12/30/2010
A/N: So many apologies for the long, long break. Hopefully I can get this (and some of my other stories) wrapped up within the next few months. I hate leaving random, unfinished stories hanging around out on the internet. Anyway, enjoy!
Blaine doesn't find Quinn Fabray that night. He'd meant to, originally, but her name wasn't in the phone book, and even his best efforts don't reveal an address. He'd given up around midnight, falling asleep lying on his couch, computer on his lap.
When he wakes up in the morning, his computer is lying on the floor, one arm is thrown over his eye, and Baxter, his four year old cat is nibbling at his toes. "Gerroff," he mumbles, toeing at the cat. Baxter just glances up at him with big green eyes, meows, and resumes nibbling. Blaine groans and rolls over. . .promptly landing on the floor.
He raises his wrist to check his watch, blinking through bleary eyes. 7:45. Hmm. He nods, rolls over again, and. . .
Wait! 7:45! He's abruptly awake, cobwebs gone, as he sits straight up. He has less than an hour to get to work, and a twenty minute drive, and he'd promised Ms. Sylvester that he'd talk to Quinn and. . .
Baxter meows again, and begins to chase his tail. Blaine glares at the cat. "This is your fault," he says. The cat pauses in his tail-attack to blink.
"Meow."
Blaine rolls his eyes.
Somehow he manages to get showered and dress, coffee brewed and put into a travel mug in record time, and he pulls into the office just barely at 8:20. He's rather pleased with himself, even thinking to pull out his phone and call Mike Chang before he enters the office.
Mike picks up on the second ring, sounding a little surprised. "Sup?"
"Hi, Mike, it's Blaine," he says. "Listen, I need to track down a reporter."
"About the Hummel case? Yeah, I saw that in the newspaper. What's her name, I'll see if I can get it off one of our databases."
"Quinn Fabray."
Mike promises to do what he can, and Blaine puts his shoulders back as he walks into the office. Maybe it's a bad thing that he always feels like he's about to walk into battle when he enters his workplace, but he does.
"Good morning, Blaine!" Tina says chipperly as he walks in. "Santana wanted to let you know that. . ." she screws her face up for a moment, and continues in a passable imitation of the other woman "the tree ogre son woke up in the hospital. Get your ass down there and make sure the moron cops don't fuck up his Miranda rights."
Blaine nods, salutes her sharply with his coffee cup, and proceeds to his office.
There isn't much to it – isn't much to anyone's office in the Arlington D.A.'s, but his is particularly pathetic. It's on the inside of the building, so it doesn't even have a window. His diplomas are on one side of the wall, nearly obscured by a bookcase. He looks at them a little longingly – his Virginia bar license is smartly framed, as is the UVA Law school diploma. His Brown diploma is mirrors them on the other side. Most of his friends from law school are working in high powered firms. A small smile pulls at Blaine's lips – clearly, they don't know what they're missing.
He returns yesterday's docket call cases to the large filing cabinet beside his desk, and takes a long drag of coffee, managing to only wrinkle his nose a tiny bit at the slightly metallic taste from his travel mug.
His phone buzzes from his right hand pocket – not an incoming call, but an email, so he continues to sip his coffee, trying to organize his brain on too-little sleep. He'll have to check in with Sue first, and then head to the hospital. He has a meeting set up with a pair of kids in the afternoon – they're claiming harassment by a teacher, and want to press charges, though he has a sneaking suspicion that they're just tired of getting detentions or failing grades. He has a sentencing at 2, and he still has to finish an appeal that's due by 5. He'll have to check in with Ms. Fabray after work, which could make it a bit harder to track her down. He pulls out his phone – the email is from Mike, with an attachment leading to all the information that the police have on Ms. Fabray's place of work and contact information. He checks his calendar.
And he's supposed to have dinner with his father. Wonderful.
One more sip of coffee to fortify himself – God, it's so much worse in the travel container.
The minute he steps out of his office, however, he's trapped – Wes is coming down one direction, and Sebastian the other. His mind runs a mile a minute – if he heads by Wes, he'll have to explain that he'll be lucky to get that brief filed on time – if he walks by Sebastian he faces a high probability of sexual innuendo.
