fuck."

"That's happened to you?" Kurt asked in amazement.

"Everyone has to work courts. I did a three year stint before requesting patrol. It's really interesting to watch the legal process from that angle. But it's also a lot less action than I see on a day to day basis. And yes, I had to hold back a guy Finn's size from going after the guy accused of raping then murdering his sister. And if I'm being completely honest, all I wanted to do was help the brother kick the defendant until he was dead. But Deputy Anderson doesn't get that choice. Plus, because I'd been in the courtroom when the judge and lawyers were arguing what evidence was going to be allowed to be presented to the jury, I had more information than those twelve men and women."

"So they found him not guilty? Even though he was?

Blaine shrugged. "They returned the verdict they felt was correct based on the evidence they'd been allowed to hear. They did their duty. And if more people would stand up and serve as jury members, instead of trying to get out of it with piss-poor excuses, maybe our justice system would work a little better. It's no use complaining about a problem if you could be part of the solution but choose not to be. Sorry. Don't mean to shout from my soap box."

Kurt ruffled Blaine's curls. "Shout away, honey. You're adorably hot when you're indignant."

Blaine rolled his eyes, but failed to keep the smile from his face.

"So do you know what happened to the defendant in that case?"

Blaine sighed deeply. "About a week after he was released, we found his body. Floating. In Silva's Quarry. The rains washed away any evidence. No one thinks it was an accident."

"Wow."

"Okay, last tip before we find something else to talk about. Next time you're serving on a jury, look at the defendant's socks. A lot of times the lawyer will have the family bring in a nice suit and shoes for the defendant to wear at trial. But for some reason, hardly anyone remembers to bring socks. So if he's wearing a nice suit, but bright orange socks – he's a guest at County and not released on bail."

"You're just full of information tonight," Kurt teased.

"Just you wait, Hummel. Just you wait."