"Hey, slugger," Sebastian says, and Blaine feels almost relieved that the choice is taken out of his hands. He turns to his coworker, trying to force something that resembles a smile on his face.
"Good morning, Sebastian."
The other man openly leers, his gaze dropping to take in all of Blaine's body before finally meeting his eyes. "You look delectable, as ever." Blaine almost shudders at the thought of what Sebastian's seeing when he's mentally undressing men – he can't decide if it's worse or better that Sebastian has seen him naked, and probably doesn't need x-ray vision to picture what is under Blaine's suit.
"Drop it," Blaine says sharply, and surprisingly, Sebastian does, although he does switch direction mid-stride so that he's heading in the same direction.
"Busy day?" he asks, and it's almost mind-boggling how quickly his voice can shift from sleazy seduction to mildly interested colleague.
"Yeah, you could say that," Blaine says. "You?"
"Not today," Sebastian says. "Bain pled out last night – 11 o'clock, just in time to miss trial. I'd already cleared my schedule for the week – it's a nice feeling, to have some room to breathe."
Blaine chuckles a little. "I'll agree once I've had that feeling," he says wryly.
"Do you need help?"
Blaine glances at his co-worker suspiciously. Every once in a while Sebastian volunteers to help someone else out. He knows the other man carries up the reams of paper for Tina when she asks, and Wes is always saying that Seb is one of the most reliable people they have. But, for as long as Blaine can remember, he can't come up with a single instance in which Sebastian offered to help him – at least, not without also throwing in a flirtatious wink and an insinuation of getting 'rewarded' later. But, as he scours the other man's face, he sees only genuine interest.
"Um. . .I need to finish that appellate brief for Wes – the Garcia one, with the Melendez-Diaz problem."
"SANE nurses?" Sebastian asks, and Blaine nods. "Yeah, no problem. You have the draft, right? You just need case cites, formatting, all of that?"
"Yeah."
"Sure thing. Just shoot it to me in an email and I'll file it today."
There's a quick squeeze to the shoulder, and then Sebastian is heading back in the direction he'd been going originally, his left hand casually in a back pocket. Blaine freezes for a moment before finally remembering some manners, and he calls after the other man. When Sebastian turns and cocks his head, Blaine can't quite keep the slight blush from rising up his neck.
"Just. . .thanks."
Sebastian grins – an honest grin, for once – and nods before heading down the hall. Blaine shakes his head at the unbelievable luck, and resumes his trek toward Sue's office. It's unbelievably refreshing to have one thin crossed off his long list for the day.
It's rare that he's able to just walk in to Sue's office – yesterday had been the exception, and only because Sue had wanted it to be an exception. Usually he first has to run the gauntlet – making it past the row of interns, who always want to say something to him, and then past Sue's personal secretary.
It must be his lucky day, he realizes when he turns the corner. Unique isn't at her desk, and she's the one who always sounds the alarm. Marley is too shy to come up on her own, and Kitty's usually too busy browsing facebook to notice anyone approaching. He wiggles his fingers a little when he passes Marley, but doesn't stop to chat. Kitty isn't on facebook today – but it looks like she's on some other variant of social media. She doesn't even twitch when his shadow passes by her little cubicle. Sugar, at least, looks up when he arrives.
"Hi, Blainey!" She says, almost chirping. "How are you?"
"I'm good," he says. "Is Sue in?"
"She is! Hey, did you hear about Congressman Hummel?"
"I did, Sugar. Is she meeting with anyone."
"No, she isn't. I heard that his son killed him. Sue's practically frothing she's so excited about this case."
"Yeah. . .can I go in and talk to her?"
"Oh," Sugar seems a little put out that he doesn't want to gossip with her. She finishes buffing her nail before she pushes the intercom button. "Ms. Sylvester, Blaine Anderson to see you."
Sue's crackly voice replies almost instantly "who?"
Blaine sighs, and leans in close enough to speak into the intercom himself. "Young Burt Reynolds."
The door opens immediately, Sue gesturing for him to walk in. Sugar waves good-bye, simultaneously popping her bubblegum.
"So?" Sue says expectantly, the moment that the door has closed behind them. "What's the story with Fabray? Is she going to keep her Barbie-mouth closed?"
Blaine tries very, very hard to keep his expression neutral. He is aware that he probably fails at this attempt. "I. . .um. . .I didn't have the chance to track her down yesterday. I'll talk with her this afternoon."
Sue stares him down for a long moment, her gaze flinty. When she finally speaks, her voice is very low, very quiet, and very dangerous. "Did I not make myself clear yesterday, when I told you to take care of the problem?"
"No, ma'am," Blaine says.
"So you deliberated ignored my direct order."
"No, ma'am," Blaine says again. When she continues to stare at him – a stare which has haunted a number of his nightmares – he realizes that he should maybe elaborate. "I just. . .I had other obligations, Ms. Sylvester. I had the docket call that afternoon, and then there were a number of motions that I had to get filed. Then I had. . .difficulty. . .tracking her down"
"Enough, Anderson," she says. She leans forward now, and – Blaine is afraid to say – a little bit down, so that they are nose to nose. "If you disappointed me like this again, you are off the case. Sandbags will get her wish, and she can have Wes second chair. Do you understand me?"
"Yes ma'am," Blaine says immediately. He waits for further instructions, but it appears that Ms. Sylvester is entirely finished with him. He clears his throat.
"Are you sick, Other Gay?" she asks. "If I find out that you've been contaminating my pristine office with your vaguely Euroasian bird flu I will not hesitate to have you sequestered."
"No. Thank you. Good-bye."
Blaine's running through all of the bad names that he can possibly call himself as he backs out of the office. He doesn't know why he always lets her get to him, but he does. Everybody else is perfectly capable of standing up to her – even Tina, who will literally cry when she finds a dead fly, is able to remain composed in the face of one of Ms. Sylvester's tirades. He, however, inexplicably regresses into his bumbling teenage self. It's embarrassing.
He waves good-bye to Sugar, quickly types out a 'thanks' to Mike's email, grabs his keys and his coffee off his desk (great, now it tastes like metal and it's cold) and heads off to the hospital.
He's rather pleased to see Sam and Ryder at the hospital, though he sees now why Santana had told him to meet them here. They're both good men – and damned good cops, he thinks – but they're not so good at following rules.
Blaine's first encounter with Sam had been following one of the dumbest mistakes that a cop could ever make. They had arrested the guy and arraigned him, and there was no doubt that his Sixth Amendment rights had attached. When the perp requested a lawyer, Sam had easily agreed. Five minutes later, en route to the prison, he'd asked if the perp wanted a cup of coffee. The perp had said no. Not a big deal. But, a minute after that, Sam had turned around again, and said "oh, I guess you wouldn't. I mean, didn't you just murder your wife by putting arsenic in her coffee? Dude, I'm a police officer, I'm not going to put arsenic in your coffee. You sure you don't want a cup?"
Unsurprisingly, despite his best efforts, Blaine was unable to get the ensuing confession in at trial.
They both smile and wave at him, Ryder lifting his hand for a fistbump. "Anderson!" Sam crows. "What up, man, you working with Satan now?"
Blaine smiles a little. "Sam, I've told you a thousand times – lawyers don't have partners."
"Riding solo," Ryder says, nodding his head. "Like a wolf."
"Actually, wolves, prefer to travel in. . .you know what, never mind." Blaine nods toward the hospital room that they seem to be guarding. "Mr. Hummel is in there?"
"Yeah, you ready to go in?"
"Sure," Blaine says. When the cops turn to walk in, however, he puts a hand on Sam's back. "Just. . .you remember that you guys are supposed to be investigating, right? I'm just making sure that you follow the law. You guys are in charge of the interview."
"Yeah, sure thing, bro," Sam says. "That's why we're detectives. We ask the hard questions, you know?"
Blaine sighs and nods. "Yeah. I know."
Finn Hudson is. . .not what he was expecting. For one thing, he isn't old at all – Blaine's age, at the most. For a second, he's tall. Even though Ms. Sylvester had been consistently calling him derogatory names that seemed to, by and large, revolve around his height, he hadn't quite expected this. . .this. . .tree of a man. He has to be almost seven feet tall. And the burns. . .he'd known that the burns were bad – all of the hullabaloo at the crime scene had indicated as much, and he'd known that there was some kind of surgery required, but he still hadn't expected to see someone whose face was almost entirely swarthed in bandages, or who was hooked up to a half dozen beeping machines. For some reason, in his head, all of the injuries would be below the neck. He is clearly very, very wrong.
While he loiters, uncomfortable, near the door, Sam and Ryder walk right in. They seem perfectly at ease, despite the strangeness of the setting. Sam pulls a chair over to the bed, and plops down into it. Ryder leans against the wall, somehow managing to look casual rather than threatening. Blaine, not seeing a convenient spot to park himself, just continues to linger in the background.
"Hey, man, I'm Sam, and that dude in the back is my partner, Ryder. We're police officers, and we're looking into the fire that happened at your dad's house. Do you know what we're talking about?"
Finn shakes his head, little minute movements, almost too small and gentle to catch. "Not my dad," he finally manages to rasp. "Step-dad. Hi. I'm Finn."
"Nice to meet you," Sam says with an easy smile. "I know you're not feeling too hot right now, but it's really best for the investigation if we can get on with it right away. Do you think you could answer some questions for us?"
Another tiny, almost imperceptible nod of the head.
"Great. I mean, the first question is easy – do you know who set the fine?"
Finn frowns for a moment, the one eyebrow that isn't encased in bandages pulling in toward his nose. He lets out a slow breath. "No, I don't. . .somebody set it?"
"Well, maybe not," Sam says easily. "Did your dad – sorry, step-dad like to burn candles, have the fireplace going, anything like that?"
Finn snorts out a sharp laugh that sounds like it hurts. "No candles," he rasps. "My mom likes them. . .but she was at the hospital. No fires. It's August, dude."
"Yeah, well," Sam shrugs. "Either of you smokers?"
"No."
"Well, if that's all true, then yeah, my best guess is that somebody set it. Is there anyone who would hate your step-dad?"
Finn shakes his head. "Burt was. . .I mean, he was just a car guy."
Sam and Ryder exchange a confused look. "Um. . .Finn. . .Mr. Hummel was a congressman."
'Yeah, but. . .mostly he was a mechanic," Finn says. "Maybe political people didn't like him, but I don't know anything about them." He must see that the cops don't understand, so he keeps talking. "I work for Burt. Back in Ohio. In the car shop. I run it when he's down here. But last weekend he asked me to come down – said we needed to have a family meeting."
"Okay," Sam says. Blaine notices that he isn't writing anything, but that Ryder is. He'll have to check the notes afterwards. Virginia law says that Finn will have the right to see any notes that were taken when he was being questioned. He'd rather talk to Ryder about it right now, but he doesn't want to call any attention to himself. "Who all would be included in that family?"
"Me, Mom, Burt, and Kurt." When Sam glances at him, Finn clarifies again. "He's Burt's son. My step-brother."
"Do you know where Kurt was that night?"
"No, he was. . ." he abruptly pauses. His head twists a little to glance over at the police officer. "Kurt isn't a suspect, is he? He would never hurt Burt. He loves his dad – more than any kid I've ever seen."
"We've just got to check all loose ends," Sam says smoothly. "We know you were at the house, and that Congressman Hummel's wife was working at the hospital. We just want to know where Kurt was."
"Well, you'll have to ask him," Finn says. He sighs out, long and heavy. "Do I have to keep talking to you? I'm kind of tired."
Sam smiles, pats him gently on the unbandaged shoulder. "Sure thing," he says. "We'll let you rest, come back a little later."
They reconvene briefly in the halls. Blaine checks over Ryder's notes, and is relieved to see that all he's done is transcribe Finn's words. He taps it gently. "When you get back to the station, pull up a word doc and add your own impressions," he says. "Make sure the computer document doesn't have the same words as this. Different file names and everything."
"Sure thing, chief!" Ryder says cheekily. Sam cuffs him on the shoulder briefly as Blaine turns to walk out.
Okay, he thinks, mentally checking off another little box in his head. He's off the case for the rest of the afternoon, and then it's off to see Ms. Fabray. . .and his dad. He's definitely going to have to stop for another cup of coffee.
A/N: Reviews are love!
Coming Soon: Jesse st. James is an expert about everything, Blaine meets with Quinn and his dad, and Kurt decides that he's going to need to get a lawyer.